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“Thank you for meeting us here,” Zayn says quietly and Louis nods, not completely trusting his voice. He taps his feet and looks around at the people milling about with interest.
They were huddled at a table in the corner of the university library; Zayn leisurely sat on the long side with his computer, books and snacks surrounding him, facing the open space, while Gigi was on the other side, a notebook and tall coffee in front of her, edges barely stained with her brown lipstick.
Louis had sat down with them a few minutes ago, opening his textbook on a random page and pretending to study. They’d sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, then Zayn had offered Louis some chips and they’d pretended to small-talk; three acquaintances who coincidentally ended up studying at the same table in the busy library by chance.
Nothing suspicious going on at all.
“I don’t have much,” Louis mumbles, feeling awkward and Gigi shakes her head, giving him a reassuring smile.
“That’s for us to decide, you just doing what you do. Every little thing can matter in the long run,” she offers kindly and Louis gives her a minuscule grateful smile.
He looks around again, knowing he seems twitchy and suspicious, but he honestly can’t help it.
These meetings always have his anxiety going through the roof. Bear in mind that this is only the third time he’s ever met Gigi and Zayn (which could explain some of it,) but Louis honestly never thinks he’ll get over the uneasiness of these meetings - the feeling of doing something wrong, or perhaps doing what is right in the wrong way.
“What you’ve got?” Zayn asks quietly, easing Louis back to the present with soft words like he knows he’s moments away from spooking Louis away from the whole situation. If so, it’s not an unfounded thought. Louis would gladly run away right about now, but it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?
Even if he regretted what he’s doing, and he isn't - not really - he already has one foot in. And despite how nice and supportive Zayn and Gigi act, Louis knows they could turn on him if he turns on them - if he doesn’t deliver.
Louis slides his phone over the tabletop, as inconspicuous as possible.
“This is his calendar for the next few months. But there’s nothing incriminating on there,” Louis adds with a small shrug, embarrassed this is all he’s been able to produce in the five weeks since they last saw each other and he finally agreed to help the NCA in their quest - an insane suicide mission that will end up with a lifetime of regret, no doubt.
“Just seeing dates, names and their secret codes help, Louis. You’re doing the country a great service and we appreciate the risks you’re undergoing to do so,” Zayn replies seriously and Louis nods, grateful for the acknowledgement of the risks he’s running by doing this.
He wrings his hands a little, unsure of what to say next, as Zayn plugs his phone into his computer to transfer the pictures he’d taken with the secret phone the previous week.
“I also overheard something yesterday,” Louis begins a little unsurely, looking down at the table before turning braver and making eye contact with them.
Gigi takes a sip of her coffee and scribbles something down in her notebook as a guy walks past their table to grab himself a book from a nearby shelf.
“Oh?” she encourages when the boy has left and they’re secluded in their little corner again.
“I don’t know whether it’s of importance, but he mentioned having dinner with someone called Cowell. And from the way he and Liam were talking, it didn’t seem like they like him very much,” Louis explains, scurrying his face a little apologetically as he realises his information is vague and frankly ridiculously non-informative.
Zayn, however, looks up from his computer screen with a keen gaze.
“He said the name Cowell?” Zayn double-checks and Louis nods, a little taken aback at the intense stare he’s given.
He wracks his brain for all the information he’d overheard the previous night when he was meant to be watching his movie, not act like a spy.
“He said he’d rather just shoot him and have it over with than having to put on a fake cordiality for a pompous arse like Cowell - having to listen to all the ridiculous purchases and upgrades he’s done to his snobby house. And then Liam said murder seems like a slight overreaction to being invited to dinner,” Louis re-tells and Gigi and Zayn share a look.
“So it seemed he was invited to Cowell’s private home?” Gigi asks interested, and Louis nods affirmatively.
“He commented on the hot tub, so I got the impression he’s been there before,” Louis offers, not understanding why this tedious information is seemingly so important, but happy he provided it. Apparently, nothing is too small to mention, and he’d do well in remembering that for future conversations.
“That’s really valuable information, Louis. Knowing he has ties to Cowell will help us widen our scope. Keep an eye out for any other names,” Zayn orders, sliding Louis’ phone back over the table, pictures now deleted, and Louis nods affirmatively again.
Zayn then begins to pack his stuff up and it honestly makes Louis relieved to see them prepare to take off.
