redemption: harry styles

Chapter Twenty Eight

Oh, but I missed something. Did you catch it? What was it again? Oh yeah. I never said I wanted to stay here. If I had a chance like this, I would escape. I mean, not run away. But if I had the decision to be back at home or here, it will obviously be home.

Creeping up the stairs, I searched for a way out. Maybe there was a backyard exit up here. I've checked downstairs but the door was locked, as usual. So I made my way through the doors, finding at least three bedrooms until I came upon one with a padlock.

It was rusted and looked fragile, and I wondered if I could break it. I decided against it before stupidity possessed me and trudged back into the hallway. Then stopped.

Why would Harry lock that up? Would there be a way out? That seems weird. Maybe I should check it out?

I shook my head softly and padded back downstairs.

Once I made my way back downstairs, I thought I heard footsteps and froze mid-step. There it was. Tap, tap, tap, tap...My eyebrows drew together and I pursed my lips. Slowly turning my body around, I caught sight of a shadow outside the house. It seemed to see me, too, for it turned and hid itself behind the wall, beside the door where I couldn't see. My breath got caught in my throat and I immediately turned the lights off and lunged to the side.

Crap, crap, crap, crap.

That was not Harry, It was tall but it looked more muscular in a way. Just as intimidating but larger. And I thought I caught sight of tousled hair, thrown up into a quiff.

I held my breath and listened. If I wasn't mistaken, I heard another couple footsteps before it ended.

I counted 30 seconds. A minute. A minute and a half. Two. I counted until I reached four minutes and twenty eight seconds before slithering back into the living room. My breathing was ragged and I felt as if I should drink a cup of water. My tongue did little to wet my lips and I really needed a drink.

I ignored the thirst within and took a step to the door. And another.

Before I heard a boom and the door burst open and someone entered. I took a step back as Harry stood before me, looking nothing like himself. His glazing eyes were bloodshot and he had sweat running down his forehead, his hair soaked. On his arms, blood slid down his biceps and scratches and bruises scattered his skin. He stumbled inside, sniffing.

"Christ." his voice was never this raspy and dry, and that one word showed me that he was drunk. Harry's arm reached to swipe the beads of sweat off his forehead while the other shoved the door closed. Only then did Harry finally notice me here.

"Oh, God." I murmured, taking a frighteningly close step towards him. "Wha-what the hell happened to you?"

Before Harry could part his lips to speak, the door was flung open once again, and Liam stepped inside. In his hand, he had a silver pistol, fully loaded. I gasped and his eyes caught mine. He immediately shoved it into the back of his jean's pocket. "Evelyn," he hissed under his breath, pressing a hand on Harry's back. "Go upstairs. Now."

"But, what happened?"

"I'll explain everything later. Just go into Harry's room." Liam nodded to the staircase, and I shared one last look with Harry--who had his eyes closed and had his hands on his knees--and ran up the stairs. Once I reached the top, I bolted into Harry's room and closed the door.

What the hell was going on?

-

My voice was muffled by the tape sprawled across my lips. Harry's eyes burned into mine in a harsh glare. "Shut up," he hissed between his clenched teeth, "we almost lost them." I attempted to call for help but nothing came up. My mouth and tongue were as dry as a desert and my throat was clenched up, my stomach in knots. His long fingers rushed to tie a fourth knot around my wrists, cursing under his breath. And suddenly, everything changed, and I was now lying above the covers of a large bed. The rope around my wrists faded and turned into handcuffs. The tape on my mouth tightened into a cloth, and the clothing concealing my body disappeared. Harry's body above mine, glistening with sweat, a muscle working on his defined jaw: hands either grabbing my body or fisting the covers--panting, breathing and nuzzling his face in my neck, pushing his hips forward.