Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  

It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

Grace

In seconds, my nightmare resumes.

Kirby gives me an ominous smile and returns to his position behind me. I feel something sharp poke into my shoulder, then my entire body is on fire. And I'm screaming.

"There's a nerve cluster just below the shoulder," he said. "Immense pain."

His voice is deep and husky and way to close to my ear for comfort. I was winded and struggling to take a deep breath through the sobs racking my body, screaming so loud that somebody has to hear me.

I feel defeated again. And in this moment, I'm convinced that I'm going to die. Convinced that the pain writhing through me right now would be the worst of it all. Convinced that the only people who will miss me are Harry and Cooper, and even then it's not going to be by much.

The thought makes me sob harder. I've lived 24 years and have nothing to show but a shitty apartment with a creepy neighbor across the hall and neighbors downstairs who call the cops on me for no good reason. That's what I have to my name. No friends, no partner, not a fucking soul to stand up at my funeral and vouch for me.

No eulogy, no sobs at my funeral, no remembrance, no flowers on my grave. Nothing.

And there's no way anybody knows where I am, not even Harry who knows everything.

Kirby walks around so he faces me. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and frowns, sending shivers down my body.

"I am so sorry for this," he sighs. Kirby turns around and begins pouring more liquids into the tub in front of me. I stare at it blankly, watching as my life disappears with every liquid he pours into the tub.

"What are you doing?"

Kirby stops again to look up at me. "I am drawing you a bath," He chuckles quietly. "An FBI agent, gone rouge, left the country, unable to be located."

I can't sob any harder. I wish that I was away from here, I wish I had gone into nursing or journalism or law school for fucks sake. Why here, why me?

I'm not religious. Hell,  I haven't been to church or prayed to God since my freshman year of high school. However, right now I was praying to God. Praying to God to have mercy on my miserable life.

I pass out from the pain before I can say Amen.

---------

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  

It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

I'm brushing my teeth in my pajamas when there's a knock on my door. My neighbor has been coming over every morning to borrow sugar and I'm to much of a pushover to say no. The first day he came over, he tried to introduce himself. The second day, he told me about the American Pie Movie he watched the night before. The third day, I told him I was running late and then had an awkward exchange when we both left our apartment two hours later.

Today, I was brushing my teeth so of course I won't be able to talk to him. I walk to the kitchen, grab the ziplock bag I've already prepared and shove it into his chest as soon as the door is open.

And should I say I'm really surprised when it's not my neighbor standing at the door? (Hint: the answer is no)

"I don't need any sugar, thank you," Harry laughs, pushing himself past me to invite himself inside.

"I will take a cup of coffee though, if you're making it."

I stare at him, the door still half open, toothbrush still in my mouth, hair pulled into a I-don't-even-know-what on top of my head. Harry strides in and takes a seat on the barstool at the breakfast nook in my kitchen.

"Are you going to close the door? Or just let your neighbors assume we slept together last night?"

I roll my eyes at his comment and trudge to the kitchen sink to spit. I mock him in my head in a dumb voice. I thought for someone who can't answer a single question that you ask him would be more subtle about the flirts.

"What are you doing in my house?" I ask him, wiping the excess toothpaste from my face. I want to ask him how he knows where I live, but I know it would be pointless. He wouldn't answer anyways. Harry stands up and pours himself a cup of coffee, a cup of my coffee. Not that I was going to drink the entire pot, but still, I was annoyed.

He sits back down again.

"I wanted to wish you good luck at the trial today,"

"Thank you?" I raise my eyebrow in confusion.

"Your apartment is nice, neighbors are nice as well. They offered me a doughnut."

"They call the cops on me all the time," I tell him and we both laugh. We look at each other for a moment, in an awkward silence.

"Can you- I have to get ready," I mumble.

"Oh, right."

Harry stands up, straightening out his black button up shirt. He eyes me up and down, from the slippers on my feet to the bun on top of my head, and grins.

"You look cute like this. Maybe I can see it again, sometime," he winks.

"Go, Harry."

And with the stupid smirk on his face, Harry walks out the door.

-

"And what happened when Kurt Weber entered the rail car at Washington Metropolitan Area Transit?"

"Kurt Weber, entered the seat next to me and held a knife to my abdomen." I say quietly into the microphone. Photos of the cut on my stomach flash on a projector. "And admitted to using Jamie-"

I'm interrupted by a man on the jury who begins to cough loudly. My eyes dart towards him. His hand is clasped over his heart, people are already starting to surround him, the judge is banging his gavel to keep the court quiet. A court marshal ushers me down and leads me out of the room.

"We ask that you stay in here, for your protection," the marshal mumbles, opening the door for me. I don't even think anything of it as I walk through the threshold, don't take note of how odd it is, until I black out and wake up in the trunk of a car.

When I was nine, I almost drowned in the ocean. Sometimes I wake up at night remembering the feeling of water filling my lungs, the feeling of my dad pounding on my chest, beating the water out of me. I remember the sound of my mother crying and the gasps from the surrounding crowd.

I had come to the conclusion when I woke up again that I would take reliving that moment one thousand times over before wanting to remember this moment ever again.

I start panicking at the realization that I was in the trunk of a car, with a throbbing headache, hands uncomfortably zip-tied behind my back and I had no idea why, or how. I feel the car roll to the stop and my breath hitches in my throat as footsteps drag against the gravel, coming closer towards me.

The sun is bright when I see it again and I squint behind the tears that filled my eyes to see bald headed man greeting me outside of the trunk. He grabs me by the arm and yanks me out of the trunk, forcefully. My eyes dart around, looking for anything familiar, but all I see are trees, dense trees and a small cabin up ahead.

