#mobrry

[freedomfireflies]

Lost

Summary: An extra for Mine*

Harry's worst nightmare has finally come true:

You've been taken.

And he plans to do everything in his power to find you.

Word Count: 3.4k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*

It’s been two days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes since you were kidnapped in the middle of your living room.

Two days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes since you were placed in this warehouse, strapped to a chair, with nothing but some stale bread and a bit of water.

Two days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes since you’ve last seen him.

Harry.

About the only thing you’ve been able to think about since they threw a bag over your head and bound your hands behind your back. The only name, the only constant.

Harry.

Your one saving grace in this endless abyss of terror and intimidation. The idea of him. The idea that he’s out there, looking for you, and most likely tearing the Earth in two just to find you.

You spend a lot of time alone. Or rather, lonely. You’re constantly surrounded by guards, but they’re posted around the room, and they’re not exactly chatty.

You replay old memories of the two of you. Replay the day you met. Replay how he looks in the morning, curls disheveled, and skin fresh. Replay the sound of his voice. Over and over and over.

You imagine him talking to you now. Imagine him helping you through the problem, whispering delicately into your ear. A conversation meant to save you.

Doing so good, mama. You’re okay. Promise. They’re not gonna fucking touch you. I’m gonna find you.

“I know,” you murmur quietly to yourself. “Really wish you’d hurry.”

I know, sugar. But I’ll be there. You’ll see. And I’ll take you home. Never gonna let you go again.

“What if you can’t find me?”

I will. Rip through every goddamn corner of the Earth to find you.

“I don’t know what they’re gonna do with me.”

They won’t do a fucking thing. I promise. I’ll be there. I’ll find you.

“I miss you.”

I’ll find you.

You choose to believe the voice in your head. Choose to believe that he’s already on his way. That he’ll be here. That he’ll find you.

I’ll find you.

The sound of the large double doors being thrown open forces you to jolt in your chair, eyes flying forward. 

The man who took you—whose name you refuse to learn—strides in, attention on you as though he’s coming to collect a prize.

You’ve imagined this scenario before. The moment you learn Harry was unsuccessful. That he was taken hostage. 

Or worse.

You don’t like this shit-eating grin your captor wears. Don’t like the way he beams with pride or the way he rubs his hands together as if to warm himself up.

You recoil in your seat, attempting to disappear altogether. 

“My dear,” he calls, stopping only a few feet away from where you sit. “I come with excellent news.”

No, no, no, you think, heart sinking to the depths of your stomach. 

“It seems our guest of honor has finally accepted my invitation,” the man proceeds, palms smacking together gleefully. “Lucky for you, as my patience was growing thin.”

He sweeps around the back of your chair, the unsettling and putrid smell of his aftershave assaulting your senses as you grimace.

“So we’re gonna make a deal, my dear,” he continues, dipping down until his mouth can settle near your ear. “I’m gonna let him walk in here. I’m gonna let him think he’s saved you. And I’m gonna give him exactly two minutes to feel like he actually did his job.”

You know what comes next, and the soft trickle of air near your cheek makes your muscles stiffen.

“And then…I’m gonna end him.”

With that, the rival leader snaps his fingers, and leads his guards out through the double doors.

Leaving you truly alone.

About two minutes pass before you hear a bit of commotion on the other side of the warehouse, and through your watery eyes, you manage to make out a familiar shape.

It sneaks through a back door and begins running toward you, the gaussian blurred hair and black attire making your lungs ache.

“Hey, hey. Okay, okay, all right.” Hands cautiously scope your trembling frame, hovering near your shoulders, hips, legs, and cheeks as they search for something. “Honey, I need you to look at me. Look at me, sugar, please.”

You think you already are but can’t see past these tears. Can’t understand anything past what the nasty man said to you. Can’t comprehend what you have to do.

Fingers begin pulling on the ropes around your hands, desperate to undo them and set you free.

“I’ve got you,” the voice says, and it sounds like honey. Sweet and heavy, dripping down your ears and making you feel warm. “I’ve got you, okay? Gonna get you out of here, I promise. Just look at me, okay? Just keep looking at me, baby.”

“Harry?”

The sound of his name cracking from your dry throat seems to gut him, and his entire expression falls as he nods.

“Yeah, mama,” he murmurs, pressing a palm to your jaw. “S’me. I’m here. And I’m gonna take you home, okay? Gonna get you out of here—”

“Harry,” you repeat, but it sounds weak and fragile. Can’t display the urgency you’re trying to convey. “Harry—”

“I know, baby. I know. It’s me, I’m here,” he repeats, returning his focus to undoing your restraints. He works fast, tugging hard and with all his strength as the first one finally loosens. “Breathe, okay? Just breathe—”

“Harry.” The whimper bleeds from your throat, a fresh wave of desperation rolling down your face as you try to capture his attention. “Harry, no—”

“Shh, honey. You’re okay, I promise. Gonna make it better, I swear—”

“Harry, please—”

“I know, mama. I know, it’s okay—”

“No. Go—”

“Yeah, we’re gonna go. We’ll go, sugar—”

“No.”

The hushed but urgent silence is broken by the piercing decibels of your cry. The loudest noise you’ve made in days, and it echoes around the warehouse as he stills.

Blinking, his hands slow. “What? What’s wrong, am I hurting you? Did they hurt you—”

“No.” It seems as though it’s all you can say, chest heaving with anxious breaths. “No. Harry…go. Go, you have to go—”

He looks wounded. Eyes softening as he begins to shake his head. “M’not going,” he whispers, trying to cradle your cheek once more. “I know I left you, but I never meant for this. Baby, I swear. I did everything—”

“Harry,” you try again. “Go—”

“No.” His jaw is clenched but his frown is obvious. “No. I won’t leave you. I know you have every right to make me, but I can’t. I can’t do it—”

“Harry—”

“Please.” It’s loud but so incredibly scared. Mimicking the expression on his face. “Please. I can’t go. Can’t leave you—”

“You have to,” you try again, struggling to speak in the way you want. “You have to, he’s coming back—”

“Let him,” Harry growls, and your stomach wrenches. “Fucking let him come back, and I’ll show him exactly how I fucking feel about him touching what’s mine.”

“No,” you nearly sob, arms tugging on the rope as you desperately attempt to reach for him. “Harry, no—”

The double doors fling open as the unnamed man and his army storm the building. 

They shout, and they raise their weapons, and they encircle where you and Harry are settled in the middle of the warehouse.

