in which joelle d'amore is completing her final semester of university in the grand city of los angeles, california. when she finds herself in the presence of harry styles, a piercing man with dangerous agendas, she is permeated with fear. she saw s...
TRIGGER WARNING: vulgar language and mentions of rape and child sexual abuse ahead.
look for the (***) borders to skip.
pleaseskip if the topic is triggering.
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Chapter 8
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HARRY
"I'm telling you, she had by far the nicest tits I've ever seen."
"Size?"
"Perky C's."
I can't take fuck and fucker's brain drilling conversation any much longer—not after drowning what seemed to be my sorrows deep into some woman and booze the bleak night before. And, to think I would have gotten some damn sleep because of it, I didn't. "Both of you, shut the fuck up!" I snap.
Louis, in the driver's seat, only smirks beside me. "Oh, c'mon... Aren't perky C's a dream, Harold?" He laughs, letting go of the steering wheel of his large SUV to light his third cigarette between his slender fingers.
"Personally," Liam begins from the middle backseat. "I like 36-D's."
I only scoff and reach into the inner pocket of my leather jacket. "All tits are a fucking dream," I murmur tiredly while whipping out the silver flask I can't go anywhere without. I unscrew the cap of it then drink down my stored hard liquor in a gulp. I need it if I want to get by a whole damn day with fuck and fucker.
"Of course you say that! You fuck anything that walks. Isn't that right?"
I don't disagree with what Louis jokes and laughs on about—I can't. He's made a point. I fuck them as they come; meaning, in all shapes and sizes.
With a quick snicker, I tuck my flask back into the inner pocket of my jacket for safekeeping. The tasteful burn quenched my thirst. I groan from the lingering heat in my throat that feels almost too good. I then take off my dark sunglasses, tossing them on top of the dashboard when Louis parks by the curb of my destination. "I'll be back," I tell my required company.
Stepping off of Louis' Range Rover, I slam the door shut and start walking into the building in front of me. I slide a hand underneath my jacket, reaching behind me for the gun tucked in my waistband. I just want to make sure it's still there.
"Good morning!" I hear as soon as I stepped foot past the glass doors. "Can I help-"
"No," I plainly cut off the blonde behind the front desk. I don't give her another look. I only make my way through the building, already knowing where to go.
I get to the second floor, arriving at the office door with a golden plaque drilled onto it that reads Niall Horan. I don't bother knocking on my customer's closed door. I reach for the knob and barge right in instead. I'm expected, after all.
