Vice [h.s]

Three

Harry's POV

The walls of the club pound in correspondence to the beat of the music. I grab the glass of scotch sitting on the bar next to me and down it, feeling the burn in my throat. I'm here to let go, I've had a lot on my mind over the past 48 hours.

My eyes divert between each woman on stage, dressed in either skimpy lingerie or nothing at all. The bodies of these women are everything I should want, everything I should desire, but each share the face of one. The one face that has been imprinted on my mind for the past six months is even ruining my ability to lust after another woman. I tried with Natalie, more than once in fact, and still it was not enough to prevent the longing of having Tatum underneath me instead.

This game is becoming risky.

My phone rings in my pocket and I ignore the buzzing feeling in the front of my jeans, finishing off my glass of scotch and raising a hand towards the bartender, motioning for another drink. After a few seconds it rings again, causing me to sigh and lean backwards, pulling the device out of my pocket.

"What?" I answer, not bothering to check the number because I already know who it is.

"You're treading deep waters, Styles."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?" I ask, annoyed at the person on the other line.

"I think you know exactly what I mean."

"Okay and what about it?" The tone of my voice grows in irritation.

"You do realize we have other means of completing this task if you aren't willing to comply."

The bartender slides my drink towards me on the bar and I nod in approval.

"And make this even more messy? You wouldn't want to do that."

"Then you to do your fucking job. Right now, your job is to lay low."

"What's the point in that if I'm already treading deep waters?" I question, looking for a loop hole.

"Just do your job before we have somebody else do it for you." The person on the other end of the line hisses, hanging up abruptly.

I pull the phone away from my ear and shove it back into my pocket, grabbing the drink I ordered previously and downing it, irritation coursing through my body.

Whatever, why do I give a fuck anyways? It's not like I have any feelings towards Tatum. I just need to fuck her out of my system.

My eyes lock with the nearest topless whore standing at the end of the bar, her eyes very obviously undressing me, a flirtatious look to her smile. I hold her gaze for a moment and then look away, focusing my attention on behind the bar. After another moment, my eyes meet hers again, and she begins to make her way towards me.

She will do... for now.

Tatum's POV

I walk down my floor towards the door of my apartment, carrying a few bags of groceries. It's been about a week since my meeting with Brandon. I haven't heard back from him about another meeting so I am assuming this is going to be a very long, spread out process. Which, I think is fine, because I need to do this for Derek, but I just wish I wasn't the only one trying to find out answers.

His family has seemed to lay this case to rest, along with Derek, which is simultaneously understandable and frustrating. It would be easier if I had just one other person who knew Derek, loved him, was in his inner circle and wanted to know what happened to him. Niall was his best friend so of course he cares and wants to know, but I think this is just so difficult for him. Niall has always been more standoffish and opposed to any involvement in anxiety-ridden scenarios, so I can understand why he isn't playing a bigger part in this. While we have been there for each other through this and have checked on each other, we have yet to really discuss any details of what happened.