Chapter 12
Harry was fucking fast.
I wasn't sure if it was his long-ass legs or if he was intentionally sprinting to get away from me, but I found myself nearly running to catch up to him as he trekked his way to the parking lot.
"Can you hold on," I stammered, bracing my hands on my thighs and bending down to take a breath as we finally arrived in front of his car. "Jesus, you pace yourself like a maniac."
My legs felt heavy. My entire body felt heavy. Harry was looking at me strangely when I finally straightened back up. His expression morphed from confusion to anger in a matter of seconds.
"Christ," he leaned in, his nose scrunching in distaste. "What – are you fucking high? Did Morgan fucking get you high?"
I squinted at him, furrowing my brows. My hand suddenly materialized beside my head as I pinched my thumb and forefinger together.
"Little bit," I giggled, biting down hard on my lip. "I'm a little bit high."
That was a lie. The world felt... fuzzy. Things seemed vibrant. And I felt great. Even knowing I was standing in front of a mass murderer, I felt completely fine. What was the worst thing he could do? Kill me?
"What do you think happens after you die?" I blurted, gazing pensively up at the sky.
I was thrown off balance as Harry suddenly latched a hand around my arm. He tugged me forward, throwing the passenger side door of his car open.
"Get in," he said flatly.
"You know," I crossed my arms over my chest, planting my feet on the pavement, "I get that you kill people and all, but would it kill you to have some fucking manners?"
A muscle in Harry's jaw feathered. I could have sworn his eye twitched.
"I'm gonna fucking murder Morgan," he muttered, voice low. "Get in the car, River. I'm not in the mood for this."
"Fine," I threw my hands up in mock defence, sliding into his passenger seat. His fingers closed tightly around the handle as he slammed the door shut. I slumped back against the seat with an irritated sigh, muttering to myself, "He shouldn't be allowed to make murdering jokes when he's an actual murderer."
The leather on his seats was a lot more interesting tonight than it had ever been. It felt smooth. Soft to the touch. It was like butter. I wondered vaguely if that was possible. If there was actually a way to make leather from butter–
"What are you doing?"
I glanced over at Harry, who had somehow slipped in without me noticing. He was watching me. My hand paused from where it was stroking the seat of the car and I brought it to rest in my lap.
"Nothing," I shrugged. "What are you doing?"
"Taking you the fuck home."
Fair enough. I leaned my head back against the headrest, pursing my lips. It was hot in his car. Weirdly, uncomfortably hot. Harry was busy starting the engine as I leaned forward and extended my hand toward the dial for the AC.
"River," Harry's hand had closed around my wrist. "Enough. Don't touch anything." He dropped my hand back in my lap.
"It's hot," I whined, shifting a bit in my seat. "Do you not find it hot in here?"
Harry's nostrils flared as he angrily spun the dial, increasing the AC. "There," he grumbled, "Happy now? Not gonna go touching shit while I'm driving?"
I just stared at him in response. His face was beautiful, really. An array of deep, chocolate curls, sparkling emerald eyes, and soft skin. It was a shame he was so mean and scary. I wondered briefly if his skin was as soft as the seats. If it, too, felt like butter. Part of me wanted to reach out and see, but Harry suddenly jerked backward and began to reverse out of the parking lot.
The blood was still on his face, I noticed. From earlier when he'd been punched at the warehouse. My mind flashed to Damien, his words, how he said he could use me. It made my skin crawl. High or not, the notion still unnerved me.
"You sell drugs," I said bluntly as we pulled out onto the road. "Morgan said you're in the mafia?"
Harry's head whirled in my direction. His eyes were wide, illuminated in the light pouring in from the street. "She said what? Why the fuck did she say that? I'm not in the fucking mafia–"
He was still spewing as I tipped my head back, mouth falling open with a laugh. My eyes fluttered shut and I waved my hand to the side, clutching my stomach. "Re-lax," I mocked his tone, letting out a small snort. "I'm just fucking kidding."
When I opened one eye to peek back at Harry, he looked livid. I couldn't help but let out another uncontrollable giggle, the sight of it apparently the most hilarious thing I'd seen in a while according to my incessant laughter.
"This isn't funny, River," Harry growled. We'd pulled up to a stoplight and he was shifting in his seat to reach into his back pocket.
"Harry," I mumbled, the word feeling heavy on my tongue. I turned to look at him, my eyes darting down to the cigarette he'd just pulled out. "You know you do that a lot."
"Smoke?" he asked, his expression the picture of irritation.
"Say my name," I clarified. "River. You always say it like you're angry."
"I am angry."
I was still staring at him. He didn't glance in my direction as I asked, "At me? You're always angry at me?"
His eyes slid briefly to mine, before turning back to the road. Smoke curled over his lips as he exhaled. "Not always," he admitted quietly. "Just... this fucking situation."