Before I can even think about where I'm going, my feet are carrying my away from the bald man and I'm running towards the tree line as fast as my legs can go.

But, with my hands zip-tied behind my back, I can't catch myself when he pushes me to the ground and I fall flat on my face, cheek scraping against a stick. I suck in a sharp breath at the fall. I literally had the wind knocked out of me, even more so when he delivers a kick to my side with a loud grunt.

He yanks me up again, this time holding tighter onto my arm as he drags me to the cabin (smart move).

"What do you want with me?" I scream, thrashing in his arms.

But he doesn't answer. And I had a feeling that he brought me out here to do a lot more than just kick me in the side.

-

I'm sitting in a wooden chair, legs tied together, hands zipped tied with a second zip tie, watching as the man walks around, grabbing all sorts of bottles and jugs.

In front of me is a white room, lit up with fluorescence, medical cabinets sitting high on the wall. There's a weird metal tub in the middle of the floor and the bald headed man is pouring liquids into the tub. I gulp.

"Don't you think I should at least know the name of the person that is going to kill me?" I ask him, fumbling with the zip ties behind me.

"Kirby," He mumbles, not looking up at me. I freeze at the reply. Deep down inside me, I knew that I wasn't going to make it out of here. And he just confirmed my fears.

"You don't look like a killer—you look like a, you look like a father. A son?"

Kirby stops pouring the liquid into the tub and looks up at me. Bingo.

"A son then, how old is he? How old is your son?"

"He's 15, he's in his own band." He smiles proudly. I resent him and the way he's so casual as he pours up some sort of concoction that's probably going to end my life. He walks to another cabinet and grabs something else to pour into the tub.

"I knew it, a caring father. Not a killer."

He pulls out a tray and wheels it next to me. I don't want to look down to see what's on the tray, but I do anyways. And I regret it.

Sharp scalpels, a long pointed metal stick, medical utensils. He picks up the metal stick and wipes it with a wipe.

"Are you a mother?" He asks.

I shake my head.

"That's good," he smiled. "I was told to make you suffer."

"By who?"

I'm trying to keep conversation with him to avoid the inevitable whatever the fuck he's going to do to me. And I'm trying to keep calm, but I can't keep calm as he inches closer towards my neck with an object too sharp for my comfort.

"Oh wait," he stops. He walks back into the white room and grabs a camera with a tripod on it, setting it up in front of me.

Harry Styles, one of the FBI's most wanted criminals turns himself in-- and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.

It's her job to figure him out and it's his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

You can read this here using the tag hsblacklist or on wattpad at brutallybeautiful

ongoing // 2019

Grace

Tuesday 8:21 a.m. Examiner Hatch.

Subject: Grace Elliot Tyler.

Before Monday of last week did you have or have you ever had personal contact with Harry Styles?

Did Harry Styles notify you before he surrendered  to the FBI?

Do you know why Harry Styles surrendered himself?

No. No. No.

Hundreds upon hundreds of questions, three separate lie detector tests, all video taped, all audio recorded. Negotiations with Harry, negations with the FBI criminal division, surveillance of my apartment, the list goes on and on. And I was fucking exhausted from it all.

I've done nothing but sit on my laptop with coffee next to me searching Harry Styles' name over and over again, reading news articles about his disappearance five years ago, reading about the murder of his mother, how he sold classified documents to foreign countries when he was twenty and then disappeared off the grid.

I run my hands through my hair out of stress, my eyes burning from staring at the computer screen for far too long. I couldn't understand why Harry wanted me, why he asked for me, why he turned himself in to talk to me. I was going mad trying to wrap my head around it. The news about the Muller investigation echoes in the background, but nothing  they're saying resonates with for more than a second.

Ding.

I pick up my phone to see a text message from Agent Hunter asking me to come to the black sight.

There's been an emergency. Styles would like to speak with you.

And just like that, here we go again.

-

"Tell me about the plane crash."

"It's so good to see you again Gracey," Harry grins.

"It's Grace, not Gracey. To you, it's Agent Tyler," I sit forward in my seat across from him. "I ask you questions. You answer. Screw with me and I walk."

We're sitting in the same old dingy warehouse, inside the makeshift cell that Harry was being kept in. Agent Cooper has been fighting with the criminal division trying to get immunity for him— He knows that Harry has secrets and without him, there's thousands of threats that we may never find. We need him and he needs us.

Harry doesn't budge under the threat, nor does he take it seriously. He still has the same smirk on his face that he's had every second that I've seen him. It irks me.

"The plane was no accident. An assassination rather, the guy who did it is responsible for a slew of other killings disguised as accidents," he said, looking down at the restraints that confined him to the table. "Shall I go on?"

We're back in the same room where we were a week ago before Weber almost blew up the entire Metro, Harry pointing at photos taped on the glass again, giving us information that we couldn't figure out ourselves (again).

"More than 3000 innocent civilians have died as a result of this mans secret assassinations. There's no proof, but the victims are there. Circuit judge in Ohio, even one of your own agents in Kansas," he's pointing to the news article he's displayed on the projector.

Circuit Judge dies in house fire, no foul play suspected.

FBI agent killed by drunk driver.

Again, the pieces start to fall together. And we're back to where we were last week. Right in the palm on Harry's hands. Exactly where he wants us to be.

"I have on good authority that his next contract will take him overseas. Once he's done, he's gone. So, we need to act quickly. I've set up a meeting with an intermediary. Tonight at 7 p.m. at The Capital Grille."

He's glancing between the three of us as he speaks, until he stops to stare at me.