“We’ll check in soon,” Gigi says with a small smile and Louis nods again, like a bobblehead doll
“You sure this is still a safe location to meet up?” Louis, however, can’t help but ask and Gigi nods decisively.
“You have to trust us, Louis. We’re professionals, and even though we want him caught we are not jeopardising civilians to do so,” she says firmly and Louis makes a pained face.
He’s hardly a civilian though, is he? He’s hardly innocent. He knows what’s going on and what they do, so he’s an accomplice at best. That is why, in exchange for information, he’s been given a promise of both physical and legal protection when it all goes to shit.
Which isn’t a long time away, hopefully. Louis doesn’t know how long he can handle being a double agent. He’s a month in and he already feels frayed on the edges by all the sneaking around and secrecy he’s partaking in.
“You’ve got our safe number?” Zayn checks and Louis nods. He’s been told to use it if there’s an emergency; meaning if he gets found out and put in immediate peril because of it.
Louis still isn’t confident it would actually help him when push comes to shove. It all seems so simple if that was the case, everything neatly tied up in a bow. Surely the NCA's cover would be blown, letting him know they are looking into him? Is Louis worth that? But that’s a thought he tries to push away whenever it pops up uninvited into his head.
Gigi squeezes his shoulder, then she grabs Zayn’s hand and they walk away - looking simply like two ordinary students in love, leaving the library after a long day.
Louis forces himself to sit and work for a couple of hours after they leave, and soon the tension leaves his shoulders and his hammering heart slows down to a steady beat.
He’s just a normal student too - nothing to see here.
After he’s written a good chunk of the essay that's due the following week, Louis convinces himself he’s done more than a full day’s work, and that he deserves the rest of the day off. Even though he wasted four full hours between his morning lecture and afternoon seminar doing absolute shit all.
He’s aching to just get home, maybe order a pizza, and just slump down on the sofa for the rest of the night - not moving an inch.
He hadn’t expected the day to be quite so eventful. He’d been shocked when he had seen Gigi and Zayn at the tables, never knowing when to expect them. He hates that, always sweeping the perimeters whenever he enters the library, knowing they might be there.
Then the overwhelming relief when they aren’t.
But today they were, and even though they only sat together for around fifteen minutes, it was a draining experience that has left both his mind and body frazzled. He always gets so paranoid on these days, even long after the couple has disappeared, only leaving him and his nerves in their wake.
The last thing Louis wants to do following the event is head over to Pleasing, but he promised the night before that he would make an appearance after uni. And, as he’s not often requested to show up at the club, he’d feel bad if he didn’t do it now without a good excuse - one not including ‘oh, I was just speaking with the NCA, trying to take you down'. Maybe it’d even cause suspicion if he gave a half-arsed excuse and ran home; like he was running, tail in between his legs.
It’s seven pm when he finally enters the club, nodding his hellos to the bouncers and barmen as he weaves his way through the interior. It’s oddly full for a Thursday evening and Louis looks around curiously, wondering whether he can push his luck and pry about why that is.
Almost as if he can hear Louis’ gears whirring, Liam suddenly sidles up to him, two beers in hand. He gives one to Louis with a small smile.
“Been told to keep you company while he finishes the prep,” Liam explains upbeat and Louis raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his beer and surveying the room.
“The prep for what?” he asks curiously and Liam shrugs unbothered.
“You’ll find out. I recommend finishing your beer before he comes, though,” he suggests with a small, kind smile and Louis’ curiosity piques even further as he slowly obliges and takes a large swig.
“Is the preparation to do with something for me?” he asks and Liam smiles again, an affable one which Louis recognises from watching Liam deal with business acquaintances and underlings both.
“I guess you could say so,” Liam, however, merely replies a little secretly, before clinking their glasses together to prompt Louis to have another chug.
They drink for a few moments in comfortable silence (the cold beer tasting delicious on his tongue after the stressful day Louis’ had), while he’s trying to work out how to get some information without seeming nosy.
He takes a long look at the suited-up men and the scarcely clad pretty girls scattered around the small tables and the bar.
“It seems busy. Are you guys having a meeting, or an event or something?”
Suddenly two arms sneak themselves around his waist and he startles for a moment in surprise, so his still half-full beer sloshes over his fingers.
“What is that about curiosity and the cat?” a syrupy, dark voice says right into his ear, and a chill goes up Louis’ back at both the words and the closeness of warm breath which hits the shell of his ear.
