TW // Graphic violence.
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Chapter 60
"Ready?" Harry looked at me from across the front foyer of Devil's Due, one hand on the doorknob and his other extended in my direction. I glanced down at it, confused momentarily, before stepping forward and slipping my hand in his. He looped our fingers together.
We'd spent the better part of an hour cleaning the studio, or rather, he'd cleaned the studio while I went to the bathroom and cleaned myself up. He seemed weirdly upbeat considering everything due to happen tomorrow, almost giddy, and no part of me wanted to equate that happiness to myself but I was also glad that I'd been able to provide as some sort of a distraction for him. Whenever I thought too hard about the event, about him having to go, my heart felt all too tight and that same feeling of nausea overwhelmed me.
"Ready," I gave his hand a squeeze, trying to hide my grin.
Harry swung the door open and braced a hand above my head in order to let me walk beneath him outside. The street was busier than usual, probably thanks to it being Saturday, and the two of us fell in step behind the people sauntering up the sidewalk, sights set on the alley leading to the parking lot a few hundred feet away.
"So, when are you letting me tattoo you again?" Harry asked, glancing down at me. He ran his thumb up and down the back of my hand.
"Hm," I angled my head to the side and swung myself in front of him, walking backwards in order to meet his eye. Harry's mouth spread into a lopsided grin and he gave my hand a squeeze before I went on, "Well, what exactly did you have in mind to give me?"
Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth and threw his head to the sky briefly before bringing his gaze back down to mine and saying, "I had a few ideas." A small pause in which he looked my face up and down. "And if I remember correctly–" his free hand shot out, closing around my chin and he dragged a thumb over my bottom lip, "–you hadn't been too opposed to letting me put ink on this, yeah?"
I was still walking backwards, slowly now, and couldn't help the grin that appeared on my face. The pad of his thumb was warm against my skin. "Give me a couple of options, then." I purposely cocked my head to the side, fitting my cheek in the curve of his palm. "A word that you'd want put there. That's why you want it, right?" My tone was teasing now. "So, it's something only you can see?"
Harry was silent for a moment, expression unreadable, as he gently angled me in the direction of the alley. Once everyone from the sidewalk and their slightly overwhelming chatter disappeared, leaving just the two of us in the budding evening light between buildings, he suddenly backed me against the brick wall a few steps away and slid his hands up to grip my shoulders.
"I want you to stay with me," he blurted, catching me completely off guard. His expression had sobered, morphed into one that could only be described as discomfort. Vulnerability, I realized. Or rather, fear of the vulnerability he was currently allowing me to bear witness to. "And not just... because I want to keep you safe," he blinked a few times, bracing one hand on the wall beside my head and letting his other drift down to grip my upper arm, where he gave a small squeeze. "But because I want you there. I like having you there with me."
"Wow," I breathed, flattening my mouth into a line.
"What?" he immediately looked concerned, a crease between his brows forming. "You don't have to. I was–" he shook his head, sucking in a sharp breath and glanced to the sky, his jaw set. "Stupid idea. It was a stupid fuckin' idea–"
"Hey," I was grinning again now. Reaching up, I placed either of my hands on his cheeks and brought him down to look at me. "All I was gonna say is that that's a lot to get tattooed on a single lip."
Harry's shoulders slumped and he blew out a relieved breath, his expression of reassurance lasting for only a second before he mumbled, "Fuck you." He leaned in, running his nose up the length of my neck, murmuring against my jaw, "Idiot. Remind me never to have a serious conversation with you again."
He was still placing small, gentle kisses from the corner of my mouth toward the curve of my jaw when I clarified, "So, you want me to stay with you at your place? For how long?"
Harry shrugged a single shoulder, murmuring against the crook of my neck, "However long you want. Definitely a bit longer, at least."
Something about his response had my heart stuttering. Staying with him under the obligation that it was to keep me safe was one thing, but under the pretense that he just wanted me there was a whole other. Was he asking me to live with him? I wasn't even sure how to properly classify our relationship and here he was practically outright asking me to move in. An anxious swarm of butterflies set up camp in the pit of my stomach and briefly, I felt at a loss for words. I knew that only this morning when I'd brought it up about me leaving, I had wanted him to say exactly what he'd just said but now that it was actually happening... I wasn't sure how to take it.
"Hey," Harry pulled back, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. "Can practically fuckin' see you overthinking shit." He looked my face up and down. "Just... don't, okay? Doesn't have to be that serious. We can just take it day by day."
