Error. [H.S.]

14.

TW: Mentions of mental health, violence, death, and self harm.

Harry.

"I didn't anticipate meeting you here, Mr. Styles." A wicked tone caught my attention as I passed a central room, stopping me in my tracks. A glance over my shoulder brought me eye to eye with the most villainous asshole I've ever encountered. "This certainly isn't part of the plan."

Fuck, not now.

"Most people don't schedule hospital visits." The obvious flew off my lips without a second thought, rotating my stature on the heels of my boots.

"I do." A grimy grin showed me the veneers that came out of my paycheck while the orchestra of heart monitors added a twisted layer to his words. "I reckon I should've sent you to get the job done. If legend has it correct, Styles men never miss a target, eh?" 

His attire matched his attitude, cold and deceitful. The satin suit exceeded the hospital dress code, but was right on the theme for the occasion. Empathy wasn't an accessory to his ensemble, but the slightest indicator of pleasure hung around his neck in remembrance of the pathway that brought him to such cynical success.

"Our deal doesn't involve my finger on a trigger." Gritted teeth hush my words as my hands get shoved into my coat pocket. 

He knows this. 

I don't fuck around with guns. 

"For now." A chuckle brought a light tone to our conversation as a nurse passes by. "What brings you here?" A casual hand slaps onto my shoulder, but the grip reminds me the this facade is simply just that -- a facade. 

My teeth chew on the inside of my cheek, keeping my smart mouth from spewing off in front of any of the health care workers. He's not supposed to be here. What the fuck is he doing here? His plan better not have changed. 

Fuck, I shouldn't have let Scotty go ahead without me. He wouldn't make his attack so soon, right? Not with so many cops in the building. 

Right?

"Nurse is gone, save the bullshit." I pin my elbow against the interior of his, ramming his hand off of me. "Shooting that Irish prick wasn't in the playbook." I huff, getting a sense of how this deal is actually going to play out. It's a fucking game of telephone where I get the shit end of the message after word of mouth has altered it over and over again. "What the fuck was that about?"

"He's a road block. Scotty won't let her guard down without a reason to." His familiarity with her was eerie, blatantly disgusting. He's been loitering around in the shadows of her life for the past six years, making targeted observations on the smallest things that compile importance to Scotty Klein. "Part of the business is knowing when to take action. Not everything can be predicted."

From the interior of his blazer, a manila folder was presented to me. Secured by the metal latch on the back, he used it to fan some air onto my fury red cheeks. 

"The next time you decide to tamper with the plan, don't forget that I have eyes on you everywhere you go." If paper cuts could kill, my life would be draining out of my throat. The folder dragged across my throat sharply, tearing a painful fracture across my skin. "You're doing an excellent job at wrapping Scotty around your finger, but don't get wrapped around hers. She's pretty, but she's not your target. She's mine." He shoved the envelope into my chest, and I caught it before it fell. "Instructions are inside. Let this serve as your last  reminder."

"Fuck no, I'm not doing your dirty work." The contents of the envelope rattle with a shake. There's more than a sticky note in here. Fuck this.

"You could always stand behind the trigger, but we both know how that worked out for you last time." He turned to leave me with a bellowing laugh, hand slapping against my bicep to bid me goodbye. "Take some time to remember how you got here in the first place. The premature downfall of the domino effect is caused by fatal errors."