Chapter 28
"What the fuck did I just witness?"
I whirled around to face Raven, whose expression was frozen between amusement and astonishment. She was glancing between Harry's car and I, the familiar hum of his engine echoing down the road as he sped off.
"I..." Harry's sudden act had me at a loss for words. I glanced to where his car had been parked a moment before, shaking my head. "I have no fucking idea."
With another look around the deserted, morning street, I realized that, in Harry's absence, another black SUV was likely to pull up momentarily to take his place considering I didn't get even a second of peace in this lovely situation that I was currently caught up in. I took a small chew of the gum in my mouth, my lips still feeling a bit numb and winced once before spitting it out onto the street and spinning on my heel in the direction of the studio.
"Jesus, Riv," Raven jogged to match my pace, reaching forward to pull the scarf off from around my neck. "Did he do this?"
"They're hickeys," I clarified, looking over my shoulder at her and felt heat rise onto my cheeks. Shoving my hand into my purse, I withdrew the studio keys and shoved them into the front door.
"I know that," she scoffed, bracing her arm above her head on the wall to look down at me. The very action made me feel small, and I had an urge to shrink back, suddenly embarrassed at having been caught. "Doesn't explain his bruises though," she muttered under breath.
Once again, her energy had shifted into that wary, apprehensive protectiveness that she'd harbored before Harry just about mauled me in front of her. Like a predator assessing her competition, doing whatever was needed to protect the weaker link. Except I wasn't her weaker link. Nor was I Harry's.
I was strong all on my own and didn't need this protection.
"How was Loaf?" I asked instead, pushing the front door open. The bell above our heads jangled and I dropped both my purse and scarf onto the front desk beside us.
"She misses you," Raven grinned, letting the door fall shut behind her. She took a few steps forward, glancing slowly around the studio. "I gave her a bath for you."
"You did?" I laughed, circling around the desk to pop the monitor on. The screen hummed to life.
It was a running joke among our friend group that Meatloaf was essentially my child. That she needed the same kind of maintenance as a toddler, considering her skin was hard for her to groom on her own and needed to be hand washed once a week in order to clear her of the oils she'd accumulated.
The first time I told everyone I'd adopted Meatloaf, they were all disgusted. Even more so when I started having to leave our plans early in order to go home and give her a bath. Slowly though, everyone started coming around to the idea and eventually bath nights became almost a small routine for us all – with all of the girls gathering in my apartment weekly to give Meatloaf her fair share of loving and affection during her grumpy few minutes in the tub.
"Angel came," Raven braced her arms on the counter across from me. "The little beast was hesitant at first because, you know, she hates me–"
"She does not."
"–but eventually we got her in the tub and an hour later she was asleep in my lap wearing her tiny coat. It's fucking freezing in your place, you know that right?" Raven raised a brow. "Also when the fuck did you get all those extra locks? Place is like Fort Knox now."
My heart skipped a beat at her words and I instinctively reached out to place my hand flat over my purse, hoping I'd taken all of my incriminating, stolen identity documents with me and not left them laying out on the counter for her and Angel to see.
"Yeah," I reached up to rub the back of my neck, keeping my gaze glued to the computer rather than have to look her in the eye. "The landlord just said there's been an increase in break-ins lately so... I figured," I shrugged, "might as well."
I added that to the mental list of lies I'd now have to keep up with, the name tag that I'd had made with the name Ava suddenly burning hot in my back pocket. I reached in, making sure it was still there only to feel something else as well. A few things.
Furrowing my brows, I pulled out my car keys, wondering when I'd put them in there and then pulled out the other thing that had somehow materialized as well. A folded-up piece of paper. I placed the keys on the counter, unfolding the slip of paper with a small groan.
"What's that?" Raven's interest had suddenly piqued, probably noting the expression on my face. She'd abandoned whatever she'd been talking about a moment earlier, something I hadn't even heard thanks to the distraction at hand.
"A check," I muttered, folding it back up and wrenched open the top drawer of desk, placing it inside before she could get a better look. "Just for a client looking to buy a few paintings."
That client being a certain Harry Styles, who's motives apparently never went without intent. He'd managed to slip both my keys and the check into my back pocket earlier during his lovely little display on the street. I instinctively bit my lip, feeling the phantom tingle of his mouth on mine, and had to physically shake my head in order to gather my thoughts.
Bastard. I told him I didn't want the guilt money, yet here he went again – never listening to anything I said.
When I looked back up at Raven, having realized that I'd zoned out for a split second, she was attempting to shove her phone toward my face.
"What are you doing?" I swatted her arm away, ducking backward.
"Trying to take pictures of your neck, you dick!" She laughed. "I want Angel to have photographic proof that you're actually getting railed now."
"You're an asshole," I was grinning, laughing along with her, only for my expression to sober a split second later when I realized the extent of the situation. "Seriously though," I brought my hand up to cover my neck. "No pictures." When Raven seemed reluctant to relent, I jutted out my bottom lip in a small pout. "Please? I just... I don't really want everyone knowing about this."