Day by day. That I could do.
"I mean," I braced my hands on his shoulders, levelling him with a look. "I guess someone needs to be there to make sure you're taking care of your lovely new tattoo since your actions a little less than an hour ago prove you could use some help."
He rolled his eyes, letting the hand braced beside my head fall to toy with a few strands of my hair. "To be fair, I was a little fucking distracted."
"Yeah, that's..." I shook my head with a laugh. "Completely your own fault."
"Mm," Harry pitched his fingers below my chin and lifted me to look at him. "Besides me fucking around with the aftercare of my tattoo because I was too horny for you, what's the verdict?"
"Crass," I muttered with yet another grin, paired with a roll of my eyes. There was a small beat of silence that followed, in which I could tell Harry was holding his breath before I went on, "I'm gonna need Moira there."
Harry groaned, giving my jaw a squeeze. He removed his hand and put it back on the wall to rest beside my head, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "Bloody car's gonna fucking kill you."
"I need her to get to work," I reasoned breathlessly, trying to keep my mind sharp as he slid his free hand around to my back and slipped his fingers underneath my shirt. They slid up the length of my spine.
"You can take one of my cars."
"I don't want to take one of your cars. Do you know how much the ladies of my paint class will talk if I show up in a fucking Maserati? Or a Bentley?"
"Then take the Audi. Or the Rolls."
"Okay, no, not what I meant," I managed in a sharp breath, glancing over to the sidewalk and praying nobody looked in on Harry practically feeling me up and eating my neck in the alley. "I just mean I'd rather have my car when I go to work."
"I'll just drop you off at work and pick you up," Harry murmured against my skin. "Problem solved."
"Problem not solved," I leaned away from Harry's incessant mouth and waited until he reluctantly turned to look at me before continuing, "I'm trying to rationalize staying at your place, you've gotta give me something here. It's nice that you want me there but I'm not a pet, I'm my own person. You've got to understand that this doesn't automatically mean my own life is coming to a halt."
For a brief moment, Harry seemed taken aback at my words. With that reaction came a tad of guilt that worked its way through me. I hadn't meant to snap at him, but I was also feeling a little overwhelmed with his sudden proposition and needed to make sure I didn't just agree on a whim. Whether it was for a few days or a few months, it was a big step when our current classification stood at 'friends'.
"You're right," was his response – one that shocked me a little.
"I'm right?"
He nodded. "You're right." He chewed on his inner cheek, bracing his other hand on the wall beside my head as well. "My whole point with this was to make you not feel like a piece of property, a..." he winced, "pet. Because that's not–" he swallowed hard, "–that's the furthest thing from what you are to me."
"Well, I'm glad we're on the same page about me being considered an actual human being to you," I teased, reaching up to string my finger in the hem of his sweater. He glanced down as I gently flattened and neatened the material against his chest.
Only moments later did he part his lips with a sharp laugh and mutter, "Idiot." Pretty sure that was the second time he'd called me that in the span of five minutes and, weirdly, I didn't hate it.
"You've just gotta compromise with me a bit," I angled my head to the side, eyeing the new tattoo on his neck peeking out from the material covering his chest. The bandage over it crinkled when he leaned his head down to look directly at me.
Harry blew out a breath. "Let me buy you a new car."
"What? No."
"Why not?" a broad grin overtook his face. "That's a compromise."
"It's..." I furrowed my brows and rolled my eyes. "That's not the type of compromise I'm talking about."
"Hungry?" he asked, throwing me off completely at the sudden shift in conversation. His eyes met mine, innocent and inquisitive.
I squinted knowingly at him. "I guess," the last time either of us had eaten was a few hours ago before we'd gotten to Devil's Due. "Is this you trying to distract me?"
"Not in the least," Harry ran his tongue along his teeth, looking amused. "Let's go out. To like a restaurant or something."
"Tonight?" My eyebrows shot up. "Like a...?"
Harry gave me another lopsided grin, grabbing my chin and giving it a squeeze. "If you want it to be."
"I–"
"If you agree, we'll pick up Moira on the way," he was looking directly at my mouth and his gaze flitted up to my eyes as he went on, "That's my compromise, sweet thing."
My mind seemed to be working in overdrive trying to comprehend what he was asking. "Okay," I finally said, biting my lower lip. "Fine. Compromise accepted. It's a date."
