Harry

   The ride back to base was a silent one, which is a usual occurrence after a mission is completed. The job was done and for a brief and fleeting moment, there was nothing to talk about.

  The beautiful silence that I often cherished was interrupted by the car pulling around to the back entrance of the building that I knew all too well. I guess I would even go as far as to call it my home, as messed up and sad as that was. 

   Whit looked up from his phone for the first time the whole drive, realizing we had arrived at our destination. 

   "That was a nice little drive, wasn't it, Harry?" He quipped cheerfully, reaching across the armrest between us to give me a pat on the shoulder.

   "Very nice indeed," I mumbled, already unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the door, going around to his side of the car to open the door for him next.

    He dramatically extended his legs out, stretching his whole body as though he had been sat in that position his whole life, and could finally change positions, as opposed to the reality, which was the quick twenty five minute drive we had just endured.

     The thing about Whit is that if you didn't know who he actually was, he would be a very likable person. Well, likable on most days. 

  He was charming and very outgoing, just like he was the night he picked me off the streets. He drew people in with his words, he could make everything seem like the best idea in the world, just from the way he'd tell you about it. 

   He was sadly enough the closest thing to a fatherly figure I'd ever had, although I guess he'd be more like a big brother, due to the fact that he was only about ten or twelve years older than I was. He guided me, trained me, recalibrated every fiber of my being until I was pretty much just a shadow of himself. I'm not quite sure that's something I should be proud of, but it is what it is.

 Whit and I walked side by side up to the back entrance of what we have nicknamed "The Fort". It was a very unassuming building. Greystone walls, dark, almost black windows. It looks like your standard storage warehouse. But inside? It was anything but.

   Once you went in through the back, which pretty much everyone did, you had to enter a code into the padlock on the second set of doors, do thumbprint scanning, retina, and voice recognition, and that was just the first part.

    Once the thick and heavy metal doors slowly creaked open, you then had to go through a search from the security, everyone did, no matter how high up you were, well, everyone but Whit. 

   I groaned in annoyance as I approached my absolute least favorite security guard, Ralph, who always seemed to have it out for me. Most people just got a standard pat-down, but Ralph just never seemed to be too fond of me, for reasons I don't think I will ever understand. Due to this distaste for me, I had to