Raven's hand faltered midair. She swallowed hard, her eyes flickering, before nodding and pocketing her phone. For a few seconds it seemed like she was debating on what to say, finally settling on, "How... I mean, how did this even happen? He was a dick to you when you got your tattoo."
"He's still a dick," was my instinctive response, the words only causing my face to heat further. Because why on earth would River, the girl who's always advocated for being with someone nice to you, willingly choose to have sex with a terrible, misogynistic, dick-ish man? Raven's expression told me she couldn't really understand it either.
Her tattoos flexed as she leaned even further forward on the counter, letting her arms drop off the edges to grab hold of my forearms. "Is he enough of a dick that I should be concerned?" She asked softly and suddenly reached into her back pocket, withdrawing her switchblade. She flicked it open. "I can fuck him up a lot worse than what he's currently got going on. He'll be fucking begging for just the black eye back."
Glancing down at the weapon between her fingers, I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled in my throat. Mainly because my first thought was that, should her and Morgan ever meet, I had a feeling they'd be incredible fucking friends.
Also, because she'd probably freak out if she saw the size of the knife Harry made me carry around. Actually, now that I was able to get a good look at hers, the one he'd given me seemed almost a little impractical. He'd have been better off just strapping a gun to me and –
"Riv," Raven snapped the fingers on her free hand in front of my face. "Where'd ya go, bug?"
"Sorry," I cleared my throat, grabbing hold of her wrist and lowering it down. "No. Don't worry. No need for the knife. Put that thing away before you poke my eye out–"
"I'm not convinced," Raven said flatly, but reluctantly tucked the switchblade back into her pocket. She crossed her arms over her chest. "He seems... questionable. Did he tell you the real reason he was all beat up?"
"He got into a fight." I affirmed after a beat, careful not to hesitate. Quite frankly, I was the worst liar. And piling on one after the other was not going to be healthy for my mental sanity whatsoever.
"Mm," Raven chewed on the inside of her cheek, glancing me once over, before finally retreating from the subject with a small sigh. "Fine." She held her hands up in mock defence. "I won't keep harassing you. You're a grown woman. Just... let me know if anything changes and you need some backup, okay?"
"I will," I nodded, giving her a small smile, before averting my attention back to the computer monitor where I pulled up my list of the clients that I had scheduled for today. When I allowed myself a small glance outside, there was now a black SUV pulled along the curb across from us. I tried not to frown at the sight.
Raven clicked her tongue and when I looked back at her, she was once again resting on the counter looking positively ready to burst at the seams.
"So..." she bit her lip, the dimple on her cheek popping out. It instantly made me think of Harry, of the few times I'd seen him smile wide enough to show his dimple. I immediately shoved the thought down, refusing to let him take up any space of my mind when he wasn't even here.
I cleared my throat. "So what?"
"How was it, you freak!" She reached forward to grab my wrists, giving them a harsh squeeze. "How was the sex? You're sure marked up enough from it–"
"God, Raven, not at work," I groaned with a small laugh, pulling my hands back. Once again, I felt a flush creep onto my face. It wasn't that I was embarrassed about what happened, more that... it was a lot to reminisce about so early in the morning when I was trying to keep myself as composed as possible.
"When have you ever been one to shy away from sex talk at work?" She rolled her eyes, lifting a knee onto the counter so that she could pull herself up to sit. "This is coming from the girl who went into graphic detail for a solid hour about Darren–"
"Don't bring up Darren, ew!"
"–and how he was so fucking bad that you had to tie him up and just get the job done yourself." She winked before adding, "There was entire family in the gallery showroom looking at art while you told me that story. Now you have an empty studio, and you refuse to talk? Cruel, honestly."
I huffed, narrowing my eyes. With a hand braced on my hip, I shrugged. "Yeah, I mean... Yeah. It was good, okay? There. That's all you get."
Raven reached out again, trying to pull my shirt down in order to better see the marks on my skin. "Until?" She asked teasingly.
I swatted her arm away, shooting her an annoyed look. "Until what?"
"Until when? When am I gonna hear the rest of this story?"
I hesitated for a second, playing over in my head how much I was willing to divulge.
"Until... I don't know." A small pang of guilt shot through me. I reached forward to throw the scarf back around my neck, carefully and meticulously.
"Riv," Raven frowned, grabbing my wrist and giving me a small tug or not. "I'm mostly kidding," she said softly. "You know that. I just wanna hangout with you, regardless of your sex stories. We all miss you. We haven't hung out in ages. Tomorrow night do you want to get together with everyone? I won't say anything about Harry–"
"I'm busy tomorrow," I winced, that pang of guilt having bloomed into a full-blown ache. There used to be a time where I saw my friends daily and now it felt like I was having trouble even planning a day to see them once.
"That's fine," Raven said quickly, obviously sensing my guilt. "You're going to see him?"
The short answer was yes. Harry had moved our training session – self-defence session – whatever you wanted to call it, to tomorrow night. He'd informed me before we left this morning. And he hadn't let me argue.
