BLACKHOUSE [H.S.]

Thirty-Eight

I stare in the mirror at the tight black dress hugging my body, the hem cutting off mid thigh, while the spaghetti straps allow me to show off the tattoos covering my arms. The tall, black strappy heels I picked to match gives me a few extra inches, though not enough to stand out. My hair is in loose waves that barely spill over my shoulders, and I chose to wear the same red lipstick I wore on Thanksgiving.

My focus is pulled away when Harry steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on the top of my head. Even with the heels, he's significantly taller than me, and I can't help but chuckle at the height difference.

"Hi," I mutter, placing my hands on his arms to wrap him even tighter around me.

"Hi," he repeats, smirking at me in the mirror. "You look beautiful."

I feel my cheeks flush, and I avert my gaze from his intense eyes to stare at my feet.

"Thank you," I whisper as he leans down to press a kiss on my shoulder, sending a chill down my spine.

"Everything is going to be fine, you know?" He says against my neck.

We're about to leave for The Heat, the first club on the list that Charles is sending us to to scope out, and suffice to say I'm nervous as hell. He lent Harry and I one of his SUVs so Harry's car wouldn't be recognized, along with a small bluetooth earpiece so I can still communicate with Harry while he waits in the car.

At least I won't be completely alone.

I inhale deeply through my nose before exhaling. "I know," I nod, meeting his eyes in the mirror once more.

He offers me a small smile before kissing my cheek; it's a long kiss, like he's afraid to break it.

Maybe I'm afraid for him to break it, too.

"Come on, baby," he says, squeezing me tightly one last time before letting me go to walk towards the door.

• • •

"Do you remember the plan?" Harry asks once we're in the car, driving towards The Heat.

I pick anxiously at my cuticles, careful to avoid the black polish Harry painted on my nails last night.

"When I get inside, order a drink to blend in while I keep an eye out for the owner, and find the best dancer," I sigh, looking at Harry's profile in the driver's seat.

He's focused intently on the road, a crease between his furrowed brows as he pulls the ring in his lip between his teeth. My eyes drift to the dark tattoos covering his neck, tracing each line with my gaze before trailing down the sleeves of his black Bad Omens hoodie to where his tattooed fingers are tapping on the steering wheel to the beat of the unknown song playing. I study every angle and curve of his body as if it's the last time I'll ever see him, wanting to soak in the image of the man I lo-