Devil's Desire [h.s.]

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

It was two days later when Morgan found Harry and I sitting on the couch in the living room. We had just finished our second to last meeting with Angela—who'd yet to be informed that we were leaving—and Harry hadn't had it in him to take us to the gym to train. The updates on my health hadn't been anything out of the ordinary. More of her reiterating the same things she'd been telling me for weeks. Things that I would promptly be ignoring in the coming days.

"There you are," Morgan said. She looked out of breath. Her and Zayn had been finalizing our flights, contacting what was left of the security team, and arranging for a safe house. Or rather, their illegal equivalent to one. "I've been looking for you two."

She came over and dropped something into my lap. Two somethings.

"Are these—" I held them up, "—passports?"

"Affirmative," she chirped with a grin. Harry, who had his arm slung around me, plucked one from my hand. "They're your passports."

"Our passports?"

"Well, fake ones," she said with a shrug. "Since we can't fly private anymore, I had them made for our flights on Tuesday."

"Right," I nodded slowly, feeling that same pit of dread that had taken up camp in my stomach these past few weeks grow. It weighed me down and made it hard to breathe, but I ignored it. Flying with fake passports was at the very bottom of the list when it came to what I needed to be concerned about.

Suddenly, Harry straightened. He hauled his arm off me and looked at Morgan, his mouth falling open with a perturbed noise. "Morgan, what the fuck?" He asked, eyes wide. He shook the passport in his hand. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." A beat. "Horace?"

Morgan burst out laughing, doubling over.

"Oh my god." She looked delighted. "I forgot I did that."

Harry was positively furious when I grabbed the passport from him.

Sure enough, when I opened it up, there was a photo of Harry on a French passport. Right beneath it read: Horace Shemp.

I clapped a hand over my mouth to suppress my giggle.

Harry gripped my jaw and turned me to face him. "Do you find this amusing?" He asked, quirking a brow. Where there'd moments ago been genuine annoyance, he now only looked highly entertained. His face broke into a grin, and he gave my face a squeeze. "Well, that's quite funny coming from you, Rhonda."

"What—?" I half-shrieked, ripping the second passport out of his hands. Harry was laughing when I opened it to reveal, in big bold letters, the name: Rhonda Murphy.

Morgan plunked down on the couch beside me, leaning in to read her handiwork. "Ah. And Rhonda. Another one of my wonderful creations."

"I have to open a bank account in this name," Harry said flatly, staring down at his passport. A moment later I realized it was actually my passport he'd snagged back and was looking at. He drew a thumb over my photo.

A clatter from the kitchen drew my attention away. Olivia came stalking into the living room behind Louis—who was grinning like a madman. She was not. He nearly tripped when she grabbed a fistful of his sweater and yanked him backwards.

"Give it back!" she cried out, snatching something out of Louis' hands. Another passport. Where were these things coming from? "You're a fucking dick."

"Am not," he stared down at her, his eyes sparkling. "I just wanted to see your photo. To admire how wonderful you look—"

She shoved him away. Hard enough that he stumbled. But he didn't let it knock him down a peg. He was still laughing when she stalked over to the couch and tossed the passport at me. "Riv, they used some horrible fucking photo of me," she grumbled. "I don't even know where they got it."