He forces himself to relax and turns around, looking into his boyfriend’s deep green, amused eyes.
“Is that one related to the mice and playing?” Louis quips back teasingly and Harry quirks a small smirk as he tips Louis’ chin up with two fingers, giving him a soft kiss.
“Somehow I think they’d both apply to you,” he murmurs into Louis’ mouth, before deepening the kiss with a soft tongue delving inside, tasting the inside like it was the very first time.
“Hey,” Louis greets softly afterwards, eyes slightly blown by the intensity of the kiss. He bites his bottom lip softly and Harry smirks again, following the action with his eyes.
“Don’t distract me, baby. I’ve got something I need your help with,” he says and Louis nods obediently, but not without giving Harry a flirty look, flashing his eyelashes seductively the way he knows Harry can’t resist.
“You’re in public,” Liam helpfully supplies with a roll of his eyes to remind them he's there, and Harry laughs brightly.
“It’ll be time for that later,” he says mirthfully directed at Louis, waggling his brows, and then Liam gives him a slightly disapproving look, which Harry returns with a wink.
Liam side-eyes Louis’ glass meaningfully and Louis promptly finishes it all down in four large swigs, before allowing himself to be led away from Liam with one firm hand around his waist. They walk through a multitude of people, closely flushed against each other until they reach the private parts of the club, where the business meetings and illegal dealings mostly take place.
No one stops Harry for a chat on the way, which seems odd, but Louis takes it as a sign of good fortune and leans into Harry’s side tiredly.
“Long day?” Harry murmurs into his hair, tightening his grip around Louis’ waist and Louis grunts in affirmation.
“Hate Thursdays with that stupid afternoon seminar, which just disrupts the whole day,” he explains grumpily and Harry hums in acknowledgement.
Louis throws Harry a confused look when they walk past his office, and Harry gives him a small, secretive smile, continuing to walk down the corridor.
He stops in front of a metal door which Louis has never noticed before and Louis widens his eyes a little, his body tensing slightly when Harry punches in a code to open it.
Harry opens the door and gives him a gentle push forwards, before following through; the door quietly sliding shut behind them as they both enter.
It’s dark, with only a dim light from above illuminating the room, so it takes Louis a moment to orient himself, but when he does his entire body freezes.
In front of him are three men of different ages, but with similar distressed looks on their faces, beaten and bloody, each one tied to a chair.
Panicked, he backs away from the sight - and straight into a solid, muscled chest.
“Harry?” he enquires with an unfamiliar shrill voice, breathing harshly in and out in shock at the sight that has met him.
“Mhm?” Harry twirls his arms around Louis’ torso again, propping his head on Louis’ shoulder in an imitation of a loving and intimate gesture.
“What - what is this?” Louis asks with wide eyes, taking in the three men who have their gazes fixated upon him.
They’re all eerily quiet. One has tears in his eyes, but the others seem stoic, almost defeated and broken down in their unnatural muteness.
“Oh, this is a little problem I thought you could help me with,” Harry murmurs into his ear lightly, giving it a small, playful nibble, which makes Louis want to push him away harshly.
“You see, these three men betrayed me, baby. And I want your help in deciding which one to make an example out of.”
“What?” Louis says shocked, his stomach turning at the words. He tries to push himself out of Harry’s grip, but it tightens and Harry hums again, completely unfazed by the struggle Louis puts up.
“It’s a very simple game, really. I will put on a ten-minute timer and by the end of the countdown, you will tell me which one of these very distraught and scared men deserves to die. If you don’t choose anyone, I will kill all three of them.”
“Is this - is this a joke?” Louis asks shakenly, eyes locked on the three men which seem to react to Harry’s words; the one on the far left widening his eyes comically, while the one who fought tears now has them spilling down his cheeks.
“It’s a bit of a moral dilemma, isn’t it, baby?” Harry asks with faux sympathy. “Either you actively kill one of your choosing, or you passively allow three people to die, knowing all along that you alone had the power to save them.”
Harry gives his stomach a little squeeze, then moves away from him to the end of a table in the corner. Only now does Louis manages to have a better look at the room they’re in.
It’s bare concrete, with a wide wall-to-wall metal cabinet on one side. On the shorter wall, near the door, is a screwed-down metal table, with two unoccupied chairs next to it. There’s a drain in the corner, with a hose attached to the wall next to it.