His only reasoning was that he was busy this weekend. I knew enough not to ask with what but had pushed my luck by attempting to suggest that we just skip it for this week anyway, to which I had gotten an annoyed look and small lecture about how, should I choose to remember correctly, it was my idea to make the deal with Damien and I needed to be as prepared as possible.
I was just grateful he hadn't locked me up in his house again and resolved to leave it. Mainly because whenever I let my mind dwell on what I needed to be prepared for, I went positively insane.
"I am," I finally conceded quietly.
Raven's brows pulled together, a look of surprise washing over her. "Wow, you must be seeing him a lot then."
"Something like that," I breathed, fiddling with the computer mouse and trying to distract myself.
"How often do you guys spend the night?" She persisted a bit further. "I mean, you've only known each other what... 3 weeks? A bit more? Is it getting serious–"
"No." I vigorously shook my head. "God no. This isn't – it's not... We're just hooking up." The word sounded wrong under the given circumstances and I found myself wincing. "Er, just hanging out, really."
"How many times have you fucked in the last 3 weeks?"
"Raven," I reprimanded, pinching the bridge of my nose with a laugh. With a quick glance out the window, I gave a small sigh and leaned forward to brace my hands flat on the counter. "Fine? You wanna know? Everything?"
"Oh my god," Raven was just about freaking out now. "Yes. Please."
"You wanna know how many times we fucked? How good it was? How he just about fucking destroyed me–"
The bell for the front door sounded out. Raven whirled around, her shoulders sagging in dejection as she watched two men come stepping through the entrance, talking amongst themselves, glancing around the gallery. My first clients of the day.
Right on time.
Raven spun back around, looking livid.
"You knew they were coming in!" She hissed.
"Sorry," I gave her a mocking giggle, shuffling the stack of papers before me into a neat pile. "Duty calls." And then I walked around the desk to meet the wonderful customers who I'd seen on the sidewalk a few seconds ago readying to come inside.
"This isn't over!" Raven called over my shoulder with a laugh. I heard the bell jingle again and turned around to see her with a hand braced on the door, face alight with a grin. "I will get that story out of you. Oh, and Riv, maybe see a doctor after work. Looks like you're limping a bit."
And then she fled out the door, leaving me with a small scowl that I had to quickly brush off my face before turning around to greet my clients.
"Lucas, James," I held my hand out. "Good morning. What are we looking to browse for today?"
--
The rest of the day went by fairly quickly. The minutes seemed to merge together, morph themselves into hours, and then suddenly it was the end of the day and I was midway through my painting class realizing that this was the first bit of normalcy I'd felt almost the whole month – something I was eternally grateful for.
That was, of course, until we were wrapping up. Everyone was setting their canvases out to dry, cleaning up their supplies, mulling about and chatting amongst one another, when one of the older women that I'd been teaching to for a few years now approached me at the front.
"Magdalen," I grinned, angling my head to the side. I ran a paint-splattered hand over my overalls. "Everything okay? Your painting today was beautiful, I meant to tell you–"
"Look, Riviera," she glanced around once like she was nervous. "I need to tell you something."
She'd been calling me Riviera since day one. When I'd try to correct her, she'd only smile and look a little dazed, probably thinking that I was joking. Eventually, I began to just shrug it off or tease her about it. Today though, something about her tone had me standing on high alert.
I pushed off from where I was leaning on the desk, furrowing my brows. "Right," I waved a hand, directing her toward the back room. The two of us wordlessly slipped inside before I shut the door. "Is everything okay? Are you in trouble?"
Instantly, I thought of the knife tucked away in my purse and pondered over how much damage I'd be able to ensue should I need to. Her concerned expression had me feeling like there was some sort of threat, and if I could sort this threat out for her, whatever it may be –
"I'm okay," she said quickly, the words putting me a fraction at ease. She tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear. "But I wanted to let you know that there's this... car. Out front. It's very large," she spread her arms in front of her for emphasis, "and all black. With tinted windows. I normally wouldn't think anything of it except I come by the studio on my morning walks and it's been there every single time. I would have warned you earlier but–"
"Oh, the SUV," I put a hand on her frail shoulder. "I know about that, don't worry. It's, um, security, actually. We have a lot of really valuable art in here, so we just figured..." I gave a short, awkward laugh, "might as well, right?"
Magdalen's face fell with relief, the skin between her brows smoothing. "Oh, thank goodness. That's good to hear. I'm always worried about you working in here alone."
"Olivia is here sometimes."
"Mainly alone then," Magdalen corrected, her eyes dipping to my chest where they hovered briefly before flitting back up to look at me. "Smart girl. Getting security and going by a fake name. You can never be too careful nowadays. Even the people you know can turn out to be monsters."
I pressed my chin to my chest with a small frown, reaching up to run my finger over the name tag reading 'Ava' that I'd forgotten to remove before class. Magdalen's own fingers drifted up to it, pausing right over my own.
"Very true," I tried to joke, but the words came out a bit strained. "Thank you for telling me though, Magdalen. I'll, um, get them to park in less suspicious looking places."
"Oh, don't bother," she waved an arm in front of her. "I'll just tell the girls it's nothing to worry about–"
"Wait," I furrowed my brows. "The whole class knows?"
