Concentration

Chapter five

Harry's POV:

All the sound escaped the room, the buzzing from the gun being drowned out from the sound of my heart thudding in my chest. My brows furrow as she held my gaze for mere seconds before fixating her sights back to the floor. I, however, set my eyes on her, using this time to really take her in. Her tangled hair falls around her, curtaining her face from my dubious watch. Her uniform doesn't accommodate her her tall frame, the hem of her pants stopping just above her ankles. Her shirt is missing buttons and the top curvature of her breast can be seen in the opening. I can't help the instinctive clenching of my jaw when the thoughts of what some of the Nazis think when they see the gaping opening in her top enters my mind.

"Styles, relax. I can't tattoo your arm with your muscles tensed." Jack releases the gun from my arm and waits for me to physically relax.

I close my eyes, inhaling and exhaling, letting go of some of the anger that had risen, "I'm good," I relax my body while my mind still races with thoughts about the woman in the room. I don't know why I'm so curious about her, or why she seems to show up in my dreams and now here. It's like she has a magnetic current surrounding her and no matter how hard I fight off the pull I loose in the end. I open my eyes and glance back to her. Color creeps onto her cheeks when she see I caught her inquisitive stare at me. She fidgets trying to hide her embarrassment but fails miserably, and I can't help the stupid grin that seems to work it's way onto my face.

Eden's POV:

"You're all done, Styles," the tattoo artist holds up a mirror showing Styles' his new tattoo, which now I can see is two hands shaking. More tattoos liter down his toned arms and across his collarbones and chest. My breath catches in my throat when he stands turning his back to me and I see the Styles tattoo going across the massive spanse of his shoulders. He faces me while buttoning his uniform and his eyes never falter as the emerald burns into me.

"Your turn, honey," the tattoo artist looks at me apologetically and pats his hand on the stool. I nod my head and make my way to him, rolling up my sleeve on my right arm. I hesitantly place my arm down on the stand.

"It doesn't hurt," Styles smiles at me and for the first time I see just how perfect his face is. His dimples crease in deep and his full lips curve into a beautiful smile.

"Yeah if anyone should know about tattoos hurting it would be Styles," the artist laughs and I can't help but to chuckle as Styles rolls his eyes.

"Shutup Jack," he takes a seat on the floor next to me and my heart begins to thump harder when his knee rests against my shin.

"Oh don't let them see you get your uniform dirty," Jack teases.

"Fuck this uniform and fuck them, it wasn't my choice to wear it in the first place. Hell, my choice would be to burn it." his shoulders slump forward and he runs his large hands over his face.

"I know, buddy, I was just kidding. I'm forced here just like you are, I hate it," Jack comforts him but his efforts fail.

"Hey," I nudge his knee with my leg and he drops his hands from his face and I can see the sadness clouding his emerald eyes, "I knew you weren't like them as soon as I seen you."

He cocks his head, "How?"

I bring my lip between my teeth and ponder over my answer. The truth is I don't know how I knew exact, I just knew.

"All done," Jack wipes away the last remaining drops of blood.

"That really didn't hurt," I exclaim, examining the numbers forever etched into my skin. "Thank you," I tell Jack while he rubs some tattoo ointment onto my arm.