Harry's eyes lit up at my words and he let out a small, contented noise from the back of his throat. He suddenly dropped his arms from beside my head and leaned down to wrap them around my waist, picking me up and hauling me over his shoulder in a matter of seconds.
"Jesus, Harry!" I gripped onto the back of his shirt to keep steady, feeling him laugh beneath me. "You've gotta stop doing that."
"Why?" he closed his arms tightly around my legs, walking us over to the parking lot a few feet away where his car was parked. "It's fun."
He set me down right in front of the passenger side door, bracing a hand on the top of the car above my shoulder. His rings clinked against the metal and he tapped a finger on the roof, angling his head to the side with an entertained grin.
"Walking down a dark alley with a girl over your shoulder?" I teased, crossing my arms over my chest. "People are gonna think you're kidnapping me or something."
"You think so, huh?" his smile widened, the dimple on his cheek popping out. He reached up with his free hand to grab my chin, holding it steady as he leaned in until we were inches apart. His gaze danced from my eyes to my mouth a number of times before he murmured, "You'd fuckin' like it if I kidnapped you. Don't lie."
All I had to do was tip my head a fraction forward and my mouth would be on his, but I refrained. "Yeah? If my memory serves correctly, you already have kidnapped me."
Harry blew out a sharp breath, one that could only be classified as a laugh. He rolled his eyes, dropping his forehead to rest on mine and nudged his nose against my cheek. "Why, because I took you to my place under the pretense that I didn't want you to get stalked and killed the first night you showed back up here?"
"Maybe not then," I muttered, feeling my face heat when Harry dipped his head back down to nip at my jaw. "But what about when you locked me in your house and fucked off to Brazil for two days?"
"Fucked off to Brazil," he huffed a laugh, the gesture warming my skin. "I'll just bring you next time."
"Mm, again, not what I meant."
"Locked you in my house for two days..." he hummed, mouth trailing further down my neck, "Left you there to keep you safe... Semantics."
"God, it's so hard to have a conversation with you," I huffed, tossing my head back a bit. "You're just so–I can hardly form a sentence when you–" Harry slipped his free hand below my shirt and trailed it up the length of my back, tickling me and ultimately forcing a giggle from my throat at the overwhelming amount of emotions and stimulation he was currently pouring out onto me, "–when you do that."
Harry had already pulled back, his face ecstatic. "Well, when you make that fuckin' noise, god knows I'm never gonna stop." He opened and closed his fingers along my back, leaning in to kiss up the length of my jaw. "C'mon. Do it again. Let me hear that fucking laugh–"
"Harry!" I half-shrieked when his hands dipped to my waist, poking and prodding at whatever piece of skin he could reach in order to elicit another reaction. "Stop. Stop it. Seriously. I can't breathe–"
"Liar," he hissed, tongue tucked between his teeth as he refused to lessen his incessant fingers. "You wouldn't be able to talk."
"Oh my god–" it was unbearable now, trying to talk through my laughter – my giggling. I don't think I'd ever made such a consistent set of noises like this. "Seriously. Please–oh god, stop–"
Finally, after a prolonged stretch of time, Harry relented. His hands smoothed up to cup my face and he tipped me toward him, close enough that he finally could land his mouth on mine this time. "Sweet little thing," he murmured, tugging gently on my bottom lip. "Sentirti ridere mi fa credere che ci sia un fottuto dio."
I pulled back, analyzing the flush on Harry's cheeks. How the pink in juxtaposition to his skin bloomed like cotton candy. And I, apparently, had developed an affinity for it lately. A sweet tooth, if you will.
Squinting at him, I slowly managed, "Posso comprare... un pacchetto di sigarette?"
Harry laughed. Like outright laughed, his nose scrunching. "Did you just fucking ask me if you can buy a pack of smokes?"
I set my mouth into a flat line, trying and failing to look annoyed. "I'm trying to come back at you with your own game." My eyes rolled, an action I found I was doing a lot with him, but more so in amusement than anything else. "It's the only Italian I know. It's what the dude back at the corner store in Italy taught me."
"Right," Harry clicked his tongue. "That asshole."
"He actually wasn't an asshole until you walked in–"
"Want me to teach you some Italian?"
"I already know the word for Meatloaf, if that's what you're getting at again."
Harry grinned, his earring glinting in the light as he leaned closer. "Dummy. I'll teach you something else." A brief pause. "Also, how to properly pronounce it, cause so far your pronunciation is shit."