Harry is already on his knees from trying to break your ties, but as the guard’s approach, they scream at him to get down. Surrender. Raise his hands and keep them high.

His malice is evident. Lids narrowed, teeth grinding together, and body practically trembling with rage as he slowly lifts his arms above his head. 

“Harry,” you whisper, chest aching in a way you’ve never felt before.

He looks at you. Despite all the noise, the chaos, the fear. He looks at you and he mouths, “I love you.”

You have to resist the urge to scream.

“And there he is,” comes the cruel taunt of the man behind you. “After all this time, this is what it took to break you.”

Harry’s jaw raises defiantly as he shoots daggers toward your captor. He says nothing. Remains perfectly still as the intimidating weapons crawl closer to his head.

“Did you realize how weak you were?” the man goads him. “Is that why you kept her locked away? Is that why you tried to run? Because you knew you had nothing if you didn’t have her? To use as a bargaining chip?”

A hand is suddenly attaching to the roots of your hair and yanking so hard, you see stars.

Your head drops back, following the assault as you gasp, and Harry curses from his place a few feet away.

“Don’t fucking touch—”

“Easy,” the man warns, and you look up to see him shoot Harry a cocked brow of warning. “Move one fucking inch and she’s done.”

Harry stills, settling back onto his knees as the barrel of a gun digs into the side of his skull. 

“Where is it?” comes the next question, sneered, and filled with years’ worth of vengeance as he tugs again on your hair. “Where?”

Harry is quiet, studying your reaction closely as he contemplates his answer. “Jersey.”

An answer given so quickly and without argument that you feel slightly shocked.

“Jersey…” the man repeats slowly. “You think that’s the truth I’ll buy?”

“I don’t fucking care whether you buy it or not,” Harry retorts coldly. “The shipment is in Jersey. You asked, I answered.”

A beat as the warehouse fills with an eerie silence.

“Far too quickly,” is the reply. “Considering how precious those items are to you. And you’d be willing to offer up their location without so much as a conversation?”

“She’s not a bargaining chip,” Harry hisses, yet he’s strangely calm. “Her life is more precious to me than anything in those fucking containers. I don’t care what you take, but you give her back to me.”

A cruel chuckle reverberates around the large, somewhat empty space as the fingers tangled in your roots go slack. “Funny…you think I’m here to make a trade.”

Harry leans back. Takes a breath. Locks eyes on the man towering above him. “Three.”

The man’s smirk widens. “She might not be your bargaining chip, but she is mine. You didn’t think I called you here just to chat, did you?”

Harry’s chest heaves. “Two.”

“I invited you here…because I want you to watch…what it looks like…when you lose…” the man continues, dipping down, “…everything you love.”

Harry’s lip curls up with disdain. “One.”

Suddenly, a small red dot appears on the man’s forehead. Directly in the middle, like a fresh zit ready to be popped. It shines brighter than anything in the room, and before you have a chance to recognize its importance…the sound of a gun goes off.

Everything happens so quickly. Harry lunges at you, pulling you from the chair as the ropes he’d already loosened fall away. He cradles you to his chest, cocooning his body around you as he pulls you to the floor and keeps you hidden.

And it’s so loud. Guns, yelling, anger. So much violence, it makes your stomach feel queasy.

But all you can focus on…is him.

Harry.

He found you, and he’s here, and he smells the way he always does. It’s strong, and safe, and you bury your face in his shirt as you attempt to crawl through his arms as if to live in his ribcage.

“It’s okay,” you vaguely hear him murmur, lips pressed directly to your ear. “It’s okay, mama, I’ve got you. Close your eyes, okay? Gonna be over soon. Gonna take you home.”

Home.

You aren’t helpless, but you feel helpless, and the sound of all this chaos isn’t helping. And almost as if left with no other choice…you disappear.

So tired, and hungry, and scared, and done that your body completely submits to the weight on your chest, and it carries you away.

You revert back to a state of mind that feels the most secure, and everything else…is just a blur.

Time passes. You aren’t sure how much. You keep your eyes closed and your focus on Harry’s voice. On his instructions. His praise. His promise that he’s gonna take you out of here. Never let you go.

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” Another voice. Familiar. Far away.

You hear Harry huff. “No, she’s not fucking okay. She’s scared, and she’s shaking, and he fucking touched her—”

“Easy. Okay, all right.” You feel a third presence approach, and you warily crack an eye open to see Asher approaching, his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I mean, is she physically okay? Is she hurt, is something broken?”

Harry’s head shakes, his curls tickling your cheek. “She’s fine, I think. But she won’t stop shaking. I don’t think she’s eaten in days, and I don’t think she wants to see me—”

“Don’t do that,” Asher warns darkly, frowning some. “We just need to get her home. We’ll get her home, and it’ll be okay—”

“But it’s not her home anymore,” Harry nearly growls. “I have to completely uproot her. Again. And take her somewhere she doesn’t recognize, and she’s gonna be scared, and sad, and she’s gonna fucking hate me—”

“Boss.” Asher crouches down, palm squeezing the back of Harry’s neck. “Can’t do that. Not right now. Not here. You just need to go. Take her and go. The boys and I will clean this up…just make her feel safe again, okay?”

A long stretch of silence passes between this instruction and when Harry finally concedes and begins to stand up.

Two pairs of hands help bring you to your feet, with Asher’s familiar cologne drifting past your nose as he leans over to whisper, “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

Harry leads you out of the warehouse and toward his car. He keeps your face tucked into his shoulder as if to shield you from the bodies and the harsh light outside.

You don’t complain.

You drive for quite a while. Just you and him. No Paul. You drive until you don’t recognize where you are, and your eyelids grow heavy as the vibrations from the ride lull you to sleep.

When you wake next, you’re in a bed. You don’t know how you got there, what time it is, or where Harry might be. 

But you don’t have the strength to argue.

You wrangle yourself upright, muscles sore, and head pounding. But the moment you push up, a soft lamp is flicking on, and Harry is rushing to your side.

“Easy, easy, okay,” he whispers when you sway a bit from the residual effects of your exhaustion. “You’re okay. M’right here.”

“Harry,” you breathe, cheek pressing into his palm as he cups your face and crawls onto the mattress beside you.

“Yeah, baby,” he says softly, tugging you back into his body. “It’s me.”

You take him into your lungs, inhaling his serenity until it becomes your own. 

Your fingers trail up his shirt, mindlessly playing with the fabric as you work through the plethora of questions accumulating now that you’re beginning to return to yourself.