"Does Damien want me for your drug thingy?" I asked idly. My hand gravitated over to the vent at the side of the car, my fingers flexing in front of the cold air blowing from it.
Harry didn't respond. I huffed a sigh, leaning back in the seat, glaring at him. "You're really the worst person to have a conversation with, you know."
"I'd rather talk to you when you're sober," Harry ground out. Ash from his cigarette peppered away, dropping onto his lap. For some reason, I instinctively reached my hand out to catch it. Harry jerked backwards, grabbing my wrist and nearly swerved the car into the other lane as he spun his head toward me. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"You're letting that shit drop all over your car! And your pants!" I tried to reason, struggling beneath his grip. Christ, he was strong. And his hands were really warm.
Harry aggressively furrowed his brows, glancing between me and the road. "You're going to fuckin' burn yourself, Jesus." He gently shoved my arm back to the other side of the console, blowing out an irritated breath. "What the fuck did you smoke? Do you always act like this when you're high?"
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, studying him under an amused gaze. I wanted to tell him that I actually felt a lot different than I normally did when I was high but didn't want to risk him freaking out even more. I figured Morgan just gave me a stronger strain of the shit I usually smoked. They ran a drug cartel after all... I wouldn't be surprised.
The cigarette beneath Harry's teeth was wearing thin. I continued to watch him carefully as he cracked the window open, throwing the butt outside, before promptly reaching for another one.
My eyes narrowed at the sight of it. "Can I ask you something?"
"No."
"Is smoking, like, your identity or something?" My head felt a bit like it was floating. I tilted it to the side as I added, "You do it a lot. Also, which came first? The tattooing, the hitman shit, or the drug cartel?" I furrowed my brows. "Seems like a funny coincidence that you guys use the tattoo parlour as a front, but you actually know how to tattoo–"
"Hitman shit?" Harry glanced at me. "What the fuck did Morgan tell you?"
"Said you were a hitman. Like those dudes in the alley," I shrugged, cursing myself internally as another unbidden giggle bubbled in my throat. "Sorry," I mumbled in between my fit of laughter. "It's just... that sounds so funny. Hitman. Like it's from the movies or something. I think I just prefer the term murderer–"
"I didn't do that shit," Harry spoke through gritted teeth. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the wheel. "Fuckin' Christ, Morgan."
Just like that, the giggles were suddenly gone. Again, I furrowed my brows. "Didn't... do what shit?"
"We're almost at your place," he answered abruptly.
"I'm shocked," I replied, slightly sarcastically, as I glanced out the window. Sure enough, Harry was pulling into my apartment complex parking lot. "Thought you'd definitely kidnap me again and take me to yours."
A brief pause on Harry's end in which he looked ready to rip my head off before he calmly answered, "Your place has surveillance on it now."
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. Even with both the joints, it wasn't enough to calm me down at this particular bit of news. "What? What do you mean surveillance?"
"I mean," Harry said tightly, pulling into a parking spot and parking the car, "that we installed cameras."
"Dude, no," I violently shook my head. "What the fuck, that's a huge invasion of privacy. Cameras in my apartment are where I draw the line–"
"Relax," Harry drawled, glancing over at me with a small smirk, obviously delighting in the fact that he was the one riling me up now. "They're not in your apartment, they're out in the hallway." He angled his head to the side. "Though if they were in your apartment, you'd have to just be a good girl and take it. This is so you don't fucking die after all."
He barely gave me the chance to process his words before he hopped out of the car, leaving me to stumble after him on leaden legs. I definitely should not have smoked tonight. Harry was hard enough to keep up with as is.
"I'm the one with the fucking key, asshole," I muttered as we entered the building.
Harry glanced over at me again, that same stupid smirk still plastered on his face. He reached into his pocket, pulling something out and dangling it in front of me as we mounted the stairs. "This key?"
My eyes widened. I froze, tearing my gaze away, and began to violently reef through my purse only to pull out–
"What the fuck?" I muttered, holding my own key up in front of me. Harry was already at the top of the stairs. He hadn't even looked back. I ran after him, mounting the stairs in record time, despite the fact that I still couldn't totally feel my feet. "Where did you get that?" I hissed, watching in horror as he promptly used it to unlock my door.
Harry just rolled his eyes. "How do you think I got in in the first place?"
"I don't know," I said, slightly erratically, "Figured you picked the locks or some shit!"
The first thing that we were greeted with as Harry swung the door open was a happy looking Meatloaf, who came padding over to the two of us. She mewed loudly, circling at Harry's feet, nuzzling up against his pant legs.
"Ugh, fuck," Harry hissed, lifting his feet. "Get this ugly thing away from me."