"You should come, Grace. The two of us, no wires, no clumsy agents in the bushes," He looks back at Agent Cooper. "You want a criminal? You need to trust me with my sources."

To my surprise, Cooper agrees.

-

"Let me be clear. I have no interest in having dinner with you. We get what we need and we go, understood?"

Harry laughs, adjusting the collar of his shirt. His legs are nearly too long for the back of the cab that we are in, his feet tucked under the seat in front of him. Surprisingly, he nods.

"I understand," he said. I felt relieved for a moment, until he comes up with (yet another) witty remark.

"But, it is a restaurant and it is dinner time."

He steps out of the cab and walks around to my side to open the door. We look like a young couple going out for a nice dinner. Harry in a (very nice) suit, I in a dress. It's like we're celebrating an anniversary or a promotion and not catching a brilliant assassin that kills over 40 people in a plane crash to make it look like an accident.

The hostess takes the round fedora that Harry was wearing and I can't help but feel a pang of sadness as he parted ways with it. The fedora was nice to look at. It made him look sculpted, like his jaw line was chiseled out for hours to make it the perfect sharp shape, like curve of his smile was-

"Grace?" Harry asks waving his hand in front of my face. "Hello? Are you there?" He's laughing— not the usual snarky, I-won't-directly-answer-your-questions laugh, but a genuine (very adorable) laugh. I start laughing too at the sad realization that I was fanaticizing over someone who's earned a top spot on the FBI's most wanted list.

We share an awkward moment when we stop laughing, standing in silence until he motions for me to follow the hostess. She leads us to a table close to the front by the windows, overlooking the bustling street right outside.

"If anyone asks, you're my girl friend from New York," Harry whispers in my ear. It was only a joke, but the way his breath tickled against my neck sent chills down my spine, goosebumps speckled my skin. He pulls out my chair for me and I take a seat.

"Why so red Gracey?" he grins, taking a seat of his own. My breath catches embarrassingly in my throat at the comment and I'm thankful when a waiter walks up to us to take our drink orders, thankful that I don't have to answer nor comment on the redness in my cheeks, or the fact that I was fantasizing about his jawline. I gladly just sit flustered for a few moments before it goes away. Harry orders a french wine that I can't even pronounce the name of before I can even think about telling the waiter what I want. When he walks away, Harry folds his hands on the table.

I felt less nervous knowing that there were cameras watching us inside the restaurant and that there was a cleaning van full of agents outside running every face inside for a match in their database.

"Tell me about your boyfriend, did he move from San Fran with you?" he said.

"Where's your contact?" I mumble, taking a sip of the water that was placed on the table before we sat down. 

That's one thing that I was thankful Harry didn't know about me. I came to DC alone, a free bird with a fresh start and no cheating boyfriend. The feeling was indescribable, after an entire week of going mad thinking that Harry knew every detail about my life, knowing he didn't was relaxing.

"We have time," he said fixating his gaze on me. I don't say anything.

"So tell me, did your mother also have dark hair?"

"Your contact is late," I mumble again, bouncing my leg up and down nervously. His hand slides under the table and forces my knee to stop bouncing. It takes me a moment to process the touch, I can feel the heat in my cheeks rise again and I know this is inappropriate, but I can't help but want his hand to stay on my knee like this forever.

I need to stand my ground but I can't bring myself to do it and I have absolutely no idea why.

He pulls his hand away when the waiter comes with our drinks, a part of me feels sad that his touch is gone, but relieved at the same time.

"What if I told you that everything you've come to know about your past is a lie?" he mumbles suddenly.

I nearly spit out the wine at the comment. I don't think I can take it seriously. Harry has done nothing but play games with me since the moment I stepped through the doors of the warehouse. He wants to stir up something in me. Groom me to believe that my life is a lie or something. But the 'what if' thought lingers. He clears his throat.

"Excuse me," he said.

I sit at the table for more than two minutes alone until a fire alarm goes off. Everyone stands up in a hurry, pushing past each other to get out quicker. There's no smoke, nor no smell of it, and absolutely no sign of Harry.

Agent Hunter shows up with a team prepped in helmets, pushing past the crowd to the inside of the building with semi-automatics glued to their hands.

Agent Hunter escorts me outside where I stand in the cold for five minutes before it's cleared— with no sign of Harry.

I felt disappointed in myself, the fact that I trusted Harry too much, let him butter me up with the whispers and the knee touching, only for him to slip away right in front of me. And Agent Hunter doesn't forget to remind me about it.

"You let him get away," he mumbles as soon as he's close to me. When he passes,  his shoulder collides with mine and I know it's on purpose. I follow behind him, pinching the bridge of my nose to keep myself calm.

Harry Styles turned himself in and escaped a building surrounded by FBI. He played us and it was my fault. All the eyes watching me in the warehouse that day, watching to see if I messed up, will know within a few minutes that Agent Grace Tyler is a fuck up and she was from the very beginning.

I felt like crying or screaming or both.

Until Hunter opens the door to the cleaning van,  I nearly burst out laughing at the sight of Harry sitting calmly in the chair in front of the monitors, sipping the wine straight from a bottle, assuming he stole it from the restaurant. I was bewildered, my entire body flooded with relief.

"Hey there guys," he grins, holding the wine glass up for a toast. Hunter steps in, slamming Harry against the wall by the collar of his suit, wine spilling all over the two of them.

"You planned this, you knew he wouldn't show," Hunter spits in his face. Harry is as calm as ever, smiling at Hunter, despite the wine ruining his suit jacket.

"My contact was the first person I saw whenever we entered," his grin is satisfactory. "I left payment in my hat and in exchange he left a photo of the assassin's next victim."

