witness || h.s.|| ON HOLD

fourteen || I've got a golden ticket

the song for this chapter is Crossfire by Stephen

Tate

     Abel and I sat on the bed for I don't know how long, going over different options, different theories, trying to put together a puzzle that we did not have the pieces for. 

    None of what we came up with made sense. None of this made sense. Why was my dad, who, from what my mother had told me, was a quiet, friendly man, who loved poetry, involved with software that an organized crime group was so desperate to access?

    And just as Abel had said, why did my dad, and whoever else built the software, make it so hard to get into? And who were they trying to keep out?

Abel and I jolted upright as the door to the room was suddenly flung upon.

Speaking of wanting to keep people out.

"What the fuck are you two chatting about?" Harry asked, walking into the room, with a bag slung over his shoulder.

My bag.

     "Where did you get that?" I asked dumbly, pointing towards my grey duffle.

"Oh this? I got it at the mall! Isn't it just adorable?" He teased in a high pitched sarcastic tone.

I scoffed at his answer.

"I got it when I got you," he shrugged, placing it on the floor by the bed. "I didn't want to deal with you complaining about not having clothes or your skincare or any other annoying shit that I don't give a damn about."

       I stayed silent, pressing my lips together tightly. While I'm glad he wasn't yelling in my face, or not so subtely reminding me that he could kill me at any moment, he was still just as infuriating right now, with his sarcasm and mockery. 

He looked amused at my expression, crossing his arms over his chest, pursing his lips together before they spread into a smirk. 

   "So, did you get her to finally fess up Abel? Or do I need to take over?" he asked smugly, taking in the disgusted look on my face, only further fueling his efforts to be an absolute ass. 

     "Actually Harry, we did find something. We found out that you were wrong," Abel replied in a very matter of fact way.

It was my turn to be amused now, as I drank in every drop of Harry's pissed off reaction. I could tell being told that he was wrong was something that he was not fond of.

"Wrong about what, Abel?" He asked, and there was no hiding the annoyance in his voice. 

"About Tate," he started, gesturing to me. "Whatever evil mastermind you thought she was, well, she isn't."

Harry scoffed at Abel's remark, moving closer to my side of the bed, causing me to lean back out of instinct. 

"Evil, maybe. Mastermind, not so much," he replied cooly, staring at the empty space next to me, and then making eye contact with me. All I could do was stare back at him.

"Well? Move over," he demanded. I was about to reply with some smart ass remark before I saw the metal barrel of the gun still attached to his belt. Perhaps Abel's human decency to me had caused me for a brief and fleeting moment to forget where I was, and who I was with. 

     Regardless of his sarcastic comments and dark sense of humor, Harry was still Harry. He was still the man who had kidnapped me, and he was still the man who had showered me with countless threats just a few hours before. He wasn't Abel. He wasn't going to bring me grilled cheeses and tell me that everything was going to be okay, he didn't care if I was going to be okay. All he wanted from me were answers, and once he got them all, I didn't doubt for a second that I'd be taken out with the rest of the trash.