“Where are we?”

“In a safe house,” he replies quietly, nuzzling into your forehead. “Nobody knows the location but me. Not even Asher.”

You nod once. “How long have we been here?”

“Few hours.”

“How long are we staying?”

A beat.

“As long as we need to.”

You tug a bit harder on the fabric. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“…are you okay?”

You feel him go deathly still beneath you as he slowly rolls his head back to meet your eye. “Did you seriously just ask me that?”

You nod again, scooting up to level the playing field. “Of course. I know that must have been hard on you. Especially switching locations so fast. And I’m sure you haven’t eaten anything, which is bad, because you should—”

“Baby.” The loving nickname that he only uses in times he needs you to know how much of his heart you really have is ushered in silent reverie. “How…how can you ask me that?”

You blink. “Because I love you? And I’m worried about you? And I know you don’t take care of yourself when you’re stressed—”

“Baby—” He sounds wounded. Almost aghast by the question as he begins shaking his head and taking your face in his hands. “You don’t…don’t. Don’t worry about me. This isn’t about me, this is about you. This is about what I let happen to you, and you don’t ever have to worry about me, okay? Especially right now—”

“Harry,” you whisper, squeezing his wrists to keep him close. “I’m always gonna worry about you.”

It’s like you’ve slapped him across the face, his features twisting into a pained wince as he curses and squeezes his eyes shut. “It is my job to take care of you. To protect you. Keep you safe. And I fucking failed.”

“No. You didn’t fail. They found the rare window of opportunity and it happened,” you argue. “You’ve always told me that nothing is certain in this field. There’s no way you could have kept me hidden through every second of every day—”

“I should have,” he retorts. “I should have done more. Should have been there—”

“You can’t be with me all the time—”

“Why the fuck not? If I had been, none of this would have happened—”

“But it did, and it’s over. It’s okay. You’re okay—”

“I fucking lost you—”

“But you found me.”

This seems to be the only thing that reaches him. In a moment so vulnerable, it catches you off guard.

He breaks.

His hands fall to your lap, his entire expression crumbles, his body wilts before you. You rush to take hold of him, fingers in his hair, tugging him closer until he can press his nose into your neck and hide.

He shakes with ragged breaths and the tears he’s trying so hard to fight. They’re hot, wet, and they seem to burn him like acid as they slide down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it’s so very broken. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

You shush him. Repeat his name like a mantra until he settles. Promise him that he’s okay. You’re okay. Everything…is okay.

It takes almost an hour for him to finally feel brave enough to lean back. But when he does, you kiss all over his forehead, and remind him that you’re here. That all you have to do now…is get better.

You nurse each other back to health. He takes you to the kitchen and cooks you your favorite meal: nachos.

You tease him about the cheese dripping down his chin and he tosses an olive at you. You watch TV just to forget. And eventually, you make your way for the bath.

You both sit in the tub for way longer than you probably should. Until the water has run cold, and the bubbles have dissipated.

But it’s nice. Sitting with him between your legs, his back against your chest as he hesitantly asks you what happened.

You tell him, keeping the details vague. You don’t want to scare him. The important thing is you’re both okay.

You fall asleep in each other’s arms, and you refuse to start the next day until way after noon. 

He tries to argue a bit more about how wrong he was to leave you. How he needs to do better. How you deserve better than what he’s given you, and you spend just as much time arguing that it couldn’t be further from the truth.

He’s the only reason you’re safe at all.

He concedes but you know it’s because he intends to punish himself for the remainder of the day. Maybe week. Month. 

But you’ll fight him on that another time.

You spend some of your day on the couch, flipping through magazines you found and reading an old book. 

Harry spends his time on the phone, yelling with nearly every member of his team. You don’t interfere. You know it won’t do any good.

But then…something changes.

His entire demeanor shifts before he turns to look at you, eyes narrowed and hatred evident. You don’t hear what he says, don’t understand the context. But the look on his face alone is enough to tell you that something is very wrong.

When he finally hangs up the phone and steps closer, your heart drops.

You sit up. “What?”

He takes a deep breath, and says only one thing:

“Asher.”

Next Part:

~ Found (Lost pt. 2)

Previous Part:

~ Remedy* (A Mine Extra)

~ Full Mine Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist (If you ever need or want to be taken off, or simply excluded from certain fics like this one, please let me know!! 💞) : @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @vamprry @fdl305 @acesofspadess @stylesfever @narry-heart @virqinvirgo

[harryistheonlyoneforme]

Bestie can you write something about reader getting her period and Harry having to go get her tampons and he’s all scared n stuff?

pairing: mafia harry x reader

warnings: harry threatens to shoot someone, caring mafia harry, mentions of blood and periods, swearing, period sex(kinda)

~

Harry has just gotten out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist as he gums quietly, entering his and YN’s bedroom to get dressed for the day. He doesn’t have plans until much later, so he settles for some boxers and no shirt, ready to get back in bed and cuddle with YN until she wakes up.

As he’s slipping back under the covers though, he feels something wet as his leg grazes her backside, making him physically recoil. He takes a quick peek and his face pales as he realizes it’s blood on YN’s thighs. He has a moment of internal panic as he tries to figure out where to go from here but then he decides to just wake her up, feeling guilty that he’s interrupting her sleep. She groans in annoyance at being woken up, but Harry knows it’s for a good reason.

“You’re bleeding, love,” he mumbled awkwardly, trying not to show his discomfort for the situation. It’s not that he’s disgusted by it or anything, he’s just never dealt with a period in this way. Her eyes shoot open and she whines as she now feels the sticky feeling between her thighs.

Tears are forming quickly and he’s quick to come over to her and shush her cries, not liking the tears one bit. “Cmon, dove. No tears, hm?” he coos, thumbing away at the salty tears that have started tracking down her face. “What can I do?” he whispers.

“I wasn’t supposed to get m’period for another week and I planned to get tampons tomorrow. I don’t have anything here to use,” she sniffles, embarrassed at the way their morning has begun. “Could you run to the store and get me something? Just something to hold me over until I can go?” she asks him, squirming uncomfortably in her place.

“You want me to get you…tampons?” he questions uneasily, his stomach already in knots. He’s never had to do anything like this before, and he definitely didn’t plan for this today. She just nods at him and he already can’t say no to her on a regular day, the fact that he knows she’s embarrassed when she doesn’t have to be and the fact that she’s probably in pain isn’t helping.