Hunter grabs the fedora sitting in front of Harry to find a photo of an older gentleman- a human rights activist.

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  

It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

Chapter One

harry

“Hello, I am hear to speak with director Owen Cooper.”

The blonde woman on the other side of the glass sends me a warm smile and presses the button to speak to me through the speaker. I think about tapping the glass, wondering if it’s bulletproof.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, her voice sounding robotic and far away from behind the glass. I come to the conclusion that it probably is bulletproof.

I shake my head and look her in the eyes. “No, but he’ll want to see me. Tell him it’s Harry Styles,”

“Okay, one moment. I believe Cooper may be out for today,” she said.

He won’t be for long. She types something in on her computer and I smile at her graciously. I turn around and catch eyes with a security guard. He sends me a curt nod and continues his conversation with the woman next to him. I nod back and shrug my jacket off, placing it on the floor next to my feet.

The sound of an alarm goes off moments later and I don’t look back at the blond woman to see the horrified look on her face, I just know it’s there.

Before the security guard who just nodded at me could yell for me to get down, I’m on my knees and my hands are behind my head in a surrender.

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  

It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

Grace

We learned two things after Harry's stunt he pulled last night. One: Youseff Badawi, a human rights activist is hosting an event tonight whether his life is on the line or not. Two: Youseff Badawi was going to be killed at tonight's event.

Youseff began his organization National Hope  in 2012 after his sister was rescued from human trafficking. Since then, Yousseff and his sister Noura have been rescuing young girls from their traffickers and starting them onto a better life. And someone didn't like that. 

Someone that we can't stop without Harry's help because Harry is the only one who knows what the assassin looks like—the assassin who they (by they, I mean criminals) call Phantom (I think it's silly too). 

I feel like I've been in this situation a thousand times before, standing in front of Harry's makeshift cell, Harry smirking at me. He's facing the wall, hands clasped behind his back whenever the door beeps open. He doesn't turn around to see who it is, but I'm sure he knows it's me.

"I need your help," I mumble quietly, almost afraid to admit it. I can't see his face, but I know the smirk is there. Something has changed between us since last night, or at least I think so. I feel vulnerable around him, closer to him somehow. Armed guards stand behind me waiting for Harry to make some sort of irrational move, but he doesn't. Harry isn't in restraints this time.

"You know what the Phantom looks like, we're compiling a list of everyone who is attending tonight, but-" Harry cuts me off, turning around as he speaks.

There's not a smirk on his face like I expected, but rather his lips are formed into a thin straight line, his eyebrows furrowed. For once, he's serious.

"Gracey, I want more than anything to help you. It's the reason why I'm here," he mumbles. I suck in a deep breath, bothered by his words because I know he doesn't mean helping me catch criminals, he means something more sentimental or sinister—I can't tell which. 

"But I won't say another word until the terms of my conditions are met." 

And just like that, Harry got everything he wanted. His own personal bodyguard Paul, his own hotel and a title as an FBI informant. It took more than three hours to convince the private board that Cooper has organized to discuss all things Harry, but somehow he did it and somehow he convinced Harry to let him put a tracking chip in his neck. And Harry was somehow on his way to freedom.

Harry steps out of his cell with a wide smile, his eyes shining like he's just discovered a cure for cancer. Agent Hunter is shoving a manilla folder into his chest before he's even over the threshold. 

"You got your end of the bargain now we get ours," Hunter grunts. Harry doesn't take the folder and instead lets it fall onto the floor.  He looks at me, beginning to say something until Hunter interrupts him. 

"I'm right here, you can talk to me," Hunter spits.

It takes everything I have in me to not laugh when Harry looks at me to answer. 

"This guy didn't RSVP. I've seen the man. If you want to identify him, put me in that room," Harry said. 

"So, you want to go to the party?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. 

Harry grins, "I thought you'd never ask." 

-

I don't know how I keep ending up in these situations. In a fancy dress, with Harry in a suit attached to my side. But somehow I do. The music is deafening as we step out of the elevator and onto a rooftop filled with hundreds of people dressed just as fancy as we are (and also a few dozen agents acting as security). Harry is greeting people, hugging them, kissing their cheeks, shaking their hands. I stand back idly like an awkward girlfriend at her first family reunion. 

I am way out of my comfort zone here and he knows it. Harry grabs my hand, shocking me, and leads me over to a couch where the music is much quieter. We take a seat. I scan the area, looking around for anyone who may look suspicious.

"Do you see him?" I ask.

Harry shakes his head no and sips on the champagne in his hand. He tried to offer some to me earlier, but I am technically on the job, so I couldn't.

"Are you liking D.C.?" he asks, crossing his legs so he's sitting comfortably.

"I guess so," I shrug, shifting in my seat. 

"Must be awfully lonely," he said. 

I turn towards him and furrow my eyebrows, suddenly becoming frustrated. 

"How do you know so much about me?" I huff. "I mean—are you stalking me or something?" 

"There," he points suddenly, ignoring everything I just said (typical). He stands up, reaching his hand out to help me up, but I ignore it. I push myself up off the couch using the arm. "That's him, you need to clear the area."

He's pointing to a waiter holding an empty tray and I don't hesitate to pull my gun out of my purse. "Stop! FBI," I shout towards him. The crowd around us erupts in chaos, people screaming suddenly and running away from me towards the exit. The guy takes off and I radio Hunter his location.

 I don't know why I thought wearing heels to an event where we were planning on catching someone who's killed hundreds of people was a good idea. It proves quite difficult to run in them. Agent Hunter takes the lead on the pursuit, chasing the waiter down while I slip out of my heels and down the stairs. 