Magdalen nodded, quite aggressively. "Yes, we've all wanted to make sure you were safe. Maybe I'll even go tell the security guard myself that it's a wonderful thing he's doing–"
"No!" The word came out a tad harsher than intended. Magdalen looked confused for a beat before slowly closing her mouth as I clarified, "I mean – um, they're just doing their job. They probably won't want to be bothered."
"You're right, of course," the woman grinned at me, taking a step toward the door. "Typical of me just wanting to chat up whoever. I'll have to tell Earl as well that there's nothing to be worried about."
Jesus, she told her husband too?
All I could muster was another small, pained smile before the woman fled from the room – already starting to shout the joyous news to the women beyond the door. With a small groan, I turned around to rest my forehead against the wall and placed my hands flat on the drywall.
In theory, these scary drug-lords in SUVs tailing me for protection sounded fine until everybody immediately involved with my life started to pick up on them. The last thing I wanted was for someone to see one of these things following me to the mall, or to a restaurant. Then they'd really have questions.
By the time I finally made my way back out into the main room of the studio, everyone had left. Something I'd hung back ten minutes longer to ensure. Yes, this day had flown by and yes, I had managed to actually be productive and not think about Harry or Damien or any of that other mess, but that didn't mean it was any less exhausting.
Wednesday's were always my busy days, now I just had additional worries to tack onto the growing list of thoughts that always followed me home where I holed myself up with Meatloaf for the night to drink wine in front of the TV.
As I rounded the front desk, packing my things away into my purse and pulling open drawers and folders of receipts that I needed to file or bring home with me, the certain item that I'd hid this morning caught my eye. I frowned while pulling out Harry's check, unfolding it and smoothing it over the wood before me.
Five thousand fucking dollars.
I chewed on my lip, running the pad of my thumb over the writing.
There was no way I could accept this.
Right?
Unless...
I grabbed my phone from my back pocket, groaning inwardly at the notifications that popped up – namely none from the man whom I was currently hoping to contact, but rather, from my lovely friend Raven sending an array of messages about how she couldn't wait to hear how Harry had broken my back. Plus, one from my landlord telling me that rent was due.
Lovely.
As I was about to text Raven back, telling her to fuck off, a thought struck me quickly and suddenly that almost had me keeling over then and there in embarrassment.
"Shit," I muttered, reading through her graphically descriptive messages of what her predictions were of what went on. Harry could fucking read my text messages. "Oh God," The idea of him seeing these made me physically ill. Time to go off grid and buy a burner phone.
I'd have to call Raven later and tell her that if she wanted to talk about this shit, do it in person.
Pulling up Harry's contact name was even more awkward now, but I forced myself to shove down any unwelcome thoughts of embarrassment, considering it wasn't me who sent them, and I had bigger priorities at hand. A few things of actual relevance to discuss with him.
But I knew that he wouldn't just talk to me under any given circumstances, so I had to force them on him. Which is why I started with:
To: Scary Drug Man
Sent 7:49 P.M.:
i need to give you the art that you bought
His response came a full two minutes later.
From: Scary Drug Man
Received 7:51 P.M.:
Keep it.
I rolled my eyes, furiously drafting up a reply.
To: Scary Drug Man
Sent 7:52 P.M.:
i'm not keeping it. u straight up paid $5k. i'm giving u the fucking paintings even if i have to involve physical force
Before he could respond, I added,
also i have a knife now. keep that in mind before giving your next response.
I could almost see his scowl in the next message.
From: Scary Drug Man
Received 7:58 P.M.:
Fine. Bring them to Devil's Due. You're annoying.
Now here was the thing with Harry's response. I knew – was completely and utterly sure – that his message insinuated tomorrow. He wanted me to bring the paintings by tomorrow to Devil's Due when I went down to their scary, basement gym. Except, he never specified that in the message.
So my understanding, the notion having innocently slipped my mind about our arrangement tomorrow, was that he wanted me to come by tonight.
And then when I saw him tonight, I would conveniently bring up that I no longer needed this extra security on me, considering I was now armed wherever I went, had the fake nametag on my chest at all times – yet another thing that I had "forgotten" to take off so that he could see it as proof – and that Damien's men had yet to make a move on me, so I was almost sure I was in the clear.
After all, I was nothing and no one as far as he was concerned. Or so Harry liked to tell me, at least. The fact that Damien and his men would even still be dwelling on my very existence at all was a question to their character and the extent to which they were able to properly do their job. I feel like if I was an illegal owner of multiple clubs, drug cartels and anything else contraband, the last thing I'd do was dwell on the life of an innocent, 22-year old nobody "dating" one of the men that worked for me.
Which is why I hauled the three paintings Harry had so kindly purchased into a large duffel bag, swung it over my shoulder and stepped out of the studio with a certain destination in mind. Only after, of course, I dealt with the other matter at hand.
Careful to keep the art under my arm steady, I glanced both ways across the street, before jogging over to the vehicle that had apparently been the talk of the town tonight during my painting class – all of the hushed whispers and muttered words now making a lot of sense.