"Okay, sorry I'm not a native Italian speaker, asshole," I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest again.
"Neither am I," Harry chided, reaching to uncross my arms. He slid his hands down to my wrists, rubbing gentle circles. "Ready? Say 'Harry, sei l'uomo più incredibile del pianeta'."
"What does it mean?"
His dimple popped out again. "Means 'Harry, you are the most amazing man on the planet.'"
"Next," I rolled my eyes. "Not saying that. Give me something useful."
He laughed, giving my wrists a squeeze. "And you think only being able to ask for a pack of cigs is useful?"
"It is when I was using it with the intent to buy them for you," my voice came out a tad breathless. It was on a whim that I added, "A pack of cigarettes which you kept, by the way."
Harry stilled and briefly, I worried that maybe I'd gone too far until his grin widened, and he mumbled, "Course. Can't be throwing away the first gift you got for me, can I?"
"First, huh?" I reached down and threaded my fingers through his belt loops, tugging him forward a fraction. "What makes you think I'm going to be getting you another gift?"
"Call it a gut feeling," he leaned in, kissing me again. Deeply this time. "But you know what this means, don't you?"
"That you still haven't taught me any relevant Italian?"
"Means I owe you a gift."
"Pass."
"Pass?" Harry pulled back with a laugh. "You can't pass on a gift. That isn't how it works."
"It is in my books," I shrugged, catching the way his eyes were practically gleaming. "You've already given me a gift, remember? One that I will literally never, ever be able to make up to you or top. So, yes. I will pass on anything gift related because I just know they will either be over the top or something–"
"I just want to buy you a car," Harry pushed his bottom lip out in a pout. A slightly swollen lip, might I add, given the way he quite literally hadn't seemed to be able to keep his mouth off me since we left the studio. "Something you won't kill yourself driving to work in–"
"Ah, ah, ah–" I tutted with a quick shake of my head. "That's what I mean. I quite literally bargained for free cigarettes for you in Italy and you offer to buy me a car. You aren't even tipping the scales; you're fucking shattering them with that proposition." Before he could open his mouth, I removed my hands from his belt loops and brought them up to his shoulders. "You wanna give me a gift? Teach me some Italian."
Harry kept his eyes on me for a few silent seconds, looking my face up and down. Neither of us seemed to care that it had taken almost years now just to make it from the shop to his car, nor that we were both currently less than inclined to get in. His hands gravitated to my waist, where he gave a small squeeze and murmured, "Fine. Deal. You ready?"
I grinned. "Ready as ever."
His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and his voice was hoarse as he finally went on, "Say 'Tu sei tutto ciò a cui riesco a pensare e mi fa impazzire.'"
Clearing my throat, I gave his shoulders a squeeze before confidently attempting to repeat what he'd said. "Tu sei tutto ciò a cui riesco..." he nodded, chewing on his inner cheek and urging me to continue, eyes clouded with something I couldn't read, "A pensare e mi fa impazzire...?"
"Perfect," his voice was low. "Okay, now, 'A volte mi sento sopraffatta quando sono con te a causa della misura di come mi fai sentire."
"Jesus," I blew out a breath. "That's a fucking long one. Okay, wait... A volte mi sento sopraffatta quando sono con te...?"
"Mhm," Harry's mouth quirked to the side and he gave my waist another squeeze. "A causa della misura di come mi fai sentire..."
"A causa della..." I nodded, "misura di come mi fai sentire."
"That's good," Harry's voice was hoarse, almost strained.
An excited little noise left the back of my throat. "Well, I'd say I just about killed that, wouldn't you?"
"Mm," Harry hummed his agreement, looking my face up and down again before suddenly leaning in, catching me completely off guard when he suddenly placed a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose, followed by my forehead. "I'd say you did, too."
"So," I wiggled my brows. "What's it mean?"
"It means..." Harry clicked his tongue. "'I'm insanely fucking hungry and if we don't go to this restaurant in the next 30 minutes, I am going to die of starvation.'"
"That?" I asked flatly with a roll of my eyes. "That's what you taught me? Can't even say that in Italy if I wanted to considering I'd get slapped at the vulgarity of it."
Harry just raised a brow, giving me a sideways grin. "Would you expect anything fuckin' less from me?"
