BLACKHOUSE [H.S.]

Thirty-Six

I shift uncomfortably in the back seat of the strange SUV that Harry and I have found ourselves in. The two men in the front seats haven't said a word since we got in the car. The silence is thick with confusion, and maybe a little bit of fear.

"Where are you taking us?" Harry asks, his right hand sliding over to my inner thigh to pull me closer to him.

The gesture is comforting, but not enough to ease the anxiety coursing through my veins.

"You'll find out when we get there," the driver says roughly, his voice low and monotoned.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Harry scoffs, shaking his head.

I pick anxiously at my cuticles, my mind racing with all of the possibilities of where we could be going. With the mess we've gotten ourselves into, it could literally be anywhere. We still don't even know who these guys are.

Harry originally told them no when they ordered us to get in the car, but the second the driver pulled out his pistol, we knew we had no other choice.

"A- Are you guys with Charles?" I ask meekly.

I notice Harry out of my peripheral vision, looking at me with wide eyes. He told me when we were walking to the car to not say anything, but I'm a part of this too. I feel like I've earned the right to ask questions.

The two men exchange looks before the driver stares at me through the rear view mirror. "Yes," he responds, flicking his eyes back to the road.

Oddly enough, the information calms my nerves. At least now I have an idea of who we're with.

The car falls silent, and all I can hear is my own heart thumping loudly in my ears as Harry laces his fingers with mine, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. I turn my head to see him staring at me, with an expression on his face that I can't read. When my eyes meet his, the corners of his lips turn upwards to give me a small, reassuring smile before he brings my hand up to place a soft kiss on my knuckles.

I feel my cheeks flush, the gesture triggering a fit of butterflies low in my stomach. Even in a fucked up situation like this, he still manages to make me feel good.

I'll never understand how he does it.

Harry strokes my hand with his thumb for the rest of the silent ride, and I watch as we pull up to what looks like a nightclub. A huge sign that reads 'The Red Room' in red, glowing letters hangs above the entrance, where groups of people are filtering in and out. I furrow my brows as the car comes to a stop right in front of the doors.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, looking at the two men.

They say nothing as the car doors unlock. When Harry and I hesitate, the driver finally speaks up. "Get out," he orders harshly.

I sigh heavily as I open the door, and slide outside.

"Asshole," Harry spits before he slams the door behind him.