The Most Dangerous Game (Harry Styles AU)

67

-Harry

My eyes shoot open at the feeling of freezing water being thrown on me, it drenching my hair and the front of my shirt.

Searing pain coming from the side of my head makes me groan, my eyes slamming back shut at the sensation.

I try to stand up, realizing my hands are bound behind my back. I struggle to free them, but the metal handcuffs only dig deeper into my wrists. 

My heart races as I try to calm my nerves and take in my surroundings.

The small windowless room is dimly light. The air is musty and warm, filled with a rank smell I don't recognize. I notice streams of light coming in around a closed door as a dark figure sets down a bucket that most likely was just filled with the cold water covering me now.

I shake my head forcibly, throwing droplets of water out of my hair before awkwardly sitting up.

"Stupid boy."

I've never heard the voice before, but I know exactly who the thick Russian accent belongs to.

Tasting a hint of blood in my mouth, I spit it out onto the concrete floor. "You killed my friend."

Viktor steps closer, his face coming into full view from the overhead light. He studies me, a long hardened crease cut across the skin of his pale forehead.

"I've killed many frrriends of stupid boy's."

"For Carter."

"Man kills forrr many rrreasons. Makes niet differrrence."

"No difference?" I glare at him.

"Sometimes I kill forrr Karrrter, sometimes I kill forrr me." He pauses, narrowing his eyes at me; "Today I killed forrr you stupid boy." 

"Why the f.uck would you kill for.."

My words are cut short as the door is unlocked, the hinges screeching as it swings open and the room floods with light. I cringe, the sound causing my head to throb even more.

A man I've never seen before steps into the room, giving Viktor a curt nod before he walks over to me and roughly pulls me up off the floor.

I try to get my bearings, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over me as my head buzzes.

"Move." The man barks, pushing me toward the doorway.

I'm steered into a large open room, the firm grip on my left arm shoving me into a chair sat in front of a round table.

I try to adjust my shoulders, the dull ache in them telling me my hands have been restrained behind my back for several hours now at least.

Looking around myself, I quickly scan the room. There's only one door that looks like it could be an exit. It's on the far side of the room, three men standing between it and me.

I take a strained breath, clenching my jaw in anger.

Stupid boy.

My eyes widen as I notice a gun laid on the other side of the table. The full clip is pulled out and laying next to it on the green felt.

The sudden absence of the feel of metal tucked into the back of my jeans makes me realize it's my gun.

F.ucking stupid boy.

The chair across from me is abruptly pulled out, Carter taking a seat in it.

He's not in his usual attire of choice. Instead of a suit he wears a simple black sweater and slacks. He's comfortable, at ease.