I'm running as fast as I can amidst all the chaos and to the floor of Youseff's hotel room. I'm relieved to find guards outside of his room, telling me he made it there safely. 

He sist wide eyed on the couch whenever I walk in to confirm that he was safe.  I couldn't trust anyone anymore.

 Youseff stands and walks towards me.

 "Thank you," he said, taking my hand. He places his hand on top of mine. "For everything, you saved our lives tonight." 

I smile at him, nodding graciously. I don't know what to say in these situations. Do I say you're welcome, no problem, anytime? My phone starts ringing in my purse and I am thankful that it's there to advert the awkwardness. I pull it out of my purse to see who it is.

Hunter. 

 I excuse myself and walk out into the hallway. 

"It was Harry," Hunter said breathlessly on the other side of the line. "He hired the Phantom." 

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. He had to be fucking with me. Someone was seriously fucking with me. I step into the stairwell and walk slowly down to the next floor where Harry was supposed to be staying. 

"Think about it. The hostess didn't leave the picture for him. Harry was signaling the hit."

I stop in my tracks, realizing everything I must have missed. Pointing out the waiter was a diversion, I don't realize I am saying it out loud until Hunter excitedly yells on the other end in agreement. It's the first time I've heard his tone be anything other than flat and angry. He had come to the same conclusion. I'm running back up the stairs before I have time to hang up the phone. 

I felt so cheated as I ran breathlessly through the hallway to Youseff's suite. Security, or should I say Paul, lets me in without a word. When I walk in, Harry is sitting calmly at the table. 

Youseff is standing a mere few feet from him. 

"Oh Grace, thank god you're here," he says hurriedly. "This is the man," he said pointing to Harry. "This is the man who wants me dead." 

I glare at Harry, looking at him made me feel worse than I already did. I felt foolish for letting Harry do this a second time. Something tells me this time won't end up like the last, Harry won't end up sitting exactly where we want him to in the back of our van and things won't fall right into place. 

"You hired him," I say angrily. "How are you going to do it? What's the headline going to read?" 

"How about, humanitarian exposed as fraud, commits suicide?" 

I look back at Youseff who is standing just fine, but paling by the minute. "What have you done?" 

Harry stands up and smells the fresh flowers on the table in front of him. He adjusts his suit, buttoning the second button. "I didn't do anything. The assassin may have slipped him a lethal cocktail. Of the same family he uses to drug the girls he's selling." 

Youseff cups his hand over his mouth and slowly kneels down to the floor. I run over to him and check his pulse. It's still there, he's still conscious and breathing. 

"He is not the man you think he is. He doesn't free enslaved children, he imprisons them." 

Youseff is choking now, holding his hand over his throat as if that will help him get some air. I had no idea what to do, other than to sit there and watch him choke. 

"I have the antidote, Youseff," Harry said, pulling a capped needle filled with a red liquid out of his coat pocket. "All you have to do is tell her." 

"I don't believe you," I tell Harry, feeling hopeless as I was Youseff struggle to breath. I didn't know how to believe Harry. I couldn't trust him 1. because he's a criminal 2. because he's a manipulative criminal who knows how to get what he wants. And that terrified me. 

"Come on, Youseff. A simple nod will suffice," Harry said, bending down next to the choking man.  Youseff nods to the best that he can with barely functioning lungs. Harry seems pleased with the admission of guilt and uncaps the needle to shove it in his neck. 

The door behind us bursts open and I can hear Hunter's voice immediately asking whats going on. Harry stands up, capping the needle and throwing it on the table. "Looks like he is dying," Harry nods. "Definitely dying."

-

The sun is peeking over the horizon, the first of the pinks and oranges disappearing behind the mass of buildings, visible only a tiny bit. I felt exhausted and I look like I'm taking the walk of shame. A man stands at the end of the pier, a line casted out into the water, Harry sits on the bench directly behind me and has been for the past twenty minutes without saying a word.

"You look tired," he says huskily, finally breaking the silence. I roll my eyes at him knowing that he can't see. Of course I' fucking tired, I want to say, but instead I stay quiet, until he speaks again.

"Maybe you should go home and get some rest."

"What would you have done if the antidote had worked in time?" I ask suddenly. "It would have exposed you as our informant."

"There was no antidote," Harry says flatly, I glance back at him then immediately turn my gaze back to the water.

"We confirmed that Youseff Badawi was moving money. The man was one of the biggest traffickers we've ever seen. We were able to locate a shipment of girls. And I had no idea. I should have known." 

A part of me wanted to cry and another part of me wanted to scream, scream at Harry for everything he's done over the last couple of weeks, scream at the world for being so fucked up.

"We never really know anyone, do we Gracey?" Harry said after a long pause.

And with that, Harry gets up and walks away, leaving me alone on the pier wondering how my life got so fucked up.

Harry Styles, one of the FBI's most wanted criminals turns himself in-- and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.

It's her job to figure him out and it's his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually

You can read this here on the tag hsblacklist or you can read it on wattpad at brutallybeautiful

ongoing // 2019

Harry

It smells like stale cigarettes and chemicals in this conference room and the light from the projector in front of me is blinding. I haven't seen Grace since they put me in handcuffs at The Metro.

I assume she went home after a long day of work, the curveball I threw at her today. But she handled it well and I was pleasantly surprised with how smoothly everything was working out in my favor. It was like stealing candy from a baby.

"Where's the German?" he said.

I smile at Agent Owen Cooper and lean casually back in the swivel chair, twirling around in it until I'm dizzy.