Looking up there is a dimmer lighting system and multiple meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. There also seems to be a pulling system to lower some of the hooks.
It seems he’s in some sort of torture chamber.
Louis starts to shake as Harry leisurely moves to the table and then presses start on the timer standing on it. Next to the timer, Louis can see a black handgun, which Harry now lifts and playfully swings around his index finger.
“Harry,” Louis says with forced calm, looking at the older man. “I - I don’t know what you’re playing at, but please let me out and we can just forget about this. I - I don’t want to help you, please don’t make me,” he gets out in a raspy voice.
Harry just smiles politely at him, before dragging a chair out from beneath the table and sitting down, one leg resting comfortably on top of the other, so he has a full overview of the room.
“Tick-tock, the timer has started. You can get to know them a bit though if you think it’ll help,” he suggests and Louis rapidly has tears gathering in his eyes. He is so incredibly overwhelmed at how this day has turned out.
“Why are you doing this?” he rasps out with earnest, confused desperation, the tears pooling in his eyes now spilling out. He doesn’t even care that these strangers can see it. It feels like he has entered a separate dimension, that this simply cannot be happening to him and is all just a sick joke.
Harry slowly gets up and Louis starts to shake for real when he comes closer, cupping Louis’ clammy cheek with a big, warm hand.
“These three people betrayed me, baby. Now, I normally don’t deal too kindly with betrayals, but I thought this would be an excellent opportunity for me to show some forgiveness. So, rather than punishing them all, I thought I’ll hand out some warnings."
"Don’t you think that’s nice of me?” Harry coos at him, a soft smile gracing his features and Louis forces himself to nod, while trying to keep a steady breath.
“Yeah,” he sputters out in agreement. “But why can’t you give them all a warning? A second chance? People deserve second chances, Harry,” he implores quietly, and Harry nods, the ghost of a mocking smile lingering on his face.
“Do you think they are the only ones in this room who have betrayed me, Louis?" he asks silkily and Louis’ breath stops for a moment.
No.
Nononono.
“What -” Louis clears his throat awkwardly, forcing himself to meet Harry’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Do you honestly think it’s in your best interest to insult my intelligence right now?”
The callous pad of Harry’s thumb strokes gently against Louis’ cheekbones and there’s a soft, curious gleam in his eyes.
If Harry knew… If Harry knew, surely Louis would already be dead? Maybe he doesn’t know for sure and this is merely a test in which Louis only has to swear allegiance and commitment to Harry. Then everything would be okay.
Or perhaps Harry is moments away from killing him, and a single lie which insults Harry will be the final nail in the coffin.
Louis can’t help the onslaught of tears which pour out of his eyes, blinding him, and he feels paralyzed with fear. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what to say, and the timer is still ticking.
“I’m sorry, I am. I'll make it up to you, but please don’t do this to me, don’t hurt me like this,” he begs on a sob and Harry’s mocking smirk returns full-fledged, even as he continues to stroke Louis’ cheek.
“Nothing to get worked up about, baby. Like I said: I’ve decided to be benevolent to all of you; giving you a final chance. A simple, clear warning to not ever betray me again. I'll even throw in a quick, painless death to those getting killed...So you see, everyone is getting off very easy.”
Harry drops his hand and moves away, seating himself back on the chair, crossing his arms and giving an attentive smile like a father at a school play. One who finds the show mildly compelling, but is only there and invested because his child might show up and do something of interest at one point.
Louis feels hot where Harry stroked him. It’s tingling as if his nerves were truly exposed where he was touched. There are only six minutes left on the timer and Louis doesn’t know what to do. He can’t choose a random person and sentence him to death, but can he honestly live with himself if Harry kills them all?
“How can I trust you won’t kill the others afterwards?” he asks harshly, looking at the drain in the corner, rather than the three increasingly frantic men in front of him who have still not spoken.
“Because I have never once lied to you, baby.” There’s an edge to Harry’s voice, and Louis decides not to push back with explanations or accusations that could start an argument. For some reason, he doesn’t think that will bode well for either him or the three prisoners.
Instead, he turns towards the three people, who all are trying to get eye contact with him; to make him see they’re living human beings with lives, loved ones and feelings.
