16. Harrison

My thumb hoversover the screen, knowing I should and shouldn't do this. He took her up there for a reason. He has fallen into a deep obsession with her that is boiling over into something even darker. It's in her best interest for me to click on the app.

The grainy night vision from Quen's dash cam fills my phone to show them wrapped up in each other like their bodies speak a language only meant for them. My chest tightens as I watch, the envy biting at me like a hungry dog.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath. I'm not supposed to feel this way, am I? I know she will eventually be with all of us. That's the plan, but right now, Quen is miles in front of us, and we have a lot of catching up to do. I've been hanging back, trying not to be that guy who forces himself into her life, but watching them like some creep is getting to me. It's also getting to my cock, which is about to burst out of my pants. How gross does it make me to jerk off to one of my best mates shagging the girl we all want while neither of them is aware? Pretty gross, but I shrug. I'm no saint, and to be fair, they brought it on themselves by fucking right in front of the car.

Unzipping my pants, I grab my cock as I watch them, tugging fiercely, wanting the release. It happens quickly, and I unload onto my hand with a soft groan, my eyes riveted to the screen.

"My own personal porn. One day soon, baby girl, this will be a live show, and you will take my cock as I punish that sweet pussy of yours."

Flinging my head back, my words do nothing to tame the rampaging beast inside.

Reaching over to the bedside cabinet for a tissue, I root around until I find one and wipe my hand before I shove my dick away and get up.

Enough is enough. I need to insert myself into Vogue's world, too. Maybe not like Quentin is right now, but somehow. Restless energy pushes me forward as I stride out the door and down the hallway of this dingy building towards her flat, my mind racing with what I'll say, how I'll explain just showing up unannounced. None of the guys know I got myself this little hideaway next door to her two days ago. The resident was made an offer he couldn't refuse and promptly moved out so I could slide into her life.

Bypassing the door, I take the stairs quickly and push open the main door to wait outside, leaning against the building as the sun sets on this little town that is about to have a rude awakening. No way in hell Aaron is going to take this lying down. Whoever is gunning for his girl is about to feel a wrath that they wish would take their souls and be done with it. I smile, feeling the icy thrill skitter over my skin, placing my hand on the gun shoved into the back of my pants, feeling its familiar comfort.

Anticipation buzzes through me, electric and sharp. It's not just about wanting her; it's about needing that connection, that depth.

I check my phone again, not for the time but for a distraction. Anything to keep my eyes from constantly darting to the street corner, where I expect them to appear at any moment. I run my hand through my hair, frustrated with myself for getting so worked up. But it's Vogue, and despite everything, she pulls at me like gravity.

Minutes drag like hours until headlights finally slice through the darkness. I straighten up, swallow hard, and prep myself for whatever comes next.

The car pulls to a stop, and I push off the wall, my posture shifting to something more casual, like I just happen to be passing by. Quentin's out first, his eyes scanning the area before landing on me. No words, just a look passes between us—sharp, quick. We both know what's at stake.

"Hey," I call out as Vogue gets out of the car, her face unreadable in the dim glow of the streetlights.

"Hi, Harrison," she says, her voice cautious, a question in her tone. "What are you doing here?"

"Shift switch," I say, giving her that smile that I know knocks people's socks off. I was told every day to practice that smile in the mirror, to get the sincerity down, the genuine interest in my eyes, the slight tilt of my head that screams ‘I see you; I'm listening'.

Her eyes search mine, and I let her look, let her see whatever it is she needs to find there. Concern, longing—I've got plenty of both, and if that's what it takes to bridge the gap between us, then that's what I'll show her.

"Okay," she says with a shrug. "But I'll tell you what I told Quen. I can take care of myself."

"I know, but humour me?"

She smiles. "Sure. You want a drink?"

"Love one."

She walks up to Quen and gives him a light kiss on the lips before she slinks past me.

Quen's gaze bores into mine, but what can he say? Fuck all. So, I give him a mock salute and turn on my heel to follow Vogue into the building and up the stairs to her flat.

The lock clicks, and Vogue's door swings open. She gestures for me to follow her inside. The flat is small but neat, the air laced with some floral scent I can't quite place.

"Tea, okay?" she asks, already moving toward the kitchenette. "I need to go back to the shops tomorrow, so it's that or water."