"I'm not going to tell you," I laugh.

"You gave him a deadly weapon," he said sternly.

"That's the price of doing business Owen, you know that. You want to get things done properly, there is a price to pay. The girl is safe, Weber is in custody, what more do you need?"

Hunter has been staring at me like he wants to lunge at me for the last five minutes. The man looks so pissed off all the time, I can't help but wonder what's made him so angry. Perhaps an angry wife at home, or not one at all. Either way, I didn't like him or the way he speaks to Grace like she is less than him. It made my blood boil just thinking about it.

"You turned yourself in so you could get that weapon," Agent Hunter accuses me, his finger pointed at me like I'm a child who's just drawn with crayon on the wall. I chuckle at him, not only does he look like an asshole, but he is one.

"I have my own intelligence, Adam. I certainly don't need yours."

Agent Cooper shakes his head at me- he's the disappointed father in our relationship and I'm the rebellious teenager who he thinks wants to steal his car.

"I think we're done here," he mumbles as he stands up, shutting the binder he held in front of him. The binder that detailed all of the charges I faced and the intelligence I had on Weber.

"Let's do it again," I smile, standing up from my seat as well. I place my hands on the table, watching as they all pack up their things. "Understand that Weber was only the first."

Both Cooper and Hunter stop what they're doing, turning their heads towards me.

"First what?"

I shrug.

"Names, you know, on the list. The list I've been cultivating for over five years. Politicians, hackers, traffickers, spies. The ones you can't find because you don't even know they exist. If you want the names on that list, you have to play by my rules. I never sleep in the same location for more than three nights in a row. I want my own security. Whatever I tell you falls under an immunity package that I negotiate myself. And finally, I speak only with Grace Tyler."

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

ongoing// Juy 2019

Chapter Four

Grace

One more realization came to me.

Jamie was a chess piece in a sick and twisted game and that's all we knew. We didn't know when or where or how, we just knew that she was going to die and the time was ticking to save her.

Hunter, Cooper and I spent another hour digging around trying to find clues on Weber, trying to find clues on Mikhail, Carrie. But none of them seemed to exist. We checked every database, every internet post, the black web, and still nothing.

But we knew they existed because Jamie was gone. And there had to be a reason for it.

Harry is sitting back, confined in the metal chair again when I reenter the dusty warehouse. I wish I weren't here. I wish I had come into work today, sat down at a desk in an office and put together profiles of suspects. Instead, I had a little girl's life literally in my hands.

Harry smiles whenever I walk in, a big dimple plastered smile.

"Where is Weber taking Jamie?" I ask as I pull up a chair in front of him and take a seat.  I'm so close to him our knees are nearly touching. He leans forward so that our knees are touching.I think it is a way to intimidate me, but I stay where I am seated and don't move.

"If I tell you, you'll have to give me something in return. No more restraints, no more dingy warehouses. He needs to think I'm free, staying in my favorite hotel, keeping in touch with old friends," Harry smirks.

No more than an hour later, agents are busting down the door to Mikhail's location, taking him and Carrie into custody, questioning them, booking them. And Harry is staying in a five star hotel, eating a medium rare steak and asparagus with complimentary champaign, handcuff free.

I sit across from him at the other end of the table, watching as he excitedly cuts into his steak and takes a bite. He waits to speak until he's finished chewing.

"You know, Gracey. You should really go home and get some rest. Cal is probably worried?" he said.

"How do you-"

He clanks his fork on the plate. "It's going to be awhile before I hear back from Weber," he said.

I shake my head at him. He knew how to get under my skin and it annoyed the fuck out of me. And how the hell did he know so  much about my personal life? I stand up and walk out of the suite, down the hall into another room where Cooper and Hunter are watching Harry on monitors.

"Is this some kind of joke or something?" I ask them, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Some kind of like first day test? How does he know so much about my life?"

Cooper looks at me from behind a monitor, eyebrows furrowed, head cocked to the side. "We don't know Agent Tyler," he said.

I shake my head and shrug my blazer off. I felt trapped in it all of a sudden. I've felt trapped all day.

"I need to go home, get some dinner or something," I mumble. "I'll be back in an hour."

Cooper doesn't say anything as I walk out.

I've only recently gotten used to the Metro and the constant buzz of people, the hiss of the trains pulling in and out of stations, the ding sound the machine makes when I load my SmarTrip card.

I take a deep breath as I take a seat in the back of the car, alone. I know it will fill up in a few minutes, but for now I sink down in my seat and enjoyed the silence. I lean against the window and close my eyes as people board the rail car. Until I feel something cold against my stomach and someone sliding into the seat next to me.

"Hello, Grace."

I slowly look up, trying to not move. The pressure of the knife on my stomach is so immense that if I move anymore than an inch he's going to cut me. I immediately recognize the goofy man sitting next to me.

"What are you doing? Where is Jamie?"

Harry was right, Weber was an odd looking guy. Even more so up close and personal. Weber looks straight ahead.

"Jamie is on that rail over there," he said, nodding to another rail. I see her through the window, she's smiling, oblivious to what is going on.

"And in less than five minutes, Jamie will be no more," he said, pressing the knife deeper into my skin. I wince at the pain. "What do you know?" he asks.

I try to suck in my stomach as if somehow that would put some distance between my skin and the knife. I don't say anything and neither does Weber as he pushes the knife deeper into my skin. It wasn't enough to do major damage, but enough to hurt like a mother fucker.

"I don't know anything," I wince.

"You dumb girl, Styles said you were smart. He go on and on about you," he spits, not loosening his grip on the knife.

"The girl, that's all we know. And a bomb, maybe. The rest is just speculation."