I'd come to the conclusion that this side of Harry was my favourite side of him. There were a lot of things about him that I liked, things in particular that I probably shouldn't be as fond of when I was, but this version – the touchy, affectionate, vocal man who stood in front of me now, was one that I didn't feel so bad about wasting the day away with. Sure, I had reason to believe that maybe it wouldn't last and a part of me hoped that he wasn't being like this solely because of the event tomorrow, because he just needed someone here, but I didn't quite care. Not when every single touch, kiss, word out of his mouth had my heart catapulting into my throat and threatening to spill right out onto the pavement.
That last one was definitely going to be a problem, I feared, but that was a barrier I'd cross tomorrow.
"You're the one keeping me trapped out here," I mumbled teasingly. "Been ready to go this whole time."
Harry dropped his hands from my waist and reached over to pop the door open, scooching me to the side so that he could open it fully and gesture with his chin for me to step inside. "Away we go then, bella ragazza."
"So, where are you planning on taking me?" I asked once he'd gotten in the car. I'd popped a piece of gum out from a package that I'd stolen from his glove compartment and he'd snatched the piece right out of my palm, tossing it into his own mouth before I even had the chance to react.
"Gotta act fast," he winked, jaw flexing as he chewed. His hand came to rest on my thigh as we pulled out of the parking lot. "And I haven't decided. But no street meat, that's for fucking sure."
"But you loved it when we were in Italy," I replied with yet another grin.
"Love is a strong term for what I felt for mediocre hot dogs we bought on the side of the street," he glanced sidelong at me, running his thumb up and down my thigh. "Maybe I'll have to take us back to Italy so I can reconsider where I stand on the matter."
"I mean, I'm down," I rested my head back against the headrest, turning just enough to look at him. To study the side of his face, the downward slope of his cheek, the prominent muscle in his jaw that feathered with every chew of his gum. "If you're willing to fly economy on a public plane."
Harry whirled to look at me, brows furrowing insistently. "And why–"
"I just feel like you need to be humbled sometimes," I teased, reaching up to pat his cheek. Harry didn't so much as miss a breath, something that didn't go unnoticed by me.
"Cruel little deviant," he muttered, "I'm scared of fucking planes, asshole, so I'd sooner go into cardiac arrest than–"
"Means I can calm you down though, no?" I inched my fingers toward the base of his neck. Harry straightened himself in his seat, eyes still trained ahead on the road. "And calming you down..." I threaded my fingers into his hair, a low noise escaping him, "happens to be one of my favourite things."
"You can calm me down on a jet just fine," he shot back, though his tone had softened. Turned into something a little gentler.
"I'd prefer to see you squirm in public," I shrugged, scratching at his scalp.
Harry let out a low groan. "And you were calling me the sadist." His hand inched a smidgen higher on my thigh. "You're playing a dangerous game, just so you know." He gave me a squeeze. "Getting a little bold."
Coming from the guy who was begging me to fuck him mere hours ago.
"Right," I rolled my eyes, curling pieces of his hair around my fingers and leaned forward to turn up the music. The H playlist was shuffling, Beast of Burden currently playing through the speakers. "Shut up and drive, I'm hungry. Don't make me recite the Italian you taught me over and over to you."
We'd pulled up to a light and when I glanced over at Harry, he was staring at me, a half-grin gracing his face. "You can definitely fucking try."
By the time we finally arrived back at my place, Harry was already droning on about something new. It had been a good drive, where we talked about nothing and everything all at once, only for him to piss me off once we'd pulled into the parking lot.
"You can't just leave your car here."
Harry looked at me over the roof of Moira, cocking his head to the side. He'd decided that since I was bringing my car, he would just let his stay here in the lot of my apartment building and we'd drive mine together. Personally, I had a feeling it was because he wasn't going to let me drive my car until he'd sent it in to get a full inspection and tune-up done, which was another thing he'd mentioned on the ride over that I'd pointedly chosen to ignore, but his reasoning was that he apparently didn't want to crowd his parking garage. Something that was absolute bullshit considering I'd been able to set up a makeshift art studio in there and knew for a fact there were at least four open spaces.
"Why can't I?" Harry grumbled, walking around the car and stopping only inches from me. "C'mon. Move. I'm driving."
"Your car's going to get stolen."
"Whatever. Scooch."
"No, not whatever," I rolled my eyes, refusing to budge. "Seriously. We'll just take separate cars."