My reflection stared back at me as I approached the tinted driver's side window, the murky view of a person on the other side slowly coming into view the closer I got. When I was finally only a couple of inches away, I reached up to knock sharply on the glass.
I saw the murky image of the person on the other side freeze and apparently, thanks to the few seconds of silence, do nothing else.
So I knocked again.
And again.
And I kept fucking knocking until my knuckles hurt.
Only then did the person on the other side finally get fed up and the glass slowly began to slide down, my reflection disappearing.
"Alright," the voice hissed. A man with sunglasses was staring at me now. A man I recognized. "I was gonna fucking roll it down if you gave me a damn second," Niall grumbled, pulling his glasses down to the tip of his nose. He stared up at me past the lenses.
"No, you weren't." I shot back, bracing a hand on my hip. Poking my head a little closer, I glanced inside the car. "What the hell, have you been the one spying on me this whole time? And have you been in the car the whole fucking day?"
"We aren't spying," Niall rolled his eyes, hand drifting to fiddle with the gear shift. "Just makin' sure you don't get... ya know," he shrugged, "offed."
"Nice," I snorted with a small shake of my head. "Lovely way to put it–"
"Also, no. I haven't been here the whole day." Niall cleared his throat, leaning back in the seat. "We take shifts."
I raised a brow. "We?"
He shrugged a shoulder. "We. Security team. Whoever is available."
"Okay, right," I rolled my eyes and leaned forward to rest an elbow on the window of the car. Niall eyed me skeptically but said nothing. Not as I continued, "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about–"
"No." His response was immediate.
I took a step back, slightly appalled. "What do you mean no?"
"No," he repeated. "We aren't leaving." Then, with a small huff under his breath, he added, "Harry said you'd do this."
My mouth parted in shock. "What? Said I'd do what?"
"Tell us to leave. Make up some bullshit story about how you didn't need us here–"
"Because I don't!" I fired back, feeling the rage starting to settle. "You – this," I waved an arm at the car, "it's a nuisance. It's too much. People are starting to notice. I'm going to be fine if you aren't here every waking moment of the day. I'm sure you guys have much better things to do than sit around watching me all day–"
"Don't flatter yourself," Niall scolded, rolling his own eyes this time. "We absolutely fucking do. You think I want to sit around here all day literally watching fucking paint dry? No. But I do because it's part of the job. And you are not the only one that's on watch, so settle down, will ya?"
This had honestly gone better than expected. I knew he was going to say no – that much was obvious – which was why I'd rather plead my case to Harry directly. I just needed to know exactly where he was at this very moment in order to do so. Because I couldn't stand even one more morning staring down this stupid fucking SUV from the window.
"Seems a bit unfair," I finally grumbled, lulling my head to the side to look at him, my tone having softened dramatically.
"How's it unfair?" Niall asked flatly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling – obviously extremely fed up with this entire situation.
"That you have to be out here on watch and not at the parlor tattooing." When Niall didn't answer, I went on, "I mean, who is doing the tattooing if you're not there?"
"Zayn, obviously," he scoffed, "Morgan was probably there as well. And a few of the other artists who work part-time."
"Mm," I hummed, nodding along. "But they're probably all gone now. It's just Harry there doing paperwork, right? Cause he does all of the accounting stuff on Wednesday nights–"
"How do you know that?" Niall asked, his interest suddenly piqued. "Did he tell you?" His brows pulled together. "This fucking dude is so confusing. One minute, he's saying not to tell you anything and the next, he's spilling shit to you like–"
"He just told me to come by after work." It had been a lucky guess that he worked late on Wednesday's. I just remembered Morgan and Zayn mentioning that he usually did paperwork after hours and just now correlated it to their drug shit. Seemed like a harmless lie.
"He told you to go to Devil's Due?" Niall clarified; a look of confusion having washed over him. "When did he even–"
I pulled my phone from my pocket, the action a little more complicated than normal, given the excessive amount of stuff I was currently carrying. Pulling up Harry's message, I held the phone out to him.
"He wanted me to bring by the art he bought." I tapped the duffel bag for emphasis.
"He bought art?" Niall was sounding more confused by the second. He managed only a small snort at Harry's contact name before he tipped his head back with a groan, letting his eyes flutter shut. "Jesus, what is with this guy lately–"
"I kind of forced him," I lied, shoving the phone back into my pocket, hoping to allow Harry to save some sort of face. "Figured he had all this money sitting around. Might as well put it towards something with taste."
Niall just opened one eye to stare at me. "So you're going there now?"
I nodded. "You don't have to follow me, I'm just going right there and–"
"I probably should," Niall straightened himself in the seat, getting ready to start the car but I shook my head.
"No, seriously," I persisted. "Don't worry. Harry said he's going to take me home after anyway."
Niall stared at me for another few seconds, his face pinched in confusion, before he blew out a long breath and held his hands up. "Alright. Fine. Just..." he glanced out at the street over my shoulder, "get Harry to text me when you're there, okay?"
