Get The Girl [h.s] AU

06

Dinner last night consisted of greasy burgers and fries. I didn't complain much after Styles basically threatened to throw it out in the trash if I didn't eat it. Telling me he wouldn't feed me again and I believed it. So I forced myself to eat, at least the parts of the burger that wasn't completely covered with oil. Styles, however, ate his with no hesitation.

We watched TV while we ate and then it was time for my shower. I tested out taking longer than five minutes this time and it worked, Styles didn't seem to mind. That was until almost an hour later when he pounded on the bathroom door, telling me I was waisting all the hot water.

He handcuffed me again and went in to shower before it was time for bed.

The next morning, we woke up way too early for my liking. We were back on the road on our way to Seattle as he instructed the gps. And yet again we were stuck in the car, in nothing but silence and only my guts declaring food by growling every second they got. I saw Styles look at me from the corner of his eye as my stomach growled. "If you hadn't picked at your food last night like a fucking bird, maybe you wouldn't be hungry." He remarks, keeping his eyes on the road.

"You might as well have gotten me bacon grease to eat." I retort, adjusting my seatbelt. I hadn't eaten properly in about three days now, last nights food only made me want to throw up. "Where'd you even get those burgers from?"

"Street vendor." He says nonchalantly. And then we were back to that same ear piercing silence. I hated it so much but I also found it hard to muster up a word to even say to him without him replying sarcastically, or not replying at all. I didn't know him and I've never held a conversation with anybody that wasn't my mother or sister before. My father and I only talked when he would relocate me and the men I was always forced to go with were all working for him.

But who knew what hole Styles crawled out from.

"Who was that man you spoke to on the radio?" I ask, remembering when he took me and how I heard his conversation while I was under the bed. "Back at the motel."

"What?" He sounds confused but continues to drive nonetheless, not paying me much attention as he does the road ahead.

"It was some guy he asked if you had found me yet," I recall. "Did he send you?"

He stays quiet and clenches his jaw. "It was nobody." We make a sharp turn on the light.

"Well, I—"

"Stop talking, Valentina." He warns, the furrow in between his eyebrows now much harsher than before. And I did for my sake, not his. I remained silent the whole drive until we reached Seattle, now populated with people and big towers and lights. Everywhere I looked I was filled with hope that I could go up to somebody and ask for help, but then I remembered I couldn't.

I was helpless.

However, he didn't stop driving until we reached a gated community. He punched in a code and we were in. "Let's go." Styles says, getting out of the truck with me following suit.

"What's in there?" I ask as I look at the house.

"Just follow me." He mumbles, already annoyed. I sigh but follow him regardless. Why I'm not fighting him was beyond me. I could be walking into my death for all I knew.

Everything on the inside looked like a regular home, except for the business like theme they were going for. "Styles." A manly voice joined us, coming down the stairs in black clothing. "Nice to see you're alive." The man joked. "And you've got the girl." He looks at me and grins "Perfect." I hide a little behind Styles.

"We need new plates." Styles speaks. "I'm also out of bullets."

"Did you run out by shooting yourself in the arm?" The man asks rhetorically, attempting to grab his arm but Styles jerks away.

"We ran into a bit of an inconvenience at a gas station." He says. "Two of them are dead, one is still alive." He places down his duffel bag. "I'm in need of new supplies."

"How bad is the vehicle?"

"Back windshield is gone, bullet holes everywhere."

"It should not be this hard to kill a couple of morons." The man says, walking away. Styles behind him motions for me to follow. "I don't know why you mess around with them."

"I like to have my fun." I furrow my brows, that was significantly horrifying to hear given I sleep in the same room as him.

"Yeah? Well, thanks to your incompetence now I have to lend you one of my pride and joys." The man says. We reach a door and when he opens it, it was a three car garage with cars in all black. "This is an Autobiography Range Rover." He says, grabbing some keys off a hook on the wall. "White interior, leather seats. If there's even anything as a scratch on my paint you're done for." He drops the keys in Styles's hand. "You're going to get three extra plates just in case. I'll get Jim to fill the trunk."

"Sounds great." Styles says. The man turns to look me over, noticing my attire.

"Get her some clothes, for the love of God."

"I don't think God's got anything to do with the way she's dressed." Styles remarks, checking the truck from the inside. I felt embarrassed.

Before the man can say anything else, a lady joins us in the garage. "Mr. T, you're wanted in the loft." The man excuses himself and leaves the garage leaving Styles and I behind. I walk around, looking at the cars the man owned. One of them being a black Tesla and the other one I identified as a black Audi.

"Don't you think it'd be better to have a car as opposed to a truck?" I say, walking around the cars.

"Truck. Car. Same shit." Styles dismisses my suggestion.

"I just think it would make it easier." I shrug. He looks at me before looking back to the truck. "To drive a car. Less recognizable and relatively faster." When the man comes back, Styles goes over to him. He tells him something that makes them exchange car keys.

I see a man carrying Styles's duffel bag now seemingly full with something. He puts it in the trunk of the black Audi, changes the license plates and before I knew it we were back on the road.

Styles must've taken the man's suggestion about getting me clothes into consideration because we stopped by a garage sale. I picked out an acceptable outfit which was a white t-shirt a little oversized and some denim skinny jeans that just barely fit me. I also got lucky and found a pair of old converse in my size.

I felt uncomfortable having to wear old used clothes that barely fit without washing them first, but anything was better than wearing the same dirty shorts, tank top and dirty socks for much longer.

Styles and I didn't speak for the rest of the drive.