I see a hint of a smile on his lips. I want to move forward or lunge at him, but I know if I do that knife is going to go deeper into my abdomen and I'll be bleeding out within a few minutes. Everyone else seems oblivious as to what is going on, oblivious to the fact that this guy is going to blow up the metro using a little girl in a few minutes, oblivious to the fact that I had a knife pushing into my stomach. I watch as the doors to the rail that Jamie is on hiss close, the knife against my abdomen lessens, and within seconds, the train is off.

His demeanor is so calm as he watches his plan unfold before him, the subtle smirk on his face sends shivers down my spine. Before I can react, he's up and disappearing just as the doors hiss shut behind him.

As soon as he is gone, I'm sent into an utter panic. Panic that I need to call Cooper, panic that I need to get off this fucking rail, panic that I need to evacuate the Metro. I'm on the phone with Cooper as I run down the rail, hopping between cars, yelling through the phone to Cooper, panting until I reach the emergency button. The train stops with a halt and a deafening screech as soon as my palm pushes against the red button. Everyone looks at me with confused glares and I hop out of the rail, running back down to the station, ignoring every single one of them.

I can't think straight as I race down the rails, my heart beating out of my chest. My blazer is still sitting in the seat on the rail, but that's the least of my worries right now. I stopped talking to Cooper after he finally understood what I was saying after repeating it five times.

I reach the terminal and attempt to climb out of the large dip, trying to heave my way up somehow with a cut on my stomach, winded from the run. A younger man, probably my age, comes up to help me and pulls me up onto the platform. Everyone is staring at me and I know I look fucking crazy right now and the chance of getting to that rail is slim to none.

I don't need to get to that rail though because Jamie is sitting on a bench, backpack strapped to her back, a frown in place of the smile she had a few moments ago. And I don't even question why as I run to her.

"Hi Jamie, Hi," I smile, bending down in front of her as not to frighten her. "Hey, my name is Grace. Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head no and plays with her fingers. She doesn't look up at me.

"It's okay, are you alone?"

She nods. "He said to wait here for my mommy and daddy."

I can hear the ticking of the bomb, ticking almost as fast as my heart beat. I unzip her backpack to see the timer. Three minutes.

My phone rings in my pocket and I quickly answer it thinking it's Cooper calling me back, but another voice greets me, a British one.

"Don't touch it," he said sternly.

I look around for him, hoping somehow he's standing a few feet away, but he's nowhere to be found.

"I have to evacuate, call the bomb squad-"

"They'll never be there in time. My friend, he's on his way." he interrupts me. The phone beeps on the other end and the line disconnects before I can respond. I was panicked before, but I am even more panicked now. I felt like I was going to throw up or pass out or both. I bend down in front of Jamie again and grab her hand.

"Hey Jamie, it's going to be okay," I speak to her in a soft voice. "I like your shirt. Do you like Jojo? I love her bows."

She starts to tell me all about Jojo, her vlogs, and the bow collection she has until a man in khaki shorts and a t-shirt approaches us. He's speaking in German and I can't understand what he's saying, but he's unzipping her backpack and examining the bomb as it ticks away. My heart pounds in my chest as the bomb ticks and the German guy clips a wire, the beeping stops. But it starts again, this time faster, faster than my heart was beating in my chest. The whole word was spinning around us, people stopping and staring, some of them running. He clips another wire.

This time, he throws his hands up in the air, yelling something in German, grinning to himself and the ticking stops. I hold my hand out to him to take the bomb so we can book it into evidence and destroy it, but he's running away before I can.

And out of nowhere, Harry approaches. I want to say that I am surprised, but I can't. Everything today has been happening so methodically, so planned, all the right people show up at the right time. It's freaking me out. Harry yells something in German happily waving at the man.

"What are you doing? He can't take that." I yell at him. He's still smiling as he looks down at me, until he realizes I am bleeding. He lifts my shirt, his hand gently grazing my stomach, a frown plastered on his lips.  

"Don't worry, I'll have him killed," he mumbles under his breath as he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and presses it to the wound.

It takes me a long minute to even realize that Harry wasn't supposed to be here right now. In fact, I only realize whenever SWAT and Cooper show up that he wasn't with them. He grabs my hand, placing it onto of the handkerchief before places his own hands on top of his head, ready to be cuffed as they run towards us. I just stare at him, dumbfounded.

"We're going to make a great team," he grins as Cooper reaches him and forcefully puts him in handcuffs.

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  

It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

Chapter Two

Grace

I am startled awake by a loud banging on my door and a man's voice yelling from the other side. Oh fuck, I am late to my first day. I push my hair out of my face and scramble into a pair of sweatpants laying on the floor next to my bed.

But I'm not because when I look at the alarm clock on my side table, it's only seven a.m. and I don't have to be in until nine. I shake my head as if somehow that would eliminate all of the confusion inside, my feet pad loudly against the floor as I rush to slide the chain off the door and open it. I can feel my stomach flutter as the wood glides open, creaking and groaning from age. On the other side, two men stand with their hands on their holstered guns, annoyance written all over their faces.

I don't have time to question why they're here before they're speaking. Their voices are so deep that it rattles me.

"Agent Tyler, Adam Hunter. Washington Field Office," the man on the other side of the threshold said, pulling a badge out of his coat pocket and showing it to me for a brief second. "I need you to come with me right away."

-

I sit in an old, and very ugly orange chair across from a solid wooden desk, glancing around the office while I wait impatiently, my leg bouncing up and down nervously. I was trying to keep calm after Agent Hunter informed me that Harry Styles was asking for me and that's why they showed up at my door at seven. I stop on a picture frame that sits on the bookshelf behind the desk.

