Temptress

32 - Cleo | Denial

"What the fuck is this, Harry? Is this a fucking joke?" I had already lost my temper and I was shouting in our hotel room, glaring at Harry as I paced back and forth in front of our beds.

After I killed Gael this morning, I thought I would have a good day... maybe shit wouldn't hit the fan and I could start to process the things I was feeling whenever Harry was around. It was getting harder and harder for me to deny this stupid attraction and I was constantly having an internal battle with my brain.

I even had a hard time accepting that us working together was actually pretty functional and it flowed quite nicely.

I cleaned the room after I slit Gael's throat, and it was always a very messy option, but thankfully it was basically collecting the plastic covering the floor.

Harry was the one who cut off Gael's arms and legs so it could be easier to transport him. Well, he was the one who got rid of the body and I had no idea where he took him, but I actually trusted him to pick somewhere appropriate.

Fuck, I was starting to trust Harry.

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I noticed was that he wasn't in the room.

My body was so fucking sore that it took me extra minutes to get up from bed, and extra ones to shower. The hot water streaming down my body wasn't very relaxing when it reached in between my legs, the slight sting was a constant reminder that Harry and I had fucked.

I couldn't stop thinking about it, and the way he kissed me last night before I went to bed was also engraved in my mind. I completely got lost in it, it was so slow and gentle compared to our previous kisses, but somehow just as intense.

He wasn't kidding when he said he made sure I'd think of him though, because as soon as I put on my pants, the familiar pain on my ass reminded me of said initials marked on my skin.

The bruises were already turning purple and the cuts weren't as swollen, but the letters were very fucking evident and raw on my skin.

And I did my best to take a deep breath and ignore it completely.

It was impossible, though.

All I could think about was Harry's hands on my body, his mouth on mine, the dirty words he'd say to me unlike anyone had ever said before.

Shameless son of a bitch, he was so fucking annoying.

But it wasn't that bad to work with him... I mean, he also enjoyed cutting off fingers, and we had the same torture modus operandi. And he also let me take the lead, which I was thankful for because this whole thing was making me anxious.

Gael was a worthless piece of shit, killing him improved my mood for three seconds before Harry said we needed to talk after we cleaned things up.

I just had a very bad gut feeling this was going to be about my father, and I was right.

The moment Gael said my father's name, the scariest chill went down my spine. I hadn't heard anyone else saying it in years, my mother rarely mentioned it and Niall knew how it was a delicate topic for me.

When Harry and I said we hoped to find some correlation between the targets and our families, or maybe link this to whoever was trying to kill us, the last thing I expected was to hear that my dad was involved in business with Gael, supplying him with god knows what.

They knew each other eight years ago, two years before my father was killed... did Mark also know my father? And what about Roger?

What was the missing piece to connect this to me and Harry?