I nodded, taking a step back from the car. "I will." Before he could fully shut the window, I called out, "Thank you, Niall. Go home and get some rest. Have a drink for me!"
"Oh–" He pressed a finger to the middle of his sunglasses, pushing them back over his eyes with a wink, "–I will."
And then my reflection was staring back at me again.
With a bit of a bounce to my step, happy to have won one of the internal battles I'd signed myself up for tonight, I headed toward Moira. As usual, her trunk barely fit the paintings that I precariously set down, but she seemed to like me well enough tonight that her engine started up right away when I slid into the driver's seat.
"So you only act up when we've got company, huh?" I chided, pulling onto the now deserted street. Moira, the traitor that she was, stayed silent in response. I merely shuffled my music and turned the volume up, grateful that there wasn't someone breathing down my neck this time about music selections.
The drive to Devil's Due was therapeutic, helped to settle me down for whatever I was about to face, and by the time I pulled into the back-parking lot – directly beside Harry's car – I felt as though I could conquer anything. And was determined to get Harry to call of his fucking hounds.
"Okay," I breathed to myself, popping open Moira's trunk once more and hauling out the duffle bag of paintings. "Easy. Steady."
They were heavy on my shoulder, but it was easier to manage them without my purse, which I'd left in the car, and I was almost excited now to give them to Harry. To get his reaction. Two of them were the paintings from the clients who had cancelled and withdrawn their deposit, but the other was one that I'd chosen and felt best fit him.
Popping the trunk back shut, I started my walk to the entrance.
The street was dark when I stepped out onto it, illuminated only by a few flickering streetlights, but this area always seemed deserted at night. That was, of course, going without saying the certain incident I'd walked into a few weeks prior.
At least today I knew that Harry wasn't beating anyone up in the alleyway and was instead inside the parlor doing actual work like a functioning member of society. One who just murdered people as a past time.
My feet scuffed along the pavement, the gravel crunching beneath me and I had just about made it all the way to the front entrance incident and accident free when the parlor door suddenly opened, and three figures walked out – their figures glowing in the harsh, yellow lighting.
I was frozen. Couldn't bring myself to move. And it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Not when they all turned around to face me the very moment that I should have taken to bolt far in the other direction.
"Ava," Damien's grin was like ice, spreading across his face with a sickly-sweet sheen. He took a few steps forward, the men flanking him falling in line with his steps, until they were all directly in front of me. "How lovely to see you, darling." He angled his head to the side. "Coming to visit your dear, sweet boyfriend?"
"I am," I responded curtly.
The silence that followed wasn't enough to subside the rage I felt in my body right now. Where originally the emotion that had consumed me upon seeing them all had been fear, it was now pure, unfiltered anger. Anger at this piece of shit, fucking scum of the earth bastard who had coerced Harry into somehow working with him at the age of fifteen. Fifteen fucking years old. A child.
He had groomed a fucking child for this kind of life – one involving drugs and gangs and murders – and while I didn't know all the specifics of how it had happened, there was no way I was going to at all fault Harry for having gotten swept up in it so young, quite clearly against his will based on how he acted.
He'd been different this past week. Even before he'd left me trapped in his home while he fucked off to Brazil, there'd been a shift in him. I could sense it. He was more on edge, seemed more stressed. I wondered if maybe this was the reason why – because he'd known he was going to be seeing Damien.
The thought made me nauseous. And I suddenly had the urge to cut out the man's other eye.
"Like a nice little pet. Coming to console her man after a long day of work." Damien cooed and suddenly reached forward. It was an effort not to flinch when he grabbed hold of my name tag and ran his finger over it. My knees almost buckled in relief at the fact that it fucking said Ava. Thank God. "What do you got in the bag?" He tutted and suddenly dropped his hand from my chest to grab hold of the strap of the duffle bag, which he wrenched toward him.
My feet stumbled as I fell forward, but I held my ground. "Just something for Harry."
Damien hummed, seeming a bit disinterested. He turned his head a fraction, meeting my eye, to which his grin grew and he asked, "And is Harry taking you to the event on Saturday?"
I furrowed my brows, opening and closing my mouth once only to draw a blank. "I... um, another one of your dinners? No. He didn't mention it. And I don't think I can make it–"
"It isn't a dinner," he laughed softly and started to root through the bag, grabbing onto one of the canvases. "I'm surprised he didn't mention it. These events used to be very important to him after all." Before I could respond, he withdrew one of the paintings fully and ran his hand over the art. "This is very nice. Did you paint this?"
"No," I said quickly. "I, um, bought them. For Harry."
Damien's eyes flashed with something I couldn't read, though it may have just been the flickering streetlight. He held the painting out before him. "I see," he purred, "and where did you buy these from exactly, Ava?"
I froze. His gaze had dipped to my paint splattered overalls, to the paint splattered bag. There was no way I could get out of this one without –
The door behind us opened again. All three men wordlessly turned around, long enough for me to yank the painting back from Damien's hands and shove it back into the duffle bag. Not long enough, unfortunately, to prepare for the absolute depth of the wrath in Harry's expression when his eyes flitted over the scene he'd just walked out on, only to catch my gaze in the final, fleeting moment.