“What did you do?” Louis asks brokenly, looking at the first man. He is in his mid-thirties, dressed in a nice, but now rumpled and stained suit. He’s handsome, in a classical way, with a pristine short beard and brown, narrow eyes under some pointed eyebrows. He looks like a well-put-together man - or one who was well-put-together before he was presumably kidnapped, beaten and tied to a chair, waiting for his possible execution.
“To end up here,” Louis elaborates thickly.
The man spills like a dam. Like he was merely waiting for Louis to address him and now that he has, the man regained his power of speech, and everything that had been building up inside of him jumbles out without any filter or decorum.
“I made a mistake, a stupid, stupid mistake! My mother is sick, and I needed money to help pay for her treatments in the US. I only took what we needed and I promise I was going to pay it all back. You have to believe me! I am everything to her and if I disappear without a trace, it’ll kill her and my family for sure!” he fumbles out, hectic and insistent.
Louis widens his eyes, feeling unwell by the onslaught of information he is so quickly delivered. What has he gotten himself into? These are real people with real problems, not simply evil criminals and monsters. They don’t deserve to die, not like this - not by Louis’ hands.
“There was a lie there, baby,” Harry’s bored voice comes from behind him and both the man's and Louis’ heads snap back to look at him.
Harry resembles a shark, his grin wide and sharp, like this is turning out fun. “Don’t know if it’ll make a difference to you, but Ben here took a little more than his mother needed, and he invested it abroad, almost like a nice little retirement fund he could run away to.”
Louis looks back to the man, who seems panicked.
“It was for my family, for getting my mother back on her feet after the treatments. We have sold everything - lost everything - trying to save her and now my wife and I have nothing left, not even a house. It was for my little girl, to give her the future she deserves,” Ben says desperately, and Louis nods, a lump in his throat.
He looks at the next man. He’s only in his early twenties, not much older than Louis himself. He’s pale with a scattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. His hair is light orange and it creates a balayage effect with the splatters of congealed blood which are everywhere on his face; spilt from his nostrils and smeared around his cut-up lip.
“My name is Ed and I don’t want to die. Please don’t kill me. Please,” he begs steadily. His voice is controlled and even, but earnest. He seems to be able to fight the panic the rest of them are so clearly feeling and for some reason Louis manages to lend some calm and comfort from that fact. For a moment. Then it feels like Louis is about to hyperventilate; how did he end up like this, how can he get out of this in one piece without blood on his hands?
“I screwed up, I know I did. I was drunk and I didn’t think. I said the wrong thing in the wrong place in front of the wrong people, but I never meant to betray the organisation, nor Mr Styles. I want to do better. I know I can, if given the chance. I’m only 22, I don’t want to die like this, not over an honest mistake,” Ed continues, looking into Louis' eyes with piercing intensity.
Louis can’t help but turn around, imploring Harry with his eyes to stop this madness. He walks towards him on unsteady feet.
“Please, Harry! Please, just forgive us all! Just give us a proper warning without any deaths; we’ll do whatever to make it up to you!” he begs and Harry looks coldly at him; an indifference to people’s begging that only comes with having heard it too many times and having built up a steady tolerance, present.
“Why don’t you ask lucky number three over there.”
They stare at each other for a few moments, but there’s no compassion, no forgiveness in Harry’s eyes. If anything, his resolves seem to harden; his eyes turning so dark Louis has to shy away from them.
Louis turns around pleadingly to look at the third man, feeling worried about what he will say based on Harry’s more present anger. This man must also be in his mid-to-late thirties. He seems tired, like he has aged five years in just a few short months. He has a scruffy five o’clock shadow, is pudgy and has a kind-looking face, one which Louis thinks normally would invite to charming jokes and jovialness. Now his face is puffy, and his eyes are tired and red-rimmed with clumpy eyelashes. It’s the man who has been silently crying ever since Louis first entered the room.
“My name is James. I - I have three small children at home,” he says shakenly, and then he seems to choke up again, struggling to get the words out by just the thought of his children.
Louis blinks away his own tears, allowing James to gather himself to continue. “I was approached by the National Crime Agency,” he discloses and Louis gasps, backing away and throwing Harry another look.
He’s given a small, cold smile in return.
