Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 45

I couldn't stop the wince that passed over me. "God, you were 14?"

Morgan just shrugged, reaching forward to grab a French fry off of a plate on the table. "Surprisingly wasn't even the worst thing to have happened to me at that age."

"Is there a reason why we're at this specific bar?" I asked, reaching for a fry myself. It tasted like cardboard in my mouth, so I washed it down with another shot of whiskey, the alcohol warming me instantly.

"Zayn brought us here," Morgan popped another fry in her mouth. Followed by a piece of celery. "He dropped us all off and then headed back to help Harry. We haven't heard from either of them since."

"Oh, god." My stomach dropped. I leaned back into the leather of the booth, realizing when a few strands of synthetic hair brushed over my shoulders that I was still wearing my wig. "I'm sorry, fuck. Here I was apparently asking about Harry over and over when you don't even know where Zayn is." I buried my head in my palms. "Shit, you must be terrified–"

Morgan gently grabbed a hold of my wrist, lowering it to my lap. "I'm not," she assured me, ducking her head down until we were at eye level with one another. "They both do this shit all the time. They're probably just packing up our stuff at the hotel and making sure that all of the product is loaded correctly on the jet. It's less of a hassle when the rest of us just hang back somewhere safe and wait for the go-ahead."

"This is normal then?" I attempted to clarify, twirling my now empty glass around on the table. "Not knowing where they are?"

Morgan hesitated before giving me a pinched smile. She slid her nearly full glass in my direction. "They'll come get us soon."

I didn't need to be asked twice before downing the rest of the contents of Morgan's drink. By the time I was slamming the empty glass on the table, Morgan had already flagged down a waiter who was bringing two more. He was in the midst of placing them carefully down in front of each of us when I sullenly muttered, "I think I fucked up. I think Harry's mad at me."

Morgan paused with the glass halfway to her mouth, a shrill-like laugh bubbling from the back of her throat. "What the fuck are you going on about?"

"I don't think I should have attacked Temarran like I did," I shook my head, my voice low. "It feels now like the wrong move. And Harry just seemed so fucking pissed–"

"Yeah," Morgan cut me off, turning her entire body to face me. She dragged her leg up to rest on the booth between us. "I caught that part. You are absolutely fucking insane to believe that." Before I had a chance to interject, she went on, "What you did today was incredible. You handled it perfectly, way better than any of us would have after finding out we'd been fucking set up. Trust me when I say Harry was not mad at you for that. You did what you had to do."

"Right..." I averted my gaze, suddenly finding the ice at the bottom of my glass extremely interesting. "You're right."

Because she was. Harry didn't care what I did. This was a job. And if I told her how I really felt, how he'd stormed off so quickly without saying anything, had refused to even glance back in my direction and that it made me immediately feel like I'd something wrong, then she'd be right in assuming I was insane. Why should it even matter in the first place? It was that stupid part of me that somehow looked for his approval in these situations. That part of me wanted to make up for the stupid shit I'd pulled when I first met him. That was it.

"Temarran," I muttered humourlessly, dragging out the word and turned to look at her. "Stupid fucking name. Sounds like his parents just grabbed a handful of scrabble tiles and threw them on the table."