Blacklist [h.s]

eighteen

hi pals, thank you so much for all the votes and the reads and the comments. . I actually never thought it would blow up like this. youre all amazing.

enjoy this chapter, some secrets are revealed xo

Grace

A part of me is fuming at his childish nonsense in this situation that he's put me in, but another part of my cant help but laugh at the way he is. He's so smooth and calm about everything. So wise and manipulative with his words. He can convince anyone to do anything for him. I wonder if that's why I'm here. I stand there for a moment in the middle of a crowded bar with a Philly tourist hoodie on that's 4 times to big for my body (that may be an exaggeration). This is my life now. Running away from cops and sitting in grummy bars.

There's an older man sitting in the booth next to him, smoking a cigar. I slide into the worn out leather cushions and fold my hands on the table. My calves are aching from the walk. "Why did you do that?" I ask him calmly.

"That way you'll always know how to find me, Gracey," he mumbles, he pulls what looks like a joint from his pocket and I furrow my eyebrows. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Relax Gracey, It's a spliff." He says with the white paper between his lips. He cups his hand around the end of it and proceeds to light it.

"This is Crew. He's going to take us where we need to go," he says.

I watch as Harry breathes in, causing the orange flame to glow bright and then dim. He puts down the lighter and pulls the joint from between his lips (plump, might I add, not that I was looking or anything, but I just noticed). This isn't the Harry that walked into the FBI field office months ago and demanded he speak with me. This Harry is rude and careless, not meticulous. Or maybe meticulous. How did he know I would find him here? That Harry would never be sitting in this grimy bar, he'd be at a five star hotel, drinking wine or scotch or something.

Or maybe I didn't really know that Harry. Maybe I don't know him at all. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves

Harry holds the joint out to me, the smoke wafting in my face as he brings his fingers closer to my lips. He raises his eyebrows, lips taunt. I shake my head no and wave my hand through the smoke to disperse it.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

He shrugs, "Go ahead."

"How do you know me?"

He takes another hit from his "spliff," this one a little harder. He coughs quietly and blows the smoke out. He hands the joint to the man sitting next to him.

"You aren't ready to hear that yet, Grace."

"Then when? That's all you keep saying. I'm not ready to hear this or that. I don't have a place to sleep at night or anywhere to go and you want to tell me that I am not ready to hear that yet?" I ask, folding my arms across the top of the table. I pull them away when I feel something sticky pull at my sleeves.

"We get out of the states, and I'll tell you the second we land, love."

Harry takes one last puff from the joint that his friend gave him and puts it out in an ash tray on the table. He stands up and holds out his hand to me. I look at it unamused and stand up.

Harry was so hot and cold that it irritated me. One minute he's growling at me to shut up and the next he's calling me love and being nice. I can't take it anymore. I didn't do anything to deserve him treating me the way he is.

We pass by a cloud of smoke coming from another table and enter the kitchen through a pair of silver double doors. Someone hands Harry a pair of folded clothes, another person hands me a pair and they motion for us to follow them.