“I - I didn’t want to cooperate, but they threatened me. They threatened my family's whole life and I felt so trapped. I thought I could just give them a few minor details to get them off my back, but they kept putting me in more and more compromising positions. I wanted to admit it all to the organisation and Harry, but I knew I would get punished or killed and I was - I was scared. Scared of helping the police, scared of not doing it - scared of leaving my family behind without them ever knowing what happened to me.” James then sobs, a distraught, wrecked noise escaping him and suddenly Louis doesn’t feel well.
He rushes over to the drain just in time to relieve his stomach of all its content.
“Please,” he sobs into the floor, wiping his mouth with his sweater sleeve.
“Don’t do this to us!” He then screams in anger when it falls on deaf ears.
“You did this to yourself,” comes Harry’s reply, drifting from the other corner, bored and emotionless.
“I’m not choosing,” he wheezes out, turning to look at Harry with burning, defiant eyes.
“That doesn’t matter to me, baby,” Harry says, his voice almost softening at Louis’ apparent lack of understanding. “You choose whatever you think you’ll be able to live with. I feel my point has been made, regardless.” There’s a sharp, cruel smirk and Louis shakes his head.
“I’ll never forgive you if you do this. We’re over! You fucking hear me!”
Louis’ throat aches from his chunder and the strain he now put on his vocal cords, but Harry just ignores him, throwing the timer another, half-bored look.
“So what will it be? The crook, the wannabe gangster or the snitch? Or all three - which is the most reasonable solution, if you ask me.”
Louis just shakes his head in denial at the coldbloodedness and amusement Harry treats this with, as the timer suddenly rings.
As it does, there’s a cacophony of pleading, painful implorings thrown at him; begging him to save their lives, to have mercy, promising him they will forever be in his debt if he saves them.
At the onslaught, Louis feels almost wobbly on his feet; his vision blurring by the panic and anxiety throbbing inside of him, threatening to zap out of his body once and for all.
Almost like a movie, he can feel Harry’s body come up next to him, grabbing hold of his hip with one hand, lending his body for Louis to support himself on. He can feel it, but there’s like there’s a veil between them; dulling every sensory stimulation.
Louis feels dizzy and wrong; like he’ll keel over at any moment and just pass out. Maybe even die.
He grabs a fistful of Harry’s shirt next to him, and only now does he realise his own pleading voice is one of four; begging Harry to stop, promising him he will do whatever he wants if he does.
“I guess everyone it is,” comes Harry’s unperturbed tone, and then Louis can hear the loading of the gun.
He can see Harry point it towards James, who has now paled so much it looks like he is about to faint.
Louis can hear his heartbeat through his temple, can hear the blood rushing to his head. His back is drenched in sweat; it's clambering onto his shirt where Harry has his arm secured around him. His mouth tastes like sickness and blood and he vaguely feels the need to throw up again.
He can see Harry move his finger onto the trigger, and James shaking his head again and again as if that will somehow make it all go away.
“Stop!” Louis shouts too loud in the now eerily silent room.
Harry does; he pauses but leaves his finger on the trigger, gun still raised towards James’ head.
It feels quiet and motionless for a small eternity - like they’re all suspended in reality.
“Something you want to share with the class, baby?” Harry sounds impatient, and it makes Louis want to break down and just sob in his arms - once again while begging for forgiveness.
He can’t get the words out, but if he doesn’t they will all die. Three deaths on his conscience.
“I - I choose Ben,” he whispers defeatedly and there’s a relieved hitch of a sob from James.
Louis doesn’t dare look up at Ben, knowing that if he does, the image of Ben's last moments and possibly his sense of betrayal will forever be burnt into his retinas. But he can’t close out the sound of Ben realising his faith’s been set, and that he is moments away from dying; leaving his wife, mother and daughter behind.
“Please, Harry! I’ve always been good to you. We’re friends, for fuck's sake! You’re Ruby’s godfather. Don’t do this to her! It was a mistake! Please! I am begging you, don’t do this,” Ben wails through tears.
Louis struggles to breathe. He knows he’s sobbing right along with Ben and that he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t feel sorry for himself, nor Ben, when this is all his doing. He has no right.
How sick can Harry be? Louis knows Ruby. He joined Harry once when he took her to the park, back in the early days of their relationship. Harry was incredible with her; playing around, cuddling her, and comforting her when she fell over. Harry loved her so obviously, and Louis, smitten and half-in-love had contemplated the idea of Harry one day acting that way with their child. And now Harry is killing her father, his own friend.