"So I can watch from my rearview mirror as this piece of shit falls apart on the highway and you end up in a million pieces on the pavement?" he reached for the handle, "I'll pass."
"It isn't going to fall apart – dude, Harry!" He'd lifted me up again and casually placed me on the other side of him, popping the driver's side door open. Over his shoulder, he muttered with another sharp chew of his gum, "You snooze, you lose, pretty girl. Get in. Taxi's leaving."
I stared at him, at the way he so casually dropped himself into the seat leaving one leg to rest on the pavement outside and the other adjusting to the small area of my car. "You're so–"
"Hot? Incredible? Amazing?" he ran his tongue along his inner cheek, reaching out to grab the door. "Unmatched in bed? Great at tattooing–?"
"Arrogant? Narcissist? Asshole-y?"
Harry barked out a laugh. "Don't think the last one's a word, ma bel tentativo, dolcezza."
"Jesus, you and your throwing in Italian at random times so I can't understand," my feet worked without thinking, practically stomping my way over to the passenger side, where I slid in beside him, less-than-amused.
"Ah, but it works doesn't it?" he pulled his door shut. "Throws you off your game."
If I was being honest, my lack of enthusiasm about him leaving his car here was less about the fact that I was worried it was going to get stolen and more about the fact that I wasn't going to have any time by myself to recoup before dinner.
A date. That's what this was, right? Every other date I'd been on, I'd needed hours in advance to prepare and get my nerves out. Normally I did something to distract myself or did everything I could not to think about the person I was going on said date with. But with Harry, I hadn't yet had that opportunity, mainly because we hadn't been apart yet. We'd barely been apart in days, almost a full week even.
I couldn't rightly get my date anxiety out – which usually included a solo car ride of me screaming songs at the top of my lungs and pretending that it wasn't even happening – when he was right here beside me. Plus, I'd never been this nervous about a date before. I didn't know what it was; if maybe I was a little delirious from our earlier activities in Devil's Due, or just the fact that it was him, but it was suddenly beginning to wear on me.
And yes, I knew that I should have just been honest and told him that I needed some time alone, except the worst part of it all was that I didn't even want to be alone. He soothed my anxiety, he made me feel better, it was just a catch 22 when that anxiety was blossoming from his own hand to begin with.
"It takes a second–" I muttered, trying to conceal my laugh at Harry's attempts to start my car. "You've just gotta–" I leaned over and smacked the dash as hard as I could, before dropping a hand down to shove the gear shift forward a little, "–there." The engine hummed to life. "Perfect."
"Fuckin' hell, Riv, you aren't serious," Harry glanced over at me, appalled. "The fact that you have to do that at all is–"
"Drive, mad man, drive!" I cut in, grinning. "She's good once you get her on the road."
"Bloody fuckin' deathtrap," he mumbled, huffing an angry breath before pulling the car out of the parking lot and onto the road. "Be lucky you've made it this far," his hand appeared on my leg once more where he began to trace figure eights on my thigh. "Can't believe you just willingly drive around in this."
"Should I have dressed up?" I asked, trying to redirect the conversation. It was getting later now and the street we were driving along was nearly deserted, making me just that much more nervous about where we were possibly headed. I was internally kicking myself now for not heading up to my apartment to change. I'd been too eager.
"You always look good," was Harry's response, still with an undertone of annoyance about the car situation. "Somehow always look dressed up."
"Maybe to you," I rolled my eyes, trying to quell the butterflies in my stomach at his words. "But my attire changes depending on where I'm going and now, I'm a little nervous that you're going to drag me somewhere fancy while I'm wearing jeans."
"Sick looking jeans, though," he ran the pad of his thumb over the patchwork denim. We pulled up to a light and he looked over at me, hand still on my thigh. "Gonna have to–"
It happened in a matter of seconds. One moment, Harry and I were talking, ignoring the world around us. Ignoring the light that was on its final few seconds of red, ignoring the deserted street save for one other car behind us, ignoring that anything else existed except for each other until the shrill, familiar sound of a gunshot rang out and Harry was suddenly driving his hand forward to catch the hem of my shirt and yanking me down so abruptly that the wind was knocked out of me.
"What–"
"Stay down, River," his hand was flat on my back, pressing so forcefully that it almost hurt. I was half shoved over the console, half parallel to my lap, noticing only moments later the glass surrounding us. My back window had shattered. "Don't fucking move. Do not–"
Another shot rang out, but Harry was already accelerating, heaving deep breaths and I suddenly wished we'd taken his car, the amount of fear currently overwhelming me enough to only have me wondering what I'd done wrong. What we'd done to deserve this.
