Sold // Harry Styles

Chapter 6

Warning: Mention of abuse

The ringleader of Eastside grips my shoulders and holds me down while I squirm under his grip.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks me.  “You only just got here.”

They pick me up, slamming the door shut before dropping me onto the couch.  I stop moving.  It’s useless to try and fight them off.  The door is locked and I know I’m going to be under their constant surveillance from now on.

“It looks as though someone got out,” A.J. says slowly with control in his voice.  I’d almost rather him yell at me than this.  His tone gives me the chills.  “Care to explain how that happened, Mr. Styles?”

“She was taking a shower,” he mumbles, barely audible.

“What’s that?  You were irresponsible?” He provokes Harry.  He doesn’t say anything, but I can see him bite the inside of his mouth.  “That’s what I thought.”

A.J. paces back and forth in front of me, not saying a word while Harry holds a grip on my arm again.  This time, it doesn’t seem as though he’s acting.  His hold on my arm actually hurts.

“Michelle, are you aware of what happens when you try and escape?” he says as he stops in front of me.

I gulp.  I’m afraid to know.

“Well let me take the honors of showing you,” he says when I don’t respond.  He grips my wrist and yanks me up to my feet.  My legs feel like they’ll give out on me any minute now.  I don’t know how they’re supporting my weight.

“What’s going to happen?” I ask weakly.

“You’re getting punished.”

“No,” Harry says, grabbing my other wrist as he yanks me towards him.  “Let me do it.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” he says.  “You just let her get away less than five minutes ago.”

“It won’t happen again,” Harry reassures him.

A.J. glares at Harry, almost as if they have a secret conversation with their eyes.  Both of them hold an intense grip on my wrist before A.J. sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he says.   “You probably have more anger to take out on her than I do anyways."

He shoves into Harry's chest, making me stumble over my own feet.

"Come on," Harry grumbles, keeping a grip on my wrist as he drags me to a guest room.

He slams the door shut, immediately pacing back and forth.  I back up against the wall, afraid of what he may do as he stops short in front of me. He glares in my direction and I try to beg for his forgiveness with my eyes, but he doesn't acknowledge my plea.

“Harry,” I beg.  “I’m sorry—”

He interrupts my apology with a quick tug on the collar of my shirt.  I let out a small gasp as I hear the material rip along my shoulder, making it drape across my skin in a tattered fashion.  He runs his hand through my hair, messing it up so it becomes a static and frizzy mess before pulling on my hand to follow him.  I trip over my feet as I try to keep up with his long strides.

Harry fumbles around with his belt before sliding it out of the last loop.  He shoves me behind him as he slaps the belt hard against the bed, creating loud noises to be heard throughout the room.

My breath is caught in my throat as he spins around quickly to face me, reaching for my hands.  He pushes my long sleeves up my arm and I watch him as he looks at the bruises that line my skin.