Louis comes back to the present when he feels his hand be lifted, and he flinches when he feels the cold metal touch his skin. With a sickening feeling, he realises Harry is settling the gun in Louis’ hand, keeping it secured with his own hand clasped around it, while his other is comfortingly nestled around Louis’ abdomen, keeping them locked together.
Louis is flush towards Harry’s body now; and he can feel Harry's stomach against his own wet back, his sizeable member pressed against his arse.
“Look at him, baby,” Harry says quietly into his ear and Louis feels compelled to lift his gaze, staring right into the eyes of the terrified man in front of him.
Harry has moved them so they’re closer now; the outstretched hand holding the gun only inches away from Ben’s forehead.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers pleadingly into Ben’s ashen, shaking face. “Please forgive me,” he chokes out.
“Look at him while he dies baby, and remember what got you here,” Harry whispers, almost tenderly into his ear. “And know that if you ever betray me again, it will be you sitting on one of these chairs, and nothing but the whims of a naïve, little over-eager rookie will be able to save you.”
Louis’ throat catches on a sob just as Harry presses down his finger and they together pull the trigger. The sound of the shot is unbelievably loud. It makes Louis’ body seize up and he yelps out. There’s a gaping hole in Ben’s forehead and his eyes are still wide open. Instantaneously Louis is splattered with blood, skin, flesh and brain matter.
There’s an inhuman sound caught between a shriek and a whine coming from Louis as he realises what he has done - what has happened - and his shaking intensifies.
“Shh,” Harry comforts softly, pocketing his gun to wrap his arms around Louis’ lithe frame.
Not even sure how he’s managing it, when he doesn’t even remember how to breathe properly, he is turned around, and he buries himself into Harry’s warm, familiar chest, willing himself to disappear from the world. He’s fisting Harry’s blood-splattered white, embroidered shirt frantically in his hand, somehow hoping it will ensure he simply doesn't fall out of existence, and to his utter horror, Harry’s fingers comb through his hair in a soothing motion, while he falls apart leaning on the man who made it all happen.
“As for you,” Louis hears through a dulled cotton-infused muffling, “I don’t give third chances. You will make it up to me tenfold, whichever way I see fit, and if you betray me again I will drag you back here, and personally torture you both to death.”
The words cause another soft, but panicked whine to emit from Louis’ throat and then he is suddenly in Harry’s arms, wrapped around his waist and neck with his large hands holding him tight against the hard, familiar body.
Louis dimly wonders if he is in a state of shock - if he will ever get back to normal again, or whether there is something irreparably broken with him now he has actively participated in the murder of a man.
Harry punches the code to open the door and they walk through it. As soon as the door shuts behind them, leaving behind that horrible, awful room, Louis can somewhat breathe again.
“Look at me, baby.”
Louis follows the order immediately- he honestly can’t imagine ever not following an order from Harry again after seeing the ruthlessness in which the other man acted the last few minutes.
Harry’s face is scrunched up in seriousness, and to his shame, Louis realises he’s still pathetically hanging onto Harry in the deserted corridor, two large hands firmly cupping his arse to keep him up.
Harry leans in and closes the distance between them softly, licking into Louis’ mouth with tenderness and diligence. Louis kisses back. It sickens him slightly, but he doesn’t dare to pull away, to shout all the obscenities he wants to, or in any other way anger Harry.
“Are you going to co-operate with the NCA again, baby?” Harry asks softly into his mouth, his voice dripping honey and poisonous kindness.
Louis shakes his head profusely, blinding himself with a new burst of previously unshed tears.
“Are you grateful for me merely giving you a first-time-infraction warning after what you've done to me, the way you've hurt me?”
It’s harder to get out, but Louis nods frightfully and Harry lays his lips over Louis’ again, like it’s a reward for answering well. Their tongues swirl together and he knows Harry can feel the tears as they drip from Louis' eyes and onto his own cheeks.
“Are you going to go home with me like my good boy, now that we have sorted out this pesky business?” A soft, small peck on his lips.
Harry’s voice is just as soft and molasses-like as previously, but the threat is still clear as day. There is no way Louis can answer no, not if he wants to still remain in one piece. Disgusted he thinks back to how he screamed they were over back in The Room- and how a simple question from Harry has them right back to the way they were.
“Ye-yeah, Harry,” he whispers brokenly and Harry smiles almost victoriously, a cruel gleam in his green, clear eyes.