"Harry," I managed, wincing at the pain in my ribs. "Har–"
"Stay there, just stay there–" his voice was wavering. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit. My gun, my fucking gun–" he glanced in the rearview mirror, swerving the car to the side as another shot rang out, "–Jesus Christ, I left it at the shop. I wasn't even fucking thinking–"
"I have one," I suddenly blurted. "I have yours."
It was true. I'd kept it on me, in my purse, since the night I'd gone to meet with Damien. And I was suddenly so fucking grateful I'd remembered to take it out of his car before getting into mine. Scrambling as fast as I could, ignoring Harry's pleas through clenched teeth not to move, I ducked toward my feet and reefed through my purse, withdrawing it with shaky hands.
"Is it the car behind us–?"
"You need to stay down," Harry half-shouted the moment I tried to sit up and grabbed me by the back of my neck, forcing me toward my knees. "Give me the gun–"
"You're driving! You need to be careful, too! I'll just–"
"Riv, give me the fucking gun–"
But I'd already cocked it, had it properly set in my hands and was just praying to god that there was a shot or two left when I twisted out of his hold and spun around toward the back window, unbuckling my seat belt in one go as I aimed it toward the two fucking cunts currently shooting at us in the tinted black sedan a few hundred feet away.
Another shot rang out at the very same moment that I pulled the trigger and Harry was yanking me by my arm back into the seat as he swerved the car onto yet another side road.
"You–" his eyes were wide and wild as he glanced in the rear-view mirror, "You hit their front window."
Sure enough, from what I could see in the passenger side mirror as we rounded the corner and they followed was a large, winding crack along the glass – right in front of where a driver would be sat.
"It's bulletproof glass," Harry muttered, "but this must not be the first time they've been hit because–"
Another gunshot. My ears were ringing and Harry was hauling me down again, cursing under his breath. "Baby, listen to me–" his voice was so strained, so unkept that I couldn't help the shiver that wracked its way up my spine, "You have to stay down. You've gotta keep your fucking head down–"
"What about you?" I shot back, eyes wide, but ducked below the cover of my seat nonetheless. I'd already cocked the gun again. "No way in hell I'm sitting here useless and watching you get shot while I do nothing–"
"Jesus, Riv, c'mon!"
I was spinning back toward the window, extending my shaky arms and aiming once more at the car – which was now almost right on us, considering my stupid fucking car could hardly reach the level of speed theirs could. It was with every last smidgen of clarity in my brain, I watched as a hand – armed and ready – poked out of one of the windows. With an inward breath, I directed my gun and fired, feeling a sick sort of satisfaction settle low in my stomach when I watched the bullet hit its mark right in the wrist of our assailant.
Pretty sure that's the first time I've ever hit my intended target.
The gun flew from their hold, clattering onto the pavement, only to become abandoned hundreds and hundreds of feet behind them as the car gained on us, barely even phased by their loss of a weapon. I had only just readied myself for another shot when Harry's hand fisted tight around my shirt and he was hauling me back down again.
"Christ, gonna break my fucking ribs–"
"I'd rather break your ribs than have a bullet in your chest," he snarled, ducking his head and veering the car sharply left as another shot rang out.
"Fuck–" the bullet had made its mark in one of our tires and Moira's dash lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Harry banged his hand against the wheel. "Fuck, fuck–" he was so busy looking at the front of the car, at the alerts it was currently giving off, that when he turned his head – the car which had now materialized almost beside our car took us completely off guard.
In certain moments, I forgot that Harry had grown up the way he did. In moments like earlier today, when he'd been so soft, so gentle, all hushed words of appreciation – it was easy to believe he'd spent his whole life that way. In a kind, loving, warm environment. But moments like this one, where his eyes widened and dipped only once between mine and the car at our side, was when I remembered how he'd grown up. That he'd lived for survival and nothing more, that a moment like this – where I was so sure the two of us were seconds away from getting bullets in our skull – was one where he thrived.
It took less than ten seconds. That was it. Ten seconds for him to blindly reach with a single hand, the one that he had been using to hold me down, to grab at the hem of his sweater which he yanked over his head and promptly shoved over my own, keeping me trapped against the console of the car. Then his fingers were moving swiftly, climbing up the length of my back and prying my hand off the gun, which he took for himself. I was breathing so heavily that I nearly missed the two shots that rang out in succession right above my head.