So he leans forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips before getting dressed. Before he leaves YN tells him the brand she needs and the kind, thanking him as she quickly strips the sheets to soak them. He’s out the door in 5 minutes flat and as he drives to the store he repeats her instructions over and over, but it all leaves his head the moment he steps in the doors.

Imagine the fear and curiosity all of the cashiers have when they see the most feared crime boss enter their job in confident strides; none of them notice the way he’s mumbling the brand name under his breath or the way his hands are slightly shaking as he heads straight for the aisle he needs.

The commotion in the store is at a standstill as they all wait with baited breaths for him to emerge from the aisle, none of them having the confidence to check in on him. He’s in a squatting position as he searches, but then his scattered thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone behind him.

“Hello, sir. Can I help you find anything?” the young man asks carefully, slowly stepping over to where Harry is beginning to get frustrated and is still searching. He stands up so quickly that Eric flinches back in fear.

“Look me in the eye again and I’ll shoot your foot off,” he snaps gruffly, making the younger employee shift his eyes to the floor immediately. He then thinks of what YN would say if she were here and takes a deep breath, deciding to try again. “Do you know where the, um, L brand assorted tampons are?” he mumbles, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of his neck.

Eric nods immediately and steps over to where they are, grabbing two boxes and bringing them back to Harry. “Is there anything else you’re looking for?” he asks meekly, and Harry just shrugs his shoulders and mumbles an ‘I don’t know what she’d need’. From then Eric and Harry go around the store and grab everything she could possibly need. Pain killers, a heating pad, snacks, and he even found a cute little panda face mask he knows she’d love.

They’re at the register a few short minutes later and Harry’s cheeks are on fire as he can feel all the eyes on him, and he just wishes Eric would hurry the fuck up. When everything is bagged and paid for, Harry slips him a literal hundred dollar bill and nods in thanks as he heads from the store with his bags, eager to get home to YN.

He practically speeds home to get to her, and the moment his shoes are off at the door he’s sprinting up the stairs with the bags in his hands. He finds her in the shower and he places the tampons on the counter before heading into the bedroom to drop everything else off.

Not long after, YN emerges from the bathroom with a dopey smile on her face at his gesture, walking to stand in between his legs.

“Thank you,” she starts, her words nothing short of genuine. Just the sweetest husband,” her words are feeding his ego and he leans up to press a greedy kiss to her lips.

“Yeah?” he pulls away. “Gonna let me show how sweet I can really be?” he teases, moving down to nip at the sweet spot on her neck. She moans softly and leans into his touch.

“Never gonna say no to that,” she responds. Harry wastes no more time, and in mere seconds he’s got her bare and on her back, legs spread as he lines himself up with her.

~

[freedomfireflies]

Home

Summary: An extra for Mine*

The one where your mafia boss boyfriend, Harry, has finally gotten you back.

But everything is about to change.

Word Count: 3.3k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*

“Mama…you have to let go now.”

Your shaky hands tighten around Asher’s arm, fingers curling into his skin in a blatant act of defiance.

You hear Harry sigh from behind you before he steps closer to take hold of your shoulders gently. “Sugar, it’s time to go. You need rest.”

“I can’t,” you exhale, glancing back through tear-stained lashes. “We can’t leave him like this, Har. We can’t, it’s…he’s alone.”

“He’s not alone. And even if he were…it’s not like he knows.”

You feel a soft sob travel up the expanse of your chest, lodging in your throat almost painfully as you glare at him.

He sighs again. “We can come back tomorrow and see him. But I need to take you home now, sweet girl.”

He’s tugging on you, attempting to guide you away from where Asher lays, but you plant your feet into the ground and argue, “Harry, we can’t.”

“Mama—”

“No, he’s…what if he wakes up and he doesn’t see us? What if he thinks we left him?”

“Sugar—"

“And what if he thinks we’re angry at him? Or what if he gets worse—”

“Baby—”

“What if he doesn’t make it? And we never get to tell him—"

“Please,” he suddenly exhales, in a voice so strained and riddled with exhaustion, it takes your breath away. Drops a pit deep in the bottom of your stomach that blooms into fully formed guilt as you slow to a stop. “Please let me take you home. I have to take you home, I have…please. Just let me do this. Please let me do this.”

You think this is the first time you’ve really looked at him in hours. The first time you’ve actually noticed the dark bags and red rings around his eyes. The physical proof of the torment he’s been through painted so perfectly on his perfect face.

He’s been so patient, so gentle. Despite everything else, he’s stayed by your side as Asher was brought into his warehouse to be taken care of privately. Without involving the authorities, Harry found medical personnel he could pay off without jeopardizing his work or his men’s safety to get Asher the help he needed.

He’s taken care of everything. Every little detail and instruction without so much as flinching. He’s held it all together.

For you.

You study him with a sink in your stomach, palm pressing to his cheek as you nod once. “Okay. Okay, take me home.”

He releases his relief, nearly sinking into your touch as he nods as well and takes you by the hand to lead you out of the warehouse.

And you go home. Maybe not to the same place you used to call home, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

Wherever he is…is your home. 

The rest of your night is quiet. You’re both exhausted, bodies riddled with fatigue, stress, and lingering trauma. Harry’s bruises are beginning to darken in color, and before you go to bed, you work on cleaning them up and bandaging them properly. 

Then, he takes you into his arms, and brings you to bed.

He doesn’t let go all night.

Not when you turn, or shift, or cough. His arms remain snaked around your torso like a vice while his face nuzzles into your neck as though he can’t breathe any other way.

And you don’t mind.

In fact, you become quite used to the heat that radiates from his strong frame and the sound of his soft exhales in your ear.

So, when you wake to find both missing…you realize something has gone wrong.

You sit up in the large, empty bed and glance around the large, empty room for any sign of the man you love.

When you don’t find him, your mind is tempted to jump to the worst possible outcome. He’s been taken, or he’s left, or Asher took a turn for the worst and Harry went to say goodbye.

And then…you hear it. The sound of knuckles hitting the shredded foam of the punching bag. Over and over and over, followed by soft, strained grunts after each hit.

Your stomach wrenches, and with great trepidation, you slip from between the covers, and begin to pad your way through the halls.

The house is quiet and cold. Eerie, in a sense, with only the light of the moon to guide you down the stairs.

Your arms curl around your shivering frame, a fruitless attempt at finding warmth. You wonder how long he’s been gone. How angry he must have been to leave you so willingly in the middle of the night after everything else.

