loathed [Harry Styles]

chapter three

Harry continued to drive manically down the turning road until we were as far away from the crime scene as possible. 

"Shit, the cops!" he bellowed, turning the car on a sharp 90 degree angle, abruptly throwing me and Marisa around in the back. The smoke from the airport continued to rise higher in the sky as the burning fire surrounding the back of the building illuminated angry bursts of light.

At this point, I could feel the fear painfully spreading around my body, causing my stomach to churn angrily. I was as innocent as hell; how come I have to be the one to be singled out by these maniacs and kidnapped, probably never to be heard of again by the outside world? Absolute bullshit.

"What about my luggage? What about the cops finding us?" I yelled over the commotion. Harry shot me a quick glare through the rear view mirror and growled as we turned another sharp corner into New York City itself. "I don't fucking care about...your...luggage!" he strained, "and you honestly think...we've been doing this for plenty...of years...you think we'd be experts at doing this shit by now?!"

I was intimidated by his abrasiveness, so I put my purse on my lap and decided to keep quiet. 

"Hah, good luck finding us, bitches!" Marisa rolled down the window and flipped the bird to whoever was chasing us. I turned my attention behind me; two jet black police cars were blaring after us.

Fuck.

"Marisa, I don't want to go to jail..." I whimpered as she pulled herself back inside of the car.

"You won't," she smirked. Harry glanced up into the mirrors and slowed the car down a tad. "Promise me this, Florence. You're safe with us."

"But how can I trust you? I barely even know you! You guys took my luggage, my dignity, and my sense of belonging! What the hell am I supposed to do now? I have a fucking job to do, Marisa. Do you want me to--"

"Promise," she said again, her smirk turning into a smile.

"You better listen to her, Florence," Harry said. The car was turning into a dark multiple story lot: we lost sight of the police cars behind us. Nevertheless, I was shaking like mad.

The car halted to a stop between two pillars,

"See, you're fine." I could see a faint smile plastered across his face. Something about that boy seemed awfully distinctive to me. I barely knew Harry, but already I was feeling something strange stirring inside of me, was it possibly affection? 

But then again, I had Andrew, who was my actual boyfriend.

The car was silent with a drifting feeling of success. Harry rubbed his hands through his hair and Marisa was murmuring something under her breath. I didn't know what to do at this point, so I simply stared into the vast parking lot and slumped further down into my seat, burrowing myself into my woolen sweater.

"We did it," Harry finally choked, the dark shadows on his face forming a grin. "We fucking got our revenge on that bastard."

---

Harry and Marisa led me to a slick black bar on the high streets of Queens, in which their headquarters were located. As soon as the doors opened, we were met by the sounds of drunk laughter, some deep indie rock and roll music, and the smell of vodka and Marlboro cigarettes.

"Oi! Styles and Del 'ere here!" a heavy Irish accent chirped over the commotion. All of the faces in the bar turned towards us and let out a welcoming cheer.

"Walk!" Harry hissed into my ear as he nudged me to do so. I walked cautiously past the heavily occupied tables and bar stools as strange, but rather attractive men and women hollered into my ears.