My ears were ringing, glass was shattering and being scattered all over my back and clothed head, which I was sure would have been cut to shit had I not had the cover of Harry's sweater, and then there was silence. Well, the silence that came with being momentarily deafened in which I could only briefly make out the hum of yet another engine acceleration, the way my car leapt and bounded over what one could only assume was an unpaved road and then Harry's hands, which were yanking the sweater from over my head and coming to cup my face, shaking against my skin, as he looked me over and over with a heaving chest, muttering, "Are you okay? You're okay. Tell me you're okay." His thumb was trembling so badly as it dragged back and forth along my cheek. His voice was still distant, my ears continuing to ring. "Talk to me. Say something, baby, let me know you're fine."
I was the one that should have been concerned. Harry's face looked like it had been doused in red paint. All of him did, actually. His face, the exposed skin of his arms, his hands. They'd all been cut and he already had budding bruises forming from the chaos.
And it was my fault.
My fault, my fault, my fault.
This was obviously about what had happened with Damien. I'd been stupid. So fucking stupid in not telling him earlier and letting us parade around, oblivious to the fact that I'd been fucking threatened only a week earlier, when we could have easily avoided this. I'd almost killed him. He would have been dead because of me.
My mouth parted, wanting to answer him, to tell him that I was fine, but instead all I found myself blurting was, "I need to tell you something."
Harry's hands didn't once leave my face as I recounted what happened the night he was in Morocco. Nor did I have enough sensibility to ask if we were even safe yet, where the car had gone and where the fuck we even were. It was all my brain seemed to be able to speak, stumbling over stuttered words and mumbled excuses for sentences that I was just barely able to articulate thanks to my trembling. Occasionally Harry would urge me to stop, to catch my breath, and we'd both just sit there, reeling in the aftermath of what had just gone on, until I was finally able to continue.
But Harry's demeanour slipped halfway through my story. He'd been good, attentive, calm, up until I mentioned the incident with my wallet, the men I'd had to shoot. He'd gone so tense, taut as a bowstring, that I was almost worried he actually was going to snap – and not just in the metaphorical sense.
The first words he spoke to me after the majority of everything had been laid on the table was a hoarse, "Are they dead?"
"O-one of them is," I nodded. "Damien killed him. The other–" I shook my head, which was hard to do still in his hold, "–I think the other might still be alive. I shot him in the leg."
"And does he know?" That lethal, terrifying calmness was back in his voice. "Does he know your real name?"
I attempted to shake my head again. He shouldn't. I explained to him that the only one who had seen my ID, the one who had gotten a hold of my wallet, was dead. Damien and the other man had come out after the fact, once I'd already picked it back up.
"I'm sorry," my voice was raw. "I'm so sorry, Harry. So, so fucking sorry–"
"Sh, it's okay," Harry's voice was low, tense, and I could tell that he was trying his absolute hardest to soften it however he could. It wasn't until he swiped the pads of his thumbs beneath my eyes that I realized I was crying. His hands slid down, looping below my shoulders and he tugged me against him, his hands running up and down the length of my back. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my head in the crook of his neck, crying harder as he murmured in my ear, "You're okay. Don't apologize. This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault. You're okay, sweet girl."
All I could do was keep apologizing. It seemed my brain was stuck on a loop.
"We've gotta get out of here, though, okay?" he turned his head and kissed up the length of my neck. The gesture was shaky and prolonged, paying no heed to the fact that we were both probably covered in blood. "It's not your fault–"
"It is," I cut in, still in a state of disbelief. I pulled away from him, regretful even for his sympathy. Harry reached for me, but I pulled away, something that caused him to tense further. "I told you, Damien said he doesn't do anything without expecting something in return. I took something from him. A life for a life–"
"Except those weren't Damien's men." Harry cut me off abruptly, his eyes clouding and a muscle in his jaw feathering.
My blood chilled. "What? Then whose were they?"
Harry didn't respond for a long moment. "They just... weren't his." He shook his head, gaze meeting mine. "Which is why we have to go right now. Because honestly? I have no fucking idea what they want and now that I've killed two of their men, there's no saying if they're going to come back with a hundred more."
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a/n: i'm... sorry to tease you with the whole date thing </3