"What the fuck." His gun was pulled from his waistband and cocked in a matter of seconds before he stalked toward us. Surprisingly, the two men beside Damien flinched and stepped apart to let him through.
His nostrils flared and his eyes were burned with rage when he finally stopped in front of me, only for a brief second though before he spun on his heel to face everyone else.
"We found her on the way out," Damien was grinning, obviously very amused at the realization that Harry had no idea I was supposed to be here. Harry had his gun raised half-way to the three men, his gaze dancing between them all.
"So fucking leave then," his tone was so hostile that even I flinched. The men glanced at Damien, as if searching for a signal, only to receive nothing. In response to this, Harry tipped his head back with a harsh breath and ran his free hand over his face before suddenly lifting his other arm up and firing a shot of the gun into the air.
"Good christ," I couldn't help the words that tumbled out of my mouth under my breath, my ears suddenly ringing.
Nobody even seemed fazed by any of this but me, who now itched to check if my eardrum had burst but remained standing behind Harry as unmoving as I could. The two men looked slightly on edge but still hadn't moved.
"Go." Harry repeated, his eyes not on Damien but the men – who he seemed to realize he would have the most sway with, considering they looked just about ready to shit their pants. I didn't blame them. I was a few seconds away from doing the same.
Damien just blew out a breath, glancing back once over his shoulder in annoyance to his companions before holding up his hands in mock surrender. "We're leaving," he began to retreat, signalling for his men to begin walking, as he called over his shoulder, "Your girlfriend has a nice eye for art. Bring her Saturday, Styles. I'm sure she'll enjoy it. Surprised you haven't told her."
And that was the last he said before the three of them disappeared into the darkness.
There was a brief moment where Harry just stood with his back to me with a locked and loaded gun in his hands and a heaving chest – the only sounds being his laboured breathing and the ringing in my ears.
"Harry, I–"
"Jesus, fuck, Ri–" He spun around, slamming a hand against the cement wall beside us and stopped himself only with a sharp glance to where Damien had just disappeared, cutting himself off at the last second before spitting my name. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
I winced, awkwardly pulling the duffle bag from under my arm to rest over my chest. "Bringing you your paintings..."
Harry's chest was still heaving. He glanced heatedly between me and the duffle bag before finally clenching his jaw with an exaggerated huff, tucking the gun back into the waistband of his pants, his shirt riding up a fraction in the process.
"Where the fuck is Niall?"
"I..." My next words had to be chosen carefully, mainly because Harry was staring at me with intent to kill. "Don't get mad at him. I told him I was supposed to meet you here–"
"But you weren't."
"I know," I said quickly, swallowing hard and backing up a step. Harry's eyes flickered down to the foot of space I'd created between us. "I know. I'm sorry. I fucked up. I came here hoping to give you this and wasn't even thinking–"
Harry took a long, steadying breath – bracing his fingers on the bridge of his nose while he let his eyes fall shut briefly. "Just–" He ran another hand over his face, voice coming out a tad strained. It was as he continued that I realized it was because he was trying to calm his tone down, "–you can't fuckin' come here unannounced? Do you understand that?"
"I get it – yes. I understand."
He was still struggling to regulate his breathing as he looked me up and down, as if assessing whether or not Damien had done anything. When he somehow internally decided for himself that everything was fine, he muttered, "Where's your car?"
"Beside yours," I said quietly and fell quickly into step beside him when he started off toward the parking lot.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, trying to keep pace with him. It was becoming quite an effort with the weight of three canvases holding me back and I struggled to keep up the further we got.
Harry didn't say anything but glanced once over at me before muttering something under his breath and came to a sudden halt. For a split second I was confused until he leaned forward, hooking his hand under the strap of the bag and hauling it off my shoulder until it was tucked underneath his own arm.
And then he resumed at his rapid pace.
"What's the event?" I asked quietly when the two of us rounded the corner to the darkened parking lot. It looked larger and after a beat I realized it was because there was one less car. A car that I had completely ignored when I first pulled in, that had been tucked away in the far corner, obviously belonging to Damien.
Always check your fucking surroundings, River, you dumbass.
"Don't," was Harry's only clipped response. He'd stopped in front of the trunk of his car that he had just popped open with the click of a button. A far cry from me having to wrestle Moira into even cracking open an inch.
There were two options here. I could let it go, be the good, docile girl that Harry and everyone else wanted me to be. Or I could...
"I want to go."
"No."
"Why?"
Harry rested the duffle bag on the edge of the car, turning to glare at me. "Because."
"That certainly isn't a valid reason."
His jaw flexed as he leaned forward and muttered, "Yes, it is."
These events used to be very important to him after all.
Damien's words echoed around in my head. The truth of the matter was, I didn't want to go. At all. But I was caught up in this shit now. Which meant I had at least part of a right to know what was going on and maybe also get a little bit of insight on Harry – even if that information was forcefully dug up.
With a steeling breath, I tried to argue, "I just want to be in the loop–"
Harry braced a hand flat on the edge of the trunk, blowing out a sharp, irritated breath through his nose. "No, River. Seriously. You fucking don't. And you don't want to go Saturday because it's going to freak you out, I know it will."