It's a photo of a man, his wife, two little twin girls. They're bundled up in scarves and toboggans and ice skates. The girls clinging for dear life to the man's legs, like if they would let go he would be lost forever. I smile at the photo and imagine what it must be like to be in a family that happy. The woman is kissing the man's cheek, love is evident.

I'm shaken from my thoughts when the sound of the door opening fills the room. I stand from my chair and flatten out my blazer before holding my hand out to shake his.

"Agent Tyler, Owen Cooper," he said, grabbing my hand firmly. I smile at him and take a seat.

"Nice to meet you, sir."

I knew exactly who Owen Cooper was. Assistant Director of Counterterrorism. I learned about his work in Quantico, how he stopped a second 9/11 in 2011, how he helped find the coordinator of the Paris attacks in 2015. He was the real deal, the big shot and I was sitting right in front of him.

I sit up now and force my leg to keep still. He's a lot taller than he looks in the photo, his skin is darker and his hair more grey. The twins in the photo must be much older now, too.

"I understand it is your first day as a profiler," he said. I nod, fidgeting with my hands in my lap.

"Yes sir," I smile, almost proudly. "I was reassigned from San Francisco, I graduated Quantico last month. I've been vetted by the agency, just as everyone else same background checks, same profiles-"

"So why does Harry Styles want to speak with you?" he said, interrupting me. He seemed genuinely curious rather than accusatory. He leans back in his seat, legs crossed, hands clasped. He looks at me like I should know, but I don't. I've never spoken with with that man in my life, never seen him, never heard of him until this morning. I have absolutely no idea what he wants with me.

But I'm about to find out.

Less than an hour later I'm siting in a chair, a mere ten feet from a brilliant criminal. A criminal whose evaded capture for more than five years, went off the radar, avoided detection. A criminal who wants to talk to me. It's silent for a moment as he stares at me, a smirk plastered on his face.

"A pleasure to meet you Agent Tyler," he said, giving me a smug grin. He leans forward in his seat, to the best of his ability because his arms are secured to the chair. I glance around at the many guards, the many agents, the many faces watching us intently, watching to see what this man is going to say, watching to see if I'm going to mess up. I swallow hard and straighten my shoulders.

"How is Washington? Do you miss San Francisco?" he asks. I almost jump out of my seat. I don't know this man, but he surely knows me. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I have to remain calm, I remind myself, dozens of eyes are watching me.

"Tell me about Weber." I said, my voice even yet firm. Kurt Weber was who Harry promised to give information on whenever he first entered the black sight, Cooper tells me.

The black sight is a secure location owned by the FBI where they work on confidential cases, hold confidential criminals. This one just so happened to be an old Sears warehouse before they shut down.

I imagine the workers, packaging and ticketing merchandise before it even hit the shelves. Probably sweating in the heat of the summer, keeping cool in the cold of the winter. I imagine them letting out a sigh of relief when they finally got to sit down for their 15 minute break and I compare it to where we are now, how this came to be, what's gone on in here.

Harry is smiling again, tugging lightly on the confinements that keep him in the chair. The air around us feels everything but easy. It feels like the moments before a storm, when the trees are rustling and the sky starts to get dark. It feels much like that only 1000 times stronger.

"Did your boyfriend move with you?" he asks. His tone is so mono that it sends shivers down my spine, I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"Cut to the chase Styles, I don't have time to banter," I tell him, my tone more harsh than it was a second ago. He looks a bit taken aback by it and shifts in the wooden chair that he's occupying, staring at me bemused. "Why did you want to talk to me? It's my first day, nothing special about me."

He laughs a hearty, deep laugh and shakes his head at me.

"Everything is special about you, Gracey."

My breath hitches in my throat at the nickname. The one my dad used to sing whenever he'd call me to his office, the one he'd exaggerate in the stories he told me as he sat on my bed at night, the one my mom would hum in the kitchen when dinner was ready. He knows, I know he knows by the look on his face.

He places his hands on his knees.

"Within the hour Weber will abduct the daughter of U.S. General Kalmin Brown. He wants to be out of the country within 24 hours. If you don't move quickly, that little girl's blood will be on your hands."

The way he talks so confident, so smoothly is rattling. A part of me wants to believe what he is saying, but another part of me reminds myself that he is a criminal and criminals are notorious for lying.  But something inside my gut tells me he's not bluffing. I am about to speak again when Harry casually leans back in his chair.

"But you don't have to believe me," he said.

"Why should I?"

He laughs again. "You shouldn't. I am a criminal. Everything about me is a lie," he looks down at his fingernails. "But I guess that's what we have in common, lying. You being raised by a notorious criminal, your mother dying for it..." he trails off and shrugs. Then he looks around at all of the agents in the room. Unbeknownst to them, this is news.

"Oh!" he exclaims finally catching on. If he wasn't confined to the chair, I'm sure he'd be clapping his hands together.

"Oh, they don't know, do they." He makes a I'm-sorry-I-totally-knew-they-didn't face and frowns at me. "Well," he smirks.

-

The door to Agent Cooper's makeshift office slams loudly, with such force that I swear my bones are rattling inside my body.

This office is different than the one at the branch. This one holds no comfort, no pictures, just an old bookshelf and a desk with a computer.

"Why didn't your father's criminal record show up up on your screening?" Agent Hunter demands, his hands resting on the desk. It irks me to know that he- someone who is nearly as a rookie as I am- wants to demand things from me. I stand up from my seat. Cooper gives him a stern look and his eyes advert to the ground.