"Tea's fine. Thanks," I say.

"Take a seat." She flicks the kettle on and grabs some cups and the tea bags.

When it's ready, she hands me a cup and then sits on the couch next to me, pulling her feet up underneath her.

"Thanks for checking up on me," she says, and there's a warmth in her voice that coaxes a smile out of me. "I don't expect it though."

"Just making our presence known," I murmur, gazing into her eyes. Watching her with Quen has twisted something inside me—something dark, something desperate. But here, now, with her gaze resting easy on mine, I'm starting to think maybe I can even the playing field.

"Thanks, Harrison," she says, breaking into my thoughts. "For worrying about me."

"Always, and call me Harry," I respond without hesitation.

"Harry," she says with that soft smile.

Her eyes hold mine, and I wonder if she sees what I'm trying not to show. Not just concern, but something deeper, a craving to be part of her world, to stand with her against whatever shadows might crawl out of the past.

"Have you spoken to your mum about any of this?" I ask a probing question, which makes her snort into her tea and start choking.

"Wow, dive straight in," she says with a grim laugh. "And no. I need to figure out what to say to her. The fact that she lied and has clearly been in touch with him is not an easy thing to get over at the moment."

I nod slowly, getting it. Her vulnerability is a hook, and I'm snagged without any hope—or wish—to get free. "Family shit's complicated," I murmur, the understatement of the century.

Her eyes moisten, and she blinks rapidly. She's tough as nails, but the cracks are showing. She takes a deep breath and nods. "Yeah, I guess."

We sit in silence for a while, just sipping our tea. The room feels smaller somehow, charged with unspoken words hanging in the air like smoke.

Eventually, she stands up to put her cup in the sink, and I watch her deliberate movements.

"I should go to bed," she says. "Early classes and all that."

"Of course," I say quickly. "Can I crash on your couch if that's okay?"

Vogue eyeballs me for a second but then shrugs. "You don't need to stay to protect me."

"I don't need to, but I want to. Just for a bit, I'll be out of your way before you wake up."

"You trying to make a statement or something?" she asks, crossing her arms as she stares at me.

I give her that smile, and it disarms her as planned. "You know it. Every fucker in Crestmont will know I spent the night, and you will be off limits."

She giggles, pressing her lips together. "Well, okay, but don't expect anything."

"I won't," I murmur and watch her disappear into the bathroom, returning moments later dressed in her pjs.

She climbs into bed, and I drape myself across the couch. Reaching behind me to pull out the gun, which I lay on my stomach within easy reach, staring at the ceiling. But sleep doesn't come; instead, there's this gnawing hunger twisting in my gut, driving me to join her, but I won't. Not tonight.

Hearing her breathing deepen, I sit up and stare at her, curled up in her bed, comfy and warm.

Gripping the gun, silently, I rise, kicking my boots off as I pad across the small space. This isn't part of the plan, but screw it. She's vulnerable like this, peaceful, a side of Vogue I've never seen. My chest tightens, and for a second, I forget to breathe.

Setting the gun down on the table next to the bed, carefully, I lower myself onto the edge of her mattress, my weight shifting the bed ever so slightly. She doesn't stir. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks, long and dark against her pale skin. Something about the way she looks right now, so different from the fierce girl who takes on the world by daylight, tugs at something uninhibited inside me.

Slowly, almost reverently, I pull out my phone. The screen lights up, casting an eerie glow in the darkness. With one click, I've captured her image, still and silent. I stare at the photo, her sleeping form captured in pixels and light. It feels like stealing a piece of her soul. But I can't help it; I want—no, need—this moment to keep it locked away where only I can find it.

I lie beside her, fully clothed, on top of the covers. My mind races with thoughts of Quentin and her, the way they are together. It bites at me, that envy. But it's not just jealousy that keeps me awake—it's the sense of being close to her, breathing in her presence. I watch the rise and fall of her chest, feeling a connection that's both exhilarating and terrifying. She doesn't know how much she affects me, how she's wedged herself into my soul.

My emotions are a tangled mess—longing for her, envy of what she has with Quentin, and something else, something deeper that's been growing since the first day I saw her. It's like a current between us, unseen but powerful, pulling me towards her with every breath she takes.

She has me now, whether she wants me or not. I'm hers, and when the time is right, I will take her and make her mine.