“That’s nice to hear, baby. I would hate for this to put a wrench in our life together,” he murmurs and a body shiver takes over Louis.
“Have you - I mean - Am I forgiven now?” Louis asks clumsily, wanting to slide down from where he’s hoisted up around Harry’s waist, but too scared to try moving without an indication that it’s okay.
“Do you mean whether your punishment will continue at home?”
Amusement laces Harry’s tone and it makes Louis feel ugly and twisted - like Harry in ten simple minutes has managed to destroy everything Louis is.
“Yeah,” he replies deadpan, a hint of defiance and rebellion in his tone, and Harry strokes some strands of feathery hair out of his face.
“I don’t think you’ve realised, but your entire face is splattered in wet blood and Ben’s insides,” Harry murmurs and revulsion courses through Louis. He goes to wipe it off, but Harry stops him with a firm grip around his wrist.
“I haven’t decided what to do about it yet,” he says with near reverence. “A part of me wants to fuck you in front of the mirror in the bedroom; bend you over and have us both look at your face while I come deep inside of you. A final little reminder of what happens when you disappoint me. Maybe I’ll let you fall asleep like this until it congeals and dries, mixing with all the minuscule freckles on your nose. Now, I don’t see any of that as a punishment, more like a little fun reminder, but I can imagine you feel differently,” Harry murmurs sensually and Louis can’t help but let some sniffles out.
His whole face feels itchy and the thought of being forced to look at it while Harry fucks into him, while Harry gets turned on in bloodlust - it’s sickening. He doesn’t know how he’ll manage without throwing up again, he feels close now.
Harry lets him cry, playing with his hair as he starts to walk them along the empty corridor.
“You know... Earlier, when I was very, very pissed at you, I toyed with another idea. When I fuck you against the mirror later, I would take a picture. Of you on all four, all sweaty, red and bleary-eyed; with blood and brain splattered on your face like a piece of modern art. And with me bottomed out inside of you, filling you up with my seed - only my body behind you visible. I wanted to take a picture of you completely fucked out of your mind, completely in your place, and then send it to Detective Malik. Imagine the disgust, pity and revulsion on his face when he saw it, baby"
Harry clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth in contemplative consideration.
"Do you think he would knock on our door, all guns blazing, or do you think he would see you as a lost cause and simply move on to try and find the next unfortunate soul stupid enough to be willing to betray me?”
Louis doesn’t reply, he only cries into Harry’s shoulder; silent, capitulating tears. He will never see Zayn again; of that he is hundred per cent sure. But Harry knows who he is, and Louis hopes that knowledge won’t cost Zayn his life - won’t cost Gigi hers.
He would beg Harry to spare them if he didn’t think that by doing that he would put an even larger target on their back.
Louis feels absolutely drained and he can feel his body turning heavier as Harry carries him through the large back area of his club. As they’re nearing the back exit, they pass a few people, but Louis simply turns his head into Harry’s neck, hiding his face, though everyone of course knows it’s him being carried like this, and perhaps even knows what he has done to another human being, possibly a friend of theirs.
He wonders if they know what Harry did to him in The Room, and if Ed and James will tell people. Louis would feel ashamed of allowing people to see him like this - so broken - but right now he has no shame left. He left it in The Room, with Ed and James who saw him throw up, sob for mercy and beg for forgiveness. He left it when his finger pulled the trigger; ending Ben’s life forever.
There’s a cold breeze as a bouncer opens the back door and Harry stands on the sidewalk, waiting for his driver to turn up.
“Do you understand what will happen if you cross me again? What I will do to you?” Harry asks seriously and Louis nods into his collar bone. He understands.
The car comes to a halt in front of them and Harry seats them both in the back seat, Louis still on top of Harry’s lap, leaning against his chest. Louis doesn’t even mind anymore; how he’s transported won’t change what will happen once they arrive, and to be honest, he isn’t so sure he would be able to stand up and walk by himself anyway. This is easier.
There’s a soft kiss at the top of his head and the gesture which normally always makes Louis feel so secure and safe, now leaves a rotten aftertaste.
“I love you so much, Louis. So, for both of our sakes, I really hope you’ve learned your lesson, baby,” Harry continues calmly, splaying one hand heavily on Louis’ lower back.
Then the car starts moving, taking them both home.