I crouched down, scooping her into my arms. "Meatloaf, no." I hissed, hurriedly walking her into my bedroom. "No fraternizing with the enemy! No matter how much wet food he gives you!" She only continued to meow loudly as I set her down on the bed and hurried to close the door before she could escape.
When I came back out, Harry was setting things down on the counter. He didn't even look up at me as I walked over.
"How did you get a key?" I repeated.
Once again, I was ignored. I tentatively took a few steps forward, taking a peek at what Harry was currently doing, when he suddenly shrugged his jacket off and threw it over all of the–
"Are those... what are those? Documents?" I squinted at the items he had laid out or had been laying out until he'd covered them with his jacket. I skeptically glanced up at him. "Don't tell me you're doing weird illegal shit in my apartment now, too."
I groaned, feeling a headache coming on. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I squeezed my eyes shut and took a few lazy steps back toward the couch, figuring that if he'd hidden whatever he was doing from me, I wasn't going to get anywhere with prying. It would only make him even angrier.
Though I was surprised when I opened my eyes back up, nearly stumbling backwards, to see Harry in front of me.
"Eat," he said gruffly. I looked down at his outstretched hands to see he'd made me a plate of food and got me some water. For a few seconds, I just stared at it all, shifting back and forth on my feet until he tipped his head back, blowing out an irritated breath through his nose. "Jesus, River, I got the food from your fuckin' fridge. I didn't poison it."
"Food you bought," I grumbled, grabbing the items hesitantly from him.
"You need to eat," he repeated. "I have to show you a few things and you need to be as sober as possible when I do. Plus, you didn't eat anything when you came home from work, meaning I doubt you ate anything the whole day."
I rolled my eyes, reluctantly taking a seat on the couch and poking around at the food on the plate. "What, did your security cameras or men that you have stalking me tell you that as well?"
Harry just let out another irritated breath, stalking back over to the counter. He continued to busy himself there, while I hung back and studied him. He was lucky that I tended to get hungry when I was high. It wasn't until I'd taken the first bite of food that I realized I actually was starving and ended up finishing the whole thing in under five minutes.
I was on my way back to the fridge to get more food when Harry suddenly hooked a hand around my arm, guiding me in the opposite direction.
"Come here," he grumbled, "You can eat more in a few minutes."
This time, I didn't put up too much of a fight as I let him tug me over toward the counter and stopped me in front of the documents he had laid out. Mainly because I was curious and eager to get him out as soon as possible – that full fridge that he'd shown me earlier suddenly becoming a hundred times more appealing.
But my appetite took a sudden turn south as I finally caught a full glimpse of what he'd brought into my apartment.
"Harry, what the fuck is this?" My mouth parted as I ran a hand over the documents in front of me. A birth certificate, a driver's license, a citizenship I.D., a health card, a fucking passport. All with my face on them. And the name Ava Williams. I whirled around to face him. "Where did you get these?"
"You need to have these with you wherever you go, okay?" He ignored my question. "And bring them when you go to the dinner next Friday."
I turned in a half-circle, grabbing the passport from the counter and holding it in front of him. "Where the fuck did you get this? That's my actual passport photo."
He just frowned, lifting his hand up to run his thumb over the small, miniature picture of my face. "Not a very great one, either. Were you high then too?"
"Fuck you," I muttered, slamming the passport shut. "You're crazy."
"Maybe," he shrugged. "I'm just glad you're being less crazy. Has anyone told you that you're fucking touchy when you're high?"
"I don't want to go to the dinner next Friday." I crossed my arms over my chest, taking a deep breath as I turned again to look at all of the documents. "Not if it means all of–" I waved my hand toward everything with my face plastered on it, "–this."
I knew exactly what Harry was going to say. I knew exactly how he was going to react. And maybe it was the small remains of the weed still fueling my system that made me want to get a rise out of him anyway.
"You have to," he said through gritted teeth. "You know this."
"I'm going to forget who I am."
Harry's eyes flashed with rage. Maybe a little annoyance as well. "No, you fucking won't."
It sounded more like an order than any sort of reassurance. I rolled my eyes. "What can I expect from this thing anyway? Is it an actual dinner or just, like, a drug exchange? Am I going to be able to eat or should I be worried that everything will be laced?"
The look that I got from Harry almost did make me falter a bit in my words.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He shook his head. "Do you have any actual knowledge of this stuff or are you just basing everything off of movies you've seen?"
My mouth parted with an incredulous huff. "Do I have any actual knowledge?" I nodded dramatically, "Oh, yes. Certainly. Actually, my next-door neighbour runs a drug cartel. All of my friends too! They love taking people to warehouses and beating the absolute fucking shit out of them–"
"River," Harry hissed. He ran a hand over his face. "Fucking shut up, will you?"
