024

407K 12.2K 14.9K
                                    

       chapter song: any [a lot will happen these next chapters so be patient ya'll]

        The second day we were up later than usual. I rested until ten and made myself some tea, seeing as it would be nice enough to prepare one for Harry.

        After the awkward incident from yesterday, I feel as if there was something different in the atmosphere that reaches both bodies. But, in all honesty, I don't quite want to find out what it is. For fear that it will be more problematic. 

        He glanced at me briefly and thanked me for the tea. I went my separate way and showered, while he did the same on his own.

        By eleven twelve, we were both scattering printed pages of maps and red, blue, and green uncapped markers around us. Harry sat by the computer with his eyes focused on the screen, telling me what map to mark with what city or country. 

        We numbered the maps. Right now we had about six. One for each mafia that has made an attack against us. Our goal is to find what these six illegal corporations have in common.

        At the beginning, while driving through Texas, the mafia was the Black Pool Confederacy. They come from the U.S, specifically there have been reports from the government, which Harry (through my father's program) has access to files, that this mafia tends to murder for profit. They kill for those who pay them. In other words, they are all hit men. 

        "Map five of Southern Africa. Circle Malawi." Harry called from the computer. "Mark it with red." 

        I persisted to keep us as organized as possible, and Harry agreed as long as he wouldn't have to deal with most of the organizing. In order for me to keep track of that, I color coated things.

        Red was for the ones that have worked with my father, blue for the ones that have the most in common, and green for ones that are the most irrelevant. 

        "When did we encounter Malawi?" I asked him as I searched for the red marker. 

        "The men we heard talking about you were from Malawi. When we hid behind the hill. It's a bit far back," he informed, by his tone he was clearly more focused on the computer than his own words. Just as I marked Malawi in red, Harry added, "Mark map three in blue of England. Search for Doncaster." 

        I nodded once again and reached for the blue, circling the map of Doncaster, England. "So, who are these guys?"

        "The mafia that was after us from the concession store all the way to the motel. Mark map two of Russia. City -- Moscow." Harry quickly said. "They shot the bullet that almost killed your father in Italy."

        "What color?" 

        "I'm trying to figure that out right now. In the mean time, circle map one of Western Coast U.S, California in red. L.A." 

        + 

        Later in the days, I would be in the basement of the house with Harry, shooting down targets to my best abilities. If there was something I was somewhat good at was shooting from a certain range. Not as good as Harry, however. Probably never will be. 

        Harry held the gun with such careless care, as if used to its mass and the feeling of it in his large hands. He frowned deeply at the target, standing at a certain angle and raising only one arm to shoot. Every time, at any side -- right or left -- he would hit the bull's eye. 

        He was fascinating to watch. The bicep muscles in his arm would flex every time he raised an arm, his defined jaw clenching tightly as unusual when he was in focus. His pale green eyes eyed the target with his 20/20 vision. 

Dust Bones [Harry Styles]Where stories live. Discover now