Killer Kisses // h.s au

six. Confrontations

Confrontations 

Erratic shouts from downstairs managed to rip me from my sleep. A loud thud caused me to scramble out of the bed, the sheets tangling ruthlessly around my limbs in the process. Eventually, I managed to stumble out and silently creep downstairs. My bare feet padded against the carpet and I peeked through the railings of the stairs. Harry had a man pinned against the wall by his throat. The man lacked any definition or muscle, his body almost piteously lanky. Greasy, ginger hair dripped into his sunken eyes and I didn't fail to notice the red injection dots scattered across his inner arms. His whole appearance simply radiated filth.

He seemed terrified at Harry's power as he managed to lift him off the ground. Harry's expression was furious, eyes blazing and jaw tensing. If I hadn't experienced the soft side of him yesterday, I would have feared him too.

A gasp had to be swallowed down my throat when Harry's other fist raised and slammed into the side of the man's narrow face. A trail of blood descended from the corner of his mouth and he let out a guttural moan of pain.

"I warned you," Harry snarled, "I warned you countless times to have me supplied. I expect to get my fucking money's worth." Another vicious blow to the face. He effortlessly flung the man to the floor, a cringe-worthy crack eliciting from his spine due to the impact. Just when I thought Harry had finished his brutal assault, his foot flew forward, the tip of his boot pelting into the man's untoned stomach.

"Fucking scum," he sneered, spitting on the man's cheek as he cowered into a ball, "Get out of my sight. You make me sick."

The man didn't hesitate to stumble to his feet, staggering out of the door in the blink of an eye. Harry sighed loudly, still unaware of my presence. He ran his fingers through his untamed hair, lifting his head to the ceiling. In the process, his eye line seemed to have caught sight of me as his gaze met mine.

"Uh, hey," I greeted awkwardly, trudging down the stairs.

"How long have you been there?" he questioned. There was no trace of malice in his voice as he sauntered carelessly into the kitchen.

"Long enough," I responded vaguely. He seemed to understand what I meant. I had witnessed his attack. 

He proceeded to turn his back to me and casually poured himself a glass of orange juice, bringing the rim of the glass to his thick lips. I watched on, captivated, discovering my mind to wander to what it would be like to feel his mouth on my neck, moving lower and lower until it was directly above my–

"Well?" Harry urged. It was only then I realised his attention had returned to me as he leaned back on the counter.

"Huh? What?" I snapped out of my daze, blinking rapidly. 

He chuckled lowly before leaning further back onto the counter, lifting the glass to his lips once more. His eyes remained fixated on me. "I said I didn't know you had a tat," he repeated, nodding his head in the direction of my exposed leg. I instinctively began shuffling my feet as I felt his stare burning into my flesh. "Let me take a look." 

We both synchronously perched onto the chairs and he lifted my left leg, placing it on his lap. He was seemingly unfazed by the startled expression I was sending him due to the intimate contact.

I had a leg sleeve tattoo ascending from my ankle to my knee. It was still unfinished, although not to the extent that it was noticeable. Harry seemed fascinated by it, which was a breath of fresh air to the usual scowls of disapproval I usually receive from guys. They never bothered me though, since my life didn't revolve around the approval of others. But it was still nice to feel appreciated every now and then.