"Not if you're going to keep being a dick–"
"I wouldn't be a dick if you just took this shit fucking seriously–"
"I am!" I balled my hands into fists. "Or I'm trying to, at least! It's hard when I barely know anything and the shit that I do know is fucking terrifying. This stuff doesn't happen to me every day, you know. It takes a little bit for me to process."
Harry's chest was heaving. His eyes passed over my face and he looked ready to open his mouth and shout at me again, but then something made him decide against it. Instead, he tipped his head to the ceiling and sucked in a steadying breath.
"Fine," he muttered, "You're right."
I raised a skeptical brow. "I'm... right?"
He still looked annoyed as he said, "I get that this is a lot. But you can't fuck around with any of this stuff." Before I could answer, he reached into his pocket to retrieve something else. He held it out to me. "It's a masquerade Friday. It isn't black tie, but it's semi-formal. So just buy a casual dress and a mask."
I shrunk back at the item he had outstretched in my direction. A black credit card tucked between his two fingers.
"I have a dress already," I muttered, "and it'll be, like, 2 dollars for a mask. You can keep your credit card, psycho."
"It isn't mine," he said gruffly. "It's yours."
My eyes widened. I immediately shot my gaze to the other side of the room toward my purse, taking a few steps forward to hurry after it, when Harry stepped in my path to stop me.
"What the hell!" I cried out, shoving him lightly to get out of the way. "How the fuck did you get my credit card?"
"It's not your fucking credit card," his words were thick with irritation. "It's Ava's. Ava Williams."
Again, my mouth fell open. "You fucking stole the card of the girl you fucked?"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, bracing his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "Fuckin' hell, River," his eyes landed on mine as they flew back open, annoyance sparkling brightly within them. "It's not the credit card of the girl I fucked. It's a new account. Opened for your Ava Williams persona."
The two of us were silent for a few moments. I let the words ponder in my mind, tried to rationalize a situation in which this wasn't completely insane. I came up short. All of it seemed crazy and all of it seemed absolutely, fucking illegal.
I tentatively took the card from him, running my finger over the engraved lettering on the front. Sure enough, Ava Williams was on there in bright, silver print. How he'd gotten it this quickly, I wasn't sure. And I didn't dare ask. I knew it was probably along the same fashion that he obtained a key to my apartment and my fucking passport photo.
Harry was still looking at me as I finally glanced up at him.
"Fine," I grumbled, throwing the card onto the table with the rest of my fake identity. "I'll use it to buy a mask. And then I'll give it back."
Harry just rolled his eyes. "It's yours. Keep it. Use it to buy some fucking groceries, why don't you."
"I'm returning it," I repeated, but doubt Harry had even heard me. He'd already grabbed his jacket from the counter and was in the middle of pulling it on as I spoke. His eyes didn't meet mine until I cleared my throat. "Is this, er, is this thing on Friday... is that one of the events?"
"Morgan told you about those too?" Harry, surprisingly, looked a little on edge.
"No," I shook my head. "You said it the first night that I ran into you. That you hadn't brought me to an event yet. So, I was just wondering if this dinner was–"
"No." Harry's answer was immediate. "That's not where we're going on Friday."
I looked away from him, nodding slowly. "Okay."
It was a surprise when he spoke again, considering he normally liked to extinguish any form of conversation however he could. "You don't want to go to one of those, River." His voice was calm. That same sort of lethal calmness he'd inhibited earlier when we'd been at the warehouse. But it was also... somewhat reassuring? The same tone he'd used when I was getting my tattoo.
He cleared his throat briefly before continuing, "I don't want to have to take you to one of those fucking things." Somehow, he'd managed to make his way in front of me again. I hadn't realized until his feet came into view. He braced his forefinger under my jaw, lifting my gaze to his. "Look at me. I'll be back next week to talk to you about what to expect on Friday and how to act, okay? If you're good, docile, and don't make a scene, Damien might take pity on you. He'll most likely forget he ever asked you to do anything."
A sudden spark of hope bloomed in my chest. "Are you serious?" I asked, my tone resembling more of a plea than a question. "And things can go back to normal?"
Harry's hand dropped from my chin. His eyes clouded with something I couldn't read. "We'll have to see, won't we?"
Definitely not the answer I wanted, but it was better than nothing. I nodded weakly, feeling my head start to spin and wishing that I hadn't smoked tonight. All I wanted to do now was crawl into bed and sleep until this whole nightmare went the fuck away.
"You're fine, River," Harry muttered. He was in the doorway now, foot braced in front of the door to hold it open. He was in the middle of lighting the cigarette he'd placed between his teeth. A cloud of smoke poured from the corners of his mouth as his eyes met mine. "Just try not to get into any fuckin' trouble. Lock this behind me, yeah?"
And as the door slammed shut in Harry's wake, I suddenly found myself feeling the least fine that I'd ever fucking been.