Get The Girl [h.s] AU

11

It was the next morning and my arms were still handcuffed and my ankles tied. Styles makes sure the front door is locked before he comes towards me with his pocketknife and rips open the tape and unlocks the cuffs. When he's done, he looks up at me with a scowl. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He begins, his eyes burning holes in my direction. "You could've gotten yourself killed."

I get up from the bed and walk towards the kitchen where I sit on the chair. "You pointed a gun at me. I was safer away from you."

"Safer? You almost killing some fucking homeless junkie with a pipe is you being safe?" He shouts. "If anything would've happened to you it all comes back to me! I am here to make sure you are protected—you running off like a fucking psychopath isn't making my fucking job any easier!"

"You see, you say you want me safe, yet you point a gun to my head." I say. "I mean which is it? You want to protect me or you want to kill me?"

He grabs the bridge of his nose and looks away. I stay silent and walk towards the pantry to grab the box of cereal. I then sit back down on the chair and eat my breakfast silently. Styles takes the chair in front of me. "I don't think you realize that this is some serious shit, Valentina. I don't have the fucking time to go around town looking for your dumbass while we've got people after us." He grits and I ignore him. "Are you listening to me?"

"I'm not deaf." I retort, answering his question from last night. He intakes a sharp and annoyed breath.

"You know I could keep you tied up," Styles begins. "If I wanted to I could throw you in the trunk and drive the car off some cliff and get rid of you. Easy. I wouldn't have taken this job if I knew how much of a fucking problem you were going to be."

"But you can't," I taunt him with a faint smirk. "Can you? Because if you kill me, my father will kill you."

Styles leans forward, his eyes glaring at me. "And what makes you think I give a fuck about what happens to me?" He challenges, spitting his words like poison and I knew Styles was one of those people that don't care about their well being. That they'd be better off dead than here.

"If you hate this so much, maybe you shouldn't have fucking murdered Clyde!" I remark. At least Clyde never pointed a fucking gun at me and described to me how he would kill me.

"Clyde?" He mocks. I look at him. "And what makes you think he wasn't going to make profit by selling you off? Trust me, I'm a lot more about getting rid of people than buying them. You should be thankful you're even here."

"You're so full of shit." I spit. "My father clearly instructed him to take me to Greece, all his men have tracking devices so he'd know if something were to come up. And judging by the suspicious activity of Clyde not moving for a whole fucking month, there's no doubt he's caught on."

"You're the daughter of a Mafia leader for crying out loud! You know what they'd pay for someone like you? You're like some gem knowing who you are. Clyde was going to sell you. Human trafficking, drug cartels. He was under false pretenses that we would meet up to exchange assets. Why do you think I killed him?"

"My father would never risk my life." I stand my ground. He would never put me in a situation where he knows I wouldn't be safe. "He trusted Clyde."

"And now look where that trust got you." Styles remarks, his face showing anger and hostility. "You're so blind you can't see the truth, even when it's right under your nose." He stands up, the chair scraping on the floor.

"What are you talking about?" I ask. "My father is going to find me." Without answering, he leaves the kitchen, trying more than likely to escape this conversation with me but I wasn't going to let it go. I needed to know what he knows. "Styles." I say, calling his alias instead of his real name to avoid him getting angry.

When he doesn't stop, I go after him, following him down the hallway that lead to his bedroom. When I grabbed his arm to stop him, he flinched, taking his arm harshly aback. "Don't fucking touch me." He grits but I ignore him.

"Tell me what you know." I demand.

"My job is none of your business, Valentina. Stay out of it." He dismisses and goes inside the room, locking the door behind him with a click. I run a hand through my hair in desperation, not at all wanting to stay here but a bit too traumatized with what happened last night to do it again.

As much as I wanted to keep pestering him, I would much rather be with myself and away from him, so I go back to the kitchen and sit on the chair alone.