"Damien said this used to be important to you–"
"Just leave it," Harry snarled, his tone a hundred times harsher than it had yet been tonight. Even in the darkness, his eyes were flaring. "Fucking leave it, okay?"
He turned away from me, flexing his shoulders a few times and wringing his hands together – his fingers brushing inadvertently over his scars a number of times, before he reached up to tug at the roots of his hair. He seemed nervous – extra on edge. Like he'd almost developed a set of nervous tics.
This notion alone was enough to make me retreat.
As persistent as I was willing to be, I wasn't about to make him put his health on the line to battle me on the subject.
"Okay," I finally said a few seconds later, my tone a bit weak. "I'll leave it."
Harry was still very fidgeting. He didn't even glance at me as I spoke, seemed almost too distracted. In an attempt to raise the white flag, I took a deep breath and reached forward to drag the duffle bag in the trunk toward me. His eyes darted to it briefly, but he still didn't look at me.
"These paintings," I explained, pulling out two of the canvases and laying them flat between us. "Are the ones from the clients who cancelled."
Harry's knuckles were white from where he was gripping the edge of the trunk, his other hand still in his hair – fisting and pulling at it every few seconds. But he managed to direct his attention to the paintings, as much as it seemed to both pain and annoy him.
They were beautiful, in their own respects. Fairly abstract, an array of colours that seemed to bleed from one to the other in a form of physical poetry – a display of affection, the innermost workings of the artists minds.
The only signal I got that Harry was listening was a nod of his head.
"This painting," I pulled out the last one and set it on top of the other two. I couldn't look at him as I softly said, "I painted this one."
I painted it before I knew him. It had sat in the gallery for a long, long time. A lot of clients had come in and inquired about it, had even wanted to buy it for three times the price I'd listed it for. And every single time I'd declined. I'd felt too... attached to it, for some reason.
There was nothing inherently special about the art itself. It was a picture of a darkened field, illuminated with smatterings of colour that brightened certain areas up and allowed for the viewer a glimpse of what went on when the sun went down and there was no one around to see. Fictious, of course. What I imagined it would be like if we were able to see beyond the current depths of our reality.
It was stupid, really. But I'd put a lot of time into it and felt super drawn to the imagery that I'd painted that for some reason I was unable to sell it.
I'd been ready to a few days ago. I had everything set up, had the meeting booked, only to end up having to cancel thanks to Harry trapping me in his home. The client had emailed back saying not to bother rescheduling and that they'd bought some stuff from another gallery outside of town. I'd thought maybe it was fate. That I got to keep the weird, emotionally expressive painting that I'd done.
Only to now be giving it to Harry fucking Styles for reasons beyond me.
After he'd already criticized my art once.
Still, Harry didn't say anything. Not that I had expected him to. He just stared at it.
"I forgot to bring the certificates of authenticity," I mumbled, tucking the canvases back into the bag. Harry finally, finally drew his eyes to mine as I shoved the duffle bag into the back corner of his trunk. "But I can bring them by tomorrow."
His expression showed that he was still angry, almost livid even, but his eyes were clouded with something else. Something that I couldn't read. Harry only gave me a slow nod before popping the trunk shut. The sound echoed throughout the vacant lot.
"Okay," I said softly, drawing my gaze to the ground. "I guess–"
Harry suddenly took a step forward, effectively cutting me off. My heart instinctively picked up at the proximity and I glanced from his face to the hand he was currently extending toward me, my mind running rampant with thoughts of what he was going to do, when his fingers suddenly closed around the nametag on my chest.
He gave it a small tug, running the pad of his thumb over each individual letter.
A-V-A.
"Thank you," he muttered hoarsely, to my complete and utter shock. "For wearing this."
I didn't dare move. Didn't even dare breathe. He was like a wild animal that I was currently worried about scaring off. I swallowed harshly, the warmth of his knuckles thick and heavy as they brushed against the material of my shirt. When I finally dared to bring my gaze up to meet his, he was already staring at me.
The words were an effort to get off my tongue. And I knew they were the wrong ones, that this was the nail in the coffin, but I still said them anyway.
"Are you okay?"
Harry dropped the name tag and stepped back, his jaw clenching.
For a few seconds he didn't say anything, just stared at me. Finally, after what felt like ages, he just muttered through gritted teeth, "Go home, River. I'll follow behind you to make sure you get to your apartment building safely."
And then he turned around to get in his car, leaving me standing there in the darkness feeling somehow more vulnerable than I'd yet been in a long time.
--
inspo of the little bit about meatloaf courtesy of this photo that rainberrynarry tagged me in on twitter:
A/N:
okay heyo besties this was supposed to be a double update but i just smushed it all into one chapter. also, didn't proofread this because it's 9k words, it's almost 1 am and i'm lazy so ill do it in the morn but if anyone saw any grammatical issues, disfluencies, whatnot - please let ya girl know!!
anyway, ily all with my whole entire heart.
kisses
- v