redemption: harry styles

Chapter Seventy Six

// one hour before the incident //

"Don't be scared."

I swallowed, the action making me realize how thirsty I was. My mouth was dry, every breath seeming to make my throat ache. The back of my head and neck were screaming in pain but I refused to raise my head and face his eyes. It'll make me angrier than scared even though I was already fuming on the inside of my shaking body.

"Just hope he gives us what we want and you're all good," Ashton told me, leaning back on his chair. He was sitting across me in a small room to my right and there was a kitchen on the other side of the room that looked like it hadn't been used in a while.

"All good?" I repeated and laughed bitterly. It sent me into a small coughing fit. I swallowed again and cleared my throat, keeping my eyes on my shoes. My hair was covering most of my face, helping me avoid my tormentor's face. My hands were bound in front of me but my legs weren't. I don't know how long I was out but when I woke up to this place I felt as drowsy as I did when in the safe house. "I'm not stupid. Your goal is to kill criminals--which I find shocking, by the way--" I raised my head so it was resting against the wall, and I was able to see his face, "--you're not letting us go."

Ashton had a white cloth wrapped around his arm, one particular area soaked in blood. He had a face that showed he'd rather be anywhere else than sitting in a chair across from me barely doing anything, and his eyes weren't on me.

"So, you don't want me to reassure you? I like it," he said, keeping his eyes trained on the doorway beside me. I gave him a muddled look. "I like that you aren't in denial, that you think you'll live forever, happily with that psycho next to you at all times." He leaned back in his chair. "Because, we all know, the bad guys always lose. Right?"

I closed my eyes and smiled, lightly shaking my head. "That's ironic."

"No," he insisted and leaned forward again, "it's not. We're doing everybody a favor. We're cleansing the world of the waste God created. We might lose in the end but he's thankful it was over ridding people like you."

"Honey, I don't think God wants you to kill bad people. That's what the cops are for," I said sweetly.

Ashton narrowed his eyes at me. "You don't understand. No one understands, so I wouldn't expect an insane to believe me," he shot back quietly.

"You said the bad guys always lose, right?" I asked.

"That's why they all die," he said simply, swinging back and forth on his chair. My eyes flickered to the gun hanging from his hip.

"No, that's why there's a place called Hell."

"Well, then, see you there."

There was a thump, and Ashton and I turned our heads towards the doorway. A middle aged woman with pale hair and prominent cheekbones stood to my right. She wore black stilettos, white jeans and simple black tee. Light makeup coated her face, meaning she had been somewhere important enough to forget the fact that she was on the killing side long enough to look pretty.

She glanced my way for a moment then turned to Ashton. "They're still discussing exchange, dodging questions about the main goal, though," she huffed, striding to stand beside Ashton. Gingerly, she placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled sweetly. "How's your wound?" she asked, glancing from behind at his arm.

"It hurts," he said, shrugging, then turned to me. I'd usually feel intimidated or insecure while she sized me up and Ashton glared with dark eyes but all I felt was annoyance as I held her gaze.

"We'll make sure she pays," the girl said and rubbed his shoulder gently.

"I totally can't hear you," I said randomly. I should keep my mouth shut but I knew I was not getting out of here alive and I'm not dying giving them the idea that I was scared.