You find him in the basement, his back to the door as he lays hit after hit to the black bag hanging from the ceiling. You can see the muscles ripple beneath his shirt with each blow, can see the veins in his arms cord and push against his sweaty skin.

And you can see the blood. The dark droplets that trickle down his hands from the torn skin of his knuckles. He wears no gloves or wrapping to protect him from the harsh strikes. Almost as if welcoming the pain.

Encouraging it.

You step closer, finding his face in the mirror across the room. His expression is anguished and outraged. He glares at his hands like they’re the reason for his resentment, and it breaks your heart to see him so tormented.

“Har?” you call the moment he’s taken a quick pause, moving a bit closer. 

You notice him hesitate, but his back remains to you. Perhaps afraid of your reaction.

Or maybe he’s afraid of his.

You frown. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

A rather silly question, you realize. Because everything is wrong. A shorter list would be things that aren’t. 

But there’s something he’s holding onto, something he hasn’t shared that keeps him up. The reason for his bruised fingers and punishing strikes.

“Baby?” you murmur, hoping a softer tone will encourage a response.

Instead, all he does is shake his head.

You feel pulled to him, your feet moving across the cold, cement floor until you can wrap him in your arms and press your cheek to his spine.

“Harry,” you exhale while he braces himself against the punching bag and succumbs to your comfort. “Please…”

He sucks in a sharp breath, yet still, he remains silent. As though the words on the tip of his tongue have been swallowed by the grief.

You clutch his shirt in your hands and tug. “Talk to me. I can’t…I want to help. Please let me help. Let me make it better—”

Another breath, but this one is strangled and wounded. Breaking free of his lungs while his head drops. “Don’t,” he whispers, and you feel your pulse stagger. “Don’t, not after I…not after…”

Your brows furrow, and you grip the material on his chest a bit tighter. “After you what?”

He sighs. It’s so very heavy.

Even still, you hold on with everything you have left. “Har?”

A beat. Then—

“I let them take you.”

The admission is ushered with quiet shame, and you can hear the remorse bleed through each syllable, can feel the way his body recoils from truth.

Your lips press together as you keep your fingers tangled against his heart. “You had to.”

He scoffs to himself, palms pressing harder into the bag. “Doesn’t matter, I fucking…I let them take you. I sat there, and I listened to you cry, and I fucking…I…”

You turn him around; despite the way he attempts to remain planted to his spot. You force him to look at you, and it nearly guts you to see the way he glowers like he’s furious with himself. Like he’ll never accept the choice he made.

“You had to,” you repeat, as firmly as you can. “Harry, there was no other way. And I know that. Just like I know you didn’t want to. But this was the only option we had left.”

His teeth scrape together like the idea irks him yet there’s a sadness behind his eyes that says more than his response ever could.

And then…he lowers.

He drops to his knees, settling himself at your feet as he looks up at you with penitence.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you suck in a sharp inhale. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for everything I’ll have to put you through again. I’m so fucking sorry for ever making you feel scared. Or alone. And I’m sorry that loving me comes at such a high cost.”

You can feel a rush of tears swimming their way up the back of your throat but before you can speak, he drops his head, looks down at the floor, and rests his hands on his thighs.

He submits to you.

“Please,” he says softly. “Please forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it. And I know that there’s nothing I can ever do that’ll make it up to you, but please…please forgive me.”

You reach down and slip your fingers under his chin, forcing his attention back. He seems to find comfort in your touch and yet at the same time, he wilts. Like he doesn’t feel worthy of your affection.

“Please,” he says again, and it creates a hole in your stomach a mile deep. “I’ll do anything.”

You take both his cheeks against your palms, thumbs gingerly dancing across the heavy bags beneath his eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive, Har. There never was.”

He nuzzles his face against your hand and takes in a shaky breath. “You deserve better than this. You deserve better than me, and I’m too selfish to let you go. But maybe I need to. Maybe I need to get out of your way so you can find somebody that isn’t going to hurt you—”

“No,” you interject, dipping down with a pointed squeeze to his jaw. “Don’t. Don’t do that—”

“I want to protect you. I want to keep you, but what if I can’t—”

“You can,” you murmur, and your voice cracks as the first tear falls down your cheek. “You can and you have. I’m with you for a reason, Harry. I love you. I love you, and I can’t be without you, so stop saying it—”

“If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do—”

“But you didn’t,” you argue, attempting to sound more confident than you feel. “You didn’t. You never will. Just…please. Please come to bed.”

His lashes flutter, but those pretty eyes you find so much serenity in never leave you. “I’m so sorry,” he says again. “I’m so fucking sorry for not being the man you deserve.”

And it hurts you more than anything else ever has. Because you can see that he actually believes that. But even worse, you can see that you’ll never be able to change his mind.

So, you kiss him. You kiss him hard and with more love than you know what to do with. You offer it all to him, your time, your devotion, your affection. Everything you have, you give to the man on his knees.

You’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to convince him that you’re safest with him. That nobody else could ever do for you what he does. That you’re meant to be with him…even if it’s on the run.

But you suppose you’ll just have to spend the rest of your life showing him.

You whimper against his lips, hands moving for the hair on his neck as you tug. Desperate for more, for all of it. Anything he’ll give you. Needing to prove to him and to yourself that things are okay again.

In turn, he reaches out for your hips, the tips of his fingers slipping beneath your shirt as he attempts to pull you down with him.

But just before you can revel in the idea…the phone rings.

You both turn, glancing toward the wall where the landline resides, and Harry sighs as he stands back up.

“One minute, okay?” he promises, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before slipping past you to answer.

You watch closely as he brings the headset to his ear, his expression filling with something you aren’t sure you recognize.

Your stomach drops before he nods, mumbles a quick response, and hangs up.

He turns to you. “It’s Asher.”

You step closer, the tears already flooding back to your waterline, desperate to fall.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip…and smiles.

“He’s awake.”

“You’re a bloody fucking idiot is what you are.”

Asher laughs and nods his chin toward his boss. “You didn’t think so when I suggested it.”

“I didn’t suggest you get shot,” Harry corrects, arms crossing over his chest almost defiantly. But he’s smiling, and it makes your heart warm. “You were supposed to take her and wait outside. I would have handled it.”

“If I hadn’t stayed, they would have killed you,” Asher argues, and Harry’s expression falls. “And nobody can protect her better than you.”

Harry’s eyes drift to yours.

“Besides,” Asher adds, “it’s kind of my job to take the bullets meant for you.”

And just the thought makes your breath hitch, your throat contracting almost painfully as you glance between them.

Harry nods once. An acknowledgement of understanding. And gratefulness.

Now, Asher turns to you, frowning some as he straightens up. You rush to help, making sure his pillow is fluffed just right, and that he isn’t putting any strain or pressure on his wound.

But as you flutter about, he begins to chuckle, hand reaching out to gently ease you to a halt.

Yet you feel helpless simply sitting by his side, unable to offer much more than an encouraging smile and a few words of comfort. You want to do something. Make it up to him in some way. Repay your debt.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, calling your attention to him. He frowns when you look over. “I need to apologize to you.”

Instantly, you shake your head as you step back, almost as though trying to avoid his attempt. “No. You don’t. It was part of the ruse, I know. Harry told me.”

“Doesn’t matter. Speaking to you that way crosses a line, and I’d like to apologize for the harsh things I said—”

“Asher,” you exhale, glancing down toward the bandage on his chest to avoid his gaze. “You’re alive, and that’s all I care about. You had to sell it, you had to make him believe you were on his side.”

He sighs, but you can tell he’s not exactly convinced. “Even still, I promised to protect you. And I’m so sorry if I ever made you believe anything else.”

“Ash,” you say again, but there’s a long pause as you swallow a rather large lump. Desperately working to find the right words. “You did protect me. You protected both of us. And even if I didn’t know why at the time, deep down, I always trusted you. I know you. You’d never do anything to hurt me.”

He seems slightly relieved by your reassurance, but you can tell the regret goes deeper than a few apologies can reach. This isn’t your wound to tend to. It’s his.

You know both boys will wrestle with the choices they made for years to come. And despite how frustrated that makes you, it simply proves how much they care. 

And you imagine, if the roles were reversed, you’d react about the same.

So, with great care, you surge forward and wrap your arms around Asher’s neck. Making sure to mind his injury as he laughs and allows you to bury him in your embrace.

“Don’t ever do that again,” you whisper, eyes falling shut as he slips his hand around the back of your neck. Keeping you close. “Seriously. I’ll kill you myself.”

He smiles. “It would be an honor to die by your hand.”

It’s a touching remark, yet even the thought makes your stomach wrench, and you nuzzle your face into his shoulder. “Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“…I love you.”

You feel him let out a deep breath before he holds you a bit tighter. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

“But I mean it. Don’t ever do that again. Just…duck and run.”

He chuckles again as he releases you, forcing you to regretfully step back. “I’ll remember that.”

“You better,” Harry calls, pushing off the wall to come up behind you, hands finding your shoulders. “Especially now.”

Asher’s eyebrow raises.

You feel your pulse spike, hands gathering in front of your stomach while Harry squeezes your arms reassuringly.

“I’m taking her away,” Harry tells him, and there’s a heaviness to the way he speaks. “Somewhere outside of the states, somewhere they can’t find her. Where I can keep her safe. At least for a little while.”

Asher leans back, eyes flicking between you both as you look toward the floor.

You and Harry had discussed it at length before coming to see him. It wasn’t your first choice, and you knew it wasn’t a suggestion Harry made lightly.

But after a bit of back and forth, you realized it was the only way. He would do anything to keep you safe and he’d never know peace again until he could make that a reality for you.

And now after everything…he can. He can start over somewhere new. He can bring you the serenity he so desperately wants you to have.

And the serenity he so desperately deserves.

“You’re leaving,” Asher repeats slowly.

You press yourself back into Harry’s chest, wanting to disappear from the conversation, and the look of surprise on his face.

And the subtle trace of disappointment.

“Just for now,” Harry answers, and you glance over your shoulder to catch his solemn expression. “Maybe a year or two. Until there’s not such a large target on my back.”

Asher nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs before straightening up. “Good, yeah. I’ll clean things up here, and make sure the shipments are still on track.”

“Good,” Harry echoes before smiling down at you. “But I’m gonna need you to do a bit more than that.”

With a curious head tilt, Asher waits.

“I need you to take over until I get back,” Harry tells him, and you feel your breath catch. “Manage the imports and exports. Make sure the suppliers don’t fuck us over, and that everyone is doing their job. Handle the shit I can’t.”

You watch the realization settle, his eyes growing wide with intrigue and slight confusion. “Are you serious?”

Harry nods his chin at him. “Deadly,” he says with a wicked smirk. “Look, you know I don’t trust anybody else not to fuck this up while I’m gone. You’re the only one who can manage it and still keep me in the loop. You’re the only one who would do it the way I would.”

Asher smiles, and you can see years’ worth of memories and admiration pass between them.

So, you step aside, and allow Harry to move closer. 

“You’re still a fucking idiot for pulling a gun on him like that,” he murmurs, making you both smile. “But I trust you, Ash. And I need you to do this for me. For both of us.”

Asher studies him for a moment, but you know he’s already decided. Know that they’d both do anything for each other. 

“Of course,” he finally says, looking from Harry to you. “As long as you are coming back.”

Harry glances over to you as well. And he smiles. “Yeah. We’re coming back.”

You reach out to weave your fingers with his before looking to the man in the bed. “Promise you’ll be here when we do?”

Asher laughs again, and it’s a sound you’ve never been more grateful for.

“Fuck yeah,” he agrees, making the three of you smile. “Come on. Where else am I gonna go?”

And you grin wider than you have in weeks.

No matter where you move or where you stay, as long as you have them…

You’re finally home.

OKAY I KNOW THE ENDING WAS SAPPY, BUT I SWEAR THIS ISN'T THE END OF ASHER!!! JUST A CHANCE TO EXPLORE SOME OTHER THINGS!!! 😭💞💞💞

Credit for the amazing divider to @firefly-graphics 💞

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[freedomfireflies]

Found

Summary: An extra for Mine*

The one where your mafia boss boyfriend, Harry, has to put you in danger in order to keep you safe.

Word Count: 2.8k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*

“Asher?”

Harry’s eyes find the floor, narrowing with a malicious vengeance.

It’s a look you know well, but never in relation to the aforementioned man. His partner, his second-in-command.

His friend.

You stand and make your way to him, wary of his demeanor as you gently outstretch your finger to his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He almost looks like he wants to flinch when you touch him, and your heart aches for whatever he’s fighting inside.

But then, he looks to you. He looks, and he wraps his arms around you, and he nearly yanks you into his chest.

Everything is him. Every scent, every sound, every feel. His muscles are rigid, and his breathing is shallow, and he’s cursing through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t let you go. Not for quite some time, and despite your attempts to rub his back in soothing circles, nothing calms him.

Finally, he pulls back to take hold of your face. He nuzzles his lips and nose into your forehead, and whispers, “I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I ever let them take you—”

“Harry,” you exhale, slipping yourself free of his hold so you can look him in the eye. “Don’t do that, we talked about this—”

“I don’t care,” he nearly growls. “I don’t care, I love you, and I never should have let them take you. You have no idea what they could have done—”

“Yes, I do. I was there.”

The reminder makes his expression drop. Skin paling almost as if the thought repulses him.

He moves to hold you again, and you let him, but you don’t wipe the stern look from your face. “Harry, what’s wrong? What’s going on? What’s wrong with Asher?”

He’s quiet for a long lull. Perhaps in an effort to prepare you or perhaps he’s simply trying to wrap his head around it himself.

“His comms are down,” Harry begins slowly. “And they found his tracker discarded a few miles outside of the warehouse.” 

You feel your heart leap into your throat. “What, um…what does that mean? Is he okay?”

That pensive look returns as he squeezes the back of your neck gently. “It means I have to do something I don’t want to.”

“Like…what?”

His eyes return to yours. A vibrant green that bleeds remorse as he dips down to run his lips along your temple lovingly. “I’m so sorry I ever put you in danger.”

Your heart sinks. “Harry—”

“I’m sorry that loving me causes you more pain than joy,” he whispers, and you can hear each ounce of guilt. “I’m sorry that my love comes with so many conditions—”

“Harry,” you try again, leaning back to take hold of his face and squeeze. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on with Asher, what do you have to do?”

He stares at you for a long while, a subtle red rim swimming beside his lashes. “I need to make a call,” he says shortly.

And with that, he pulls himself from your arms and disappears into the other room, the phone squeezed tightly in his hand.

You hear his heated conversation through the walls of the small apartment. Can’t decipher what he’s saying but you know he’s upset. And when he returns half an hour later, he’s wrought with frustration and regret. 

“Har?” you begin gently, cautiously watching from your spot in the tiny kitchen. “Are you…is everything okay?”

You know he won’t offer you an honest answer. He doesn’t particularly like sharing the details of his job with you. He claims it’s better if you don’t know. Safer. And maybe he’s right.

Or maybe he just wants to protect you any way he knows how.

He looks up and finds you. Frowns in the kind of way that has your soul sinking down to the cold, hardwood floor below as he strides over to you.

He takes your hands. Pulls you into his chest and traps you against his heart. Buries his lips into the crown of your head and whispers, “I love you,” for what feels like the hundredth time today.

You smile sadly. “I love you, too. But you’re really starting to scare me, Har. I just…I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

He leans back and captures your cheeks in his palms. Presses his love into your skin as he sucks in a sharp breath and murmurs, “Do you trust me?”

Your answer is instantaneous. “Yes.”

He seems relieved. He seems gutted. “And do you trust that I would never knowingly put you in danger? That I would do anything to ensure your safety?”

You swallow thickly. “Of course.”

He exhales shakily before dipping down to press his forehead to yours. “Do you trust that I love you? More than anything in the fucking world?”

There’s an odd feeling blooming in your chest yet you feel strangely calm. “Yes,” you tell him, nuzzling into his touch. “Always.”

He keeps his eyes closed. Doesn’t let you go as struggles through his next sentence. “Then I need you to do something for me, mama.”

“Anything.”

His features twist, as if it wounds him to hear you say it. “I need you to go sit down on that couch.”

Your lashes flutter as you slip your fingers around his wrists. 

“I need you to sit down, and I need you to wait,” he continues, in a tone so distraught, it makes your throat feel dry. “And I need you to trust that whatever happens next…is because I love you.”

Your breath hitches.

“I need you to trust that this is the only way.” His grip becomes tighter. “I need you…to trust me.”

Despite the countless warnings currently going off in your head, you nod quickly. “I do. I trust you, Har. I promise.”

The muscles in his jaw constrict, teeth scraping together as he stumbles over a wounded inhale. Then, he surges forward and presses his lips to yours. Over and over and over he kisses you. Mumbling, “I love you, sweet girl. More than anything in the whole fucking world. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

His anguish is evident. Body tense beneath your touch and chest heaving with grief. He’s moments away from allowing the tears to fall from his eyes, and it hurts you to see him in so much suffering. 

He kisses you until he has to rip himself away. Tearing himself out of your arms before turning on his heel to disappear into the next room, without so much as a glance back.

And you know it kills him to do it.

You look toward the living room, eyeing the couch warily while taking a deep breath. You do trust him. More than anything.

So, you sit. Take a seat on the center cushion and pull your knees to your chest in wait.

Minutes go by. Then an hour. Harry never returns. The entire apartment is silent. The sun is beginning to set behind the mountains he’s hidden you in, leaving you to wonder in the darkness.

And then…a sound. The first sound in forever. The murmuring of hushed voices and the shimmying of a lock.

The front door opens. Three figures creep into the room, dressed in all black. It’s an instant wave of déjà vu, reminding you of only a few days ago when you were taken the first time.

You want to hide. Want to scream in protest. Want to call out to the man you love and have him protect you.

But he knows they’re here.

And he wants them to take you.

Maybe you don’t know why. Maybe you should be wildly confused and insanely terrified.

But you’re not. You trust him. And as the three shadows find you on the couch, you exhale a deep breath, and allow yourself to be approached.

You play up your terror. Figuring it’s better to give them a little fight so they don’t suspect your compliance.

You gasp and you whimper, and you attempt to squirm away as they crowd you. But only one man kneels to the floor in front of your feet, pressing a large, glove-covered palm to your mouth.

You suck in a shaky pant as his eyes find yours through the mask he wears to hide his face.

And those eyes.

You’d know those eyes anywhere. As soft and reassuring as the touch against your lips. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t call you by that familiar nickname or attempt to comfort you.

But you know him.

You aren’t sure why he’s here. Aren’t sure why he’s with them, but Harry must know. And if he’s allowing him to take you…it must be for a reason.

Things work quicker from there. They bind your hands before one of them throws you over their shoulder. They take you from your place of safety and toss you into a van. They don’t speak to you, they don’t look at you, they don’t even sit near you.

Everything is cold and dark. Far too quiet and somewhat unnerving. You drive for what feels like hours before the car finally stops and you’re removed from your prison.

You’re brought into a different warehouse this time. Smaller. Fuller. There are guards crawling in every corner of the room. Guns, grenades, and various weapons litter the walls and tables. It smells like cigars and bad decisions.

And just before you can allow yourself to doubt Harry’s intentions, you’re brought into a large office.

And sat in front of the one man Harry fears the most.

Callahan Matthews. 

 You’ve seen his face enough times to recognize it now. The way it leers at you. The way it smiles behind the cigar placed between his strangely white teeth. The way he gestures for you get comfortable as the office door shuts firmly.

“Well, well, well,” he begins in a sadistic croon, leaning back in his seat to study you. “How nice to finally meet you.”

You feel your blood run cold as you stare back, offering nothing more than an unamused frown.

Matthews glances toward the guard that brought you in. “Was she any trouble?”

“Not at all,” the man replies, the familiar voice sending chills down your spine as he slips off his mask to reveal his face.

Asher.

“She never is,” he adds, the corner of his mouth curling up in a cruel display of agreement. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

 Your fingers grip the armrests beside you, chest heaving as you work to remind yourself of why you’re here.

Your confusion and betrayal makes both men grin. “And Styles?” Matthews asks. “Where is he?”

“He was at the apartment,” Asher tells him, and you feel your head begin to pound. “We left him be, just like you asked.”

“Good.” Matthews crosses his arms over his chest. “You think he’ll come for her?”

“I know he will. He’ll give you anything you want to keep her pretty little head on her pretty little neck.”

The larger man laughs, pulling the cigar from his mouth. “And isn’t that just a shame? A man with so much power brought to his knees by something so pathetic.”

“Incredibly so,” Asher agrees, allowing his focus to drift back down to you. “Don’t you think?”

You toss him a bitter glare. “Bite me.”

Asher hums. “Haven’t I already?” he murmurs, leaning down and forcing you to rear back. His smug condescension more than evident. “Unless you want to beg me to do it again?”

Matthews smirks. “Perhaps if he’d spent more time questioning the men he allowed into his home—into his girlfriend…he’d have found his supposed mole.”

“Harry trusts too easily,” Asher declares, finally straightening up and allowing you to breathe. “Always has. It makes him incredibly weak.”

“And incompetent.” Matthews rakes his gaze over your tense figure. “Can’t imagine what she sees in him.”

“She sees what he wants her to see,” Asher says. “If he tells her he loves her, she believes it. If he tells her she’s safe, she believes it. If he tells her she loves him…she’ll believe it. All he has to do is convince her that she’s being saved, and she’ll do anything he wants.”

It’s the lowest of blows. Coming from the man who watched your relationship bloom from the very beginning. Who was there through every fight, every miscommunication, every moment of realization. 

He knows the two of you better than anybody else does.

And if this is truly how he feels…

The office door slams open. Four men wrestle through the frame, pulling a struggling man in their grasp.

Harry.

You see him out of your peripheral. See the blood around his cheeks, the bruises already darkening in color, and the ripped fabric on his chest. 

You feel sick. Distraught beyond measure and when his eyes find yours, tears begin slipping down your cheeks.

He’s shoved onto his knees as Matthews stands from behind his desk. Asher remains to the side, watching as a gun is pressed into the temple of his friend’s head.

He says nothing. Shows no remorse or acknowledgement of such cruelty. 

His indifference is infuriating.

“Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Matthews begins as one of the guards weaves their fingers through Harry’s hair and yanks his head back. “But I am a little disappointed.”

Harry remains quiet. Breathing heavily between gritted teeth as he stares daggers through the man approaching. 

“I was hoping for a little more of a fight,” the man admits. “Perhaps even a reason to respect you before I kill you. But I see you lose your edge where she’s concerned.”

Your nails scrape down the chair. Desperately wanting to run to him. To throw your body in front of his and shield him from the weapon you can already see Asher slipping from his belt.

“It’s a shame she has to watch the great Harry Styles die in such a trivial way,” he tsks, hand outstretching for the gun Asher is offering to him. “But I suppose that’s what you get…for thinking you were strong enough to save her.”

The sound of a bullet ripping through the air reaches you before the realization does.

The weapon has been fired. A body is hitting the floor and you’re ready to scream as a smattering of blood streaks across your cheek.

With a wounded, heavy, and unmendable heart, you find the man you love. Needing to see him one last time.

But Harry is still kneeling on the floor. Exactly the way he was before, now covered in a few extra drops of blood.

That aren’t his.

You turn and look for the answer. 

You find it with Asher.

The gun is raised and pointed toward the large man responsible for so much pain and destruction. You see the bullet through his skull as his lifeless body splays across the ground. A pool of blood collecting around his head.

Smoke wafts from the barrel as Asher stares calmly and stoically before he turns his attention and his weapon toward the other four in the room.

“You touch her…or you touch him,” he begins in a threatening murmur, eyebrow raised and ready for any defiance, “and I will make sure there’s enough room in the ground for your bodies, too.”

A moment of silence dances between the walls.

And then, for the second time in twenty-four hours, you’re forced to watch a sea of bullets fly through the air.

You aren’t sure who fires first. Aren’t sure where the danger lies. But you are sure of the way you lunge yourself at Harry’s body to pull him out of harm’s way.

His arms wrap around your torso as you both roll into the corner, just behind the desk. The sound of more gunshots echoes in from the rest of the warehouse as you make the connection that Harry’s men have arrived.

Your ears are ringing. Your chest is pounding. So much violence and strife is happening all around you. And you can do nothing but bury your face in Harry’s chest and will it to be over.

And through all the chaos, you hear him whisper, “I’m so fucking sorry. I had to. I had to let them take you, I’m so fucking sorry. Never let them take you again. I love you. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You aren’t sure when it finally stops. At least in this room. Aren’t sure when the ricocheting of bullets comes to an end. But you do eventually feel Harry lift up to survey the damage and make sure the coast is clear.

The resonating terror is pounding inside your head, but you do your best to follow him out from behind the table. Clutching onto his hand as he leads you into the main part of the office where you find an array of dead bodies and blood dispersed across the walls and floor. 

And just when you feel the first rush of relief in what feels like weeks…you find one more body in the corner of the room.

With a bullet hole right through his chest.

Asher.

Wow, now that's two parts where we end with his name said all dramatically, it's almost like he's the main character??? OOPS??? 🙃 I LOVE YOU ALL, THANK YOU FOR READING AND WAITING AND BEING SO NICE TO ME😭💞

Next Part:

~ Home

Previous Part:

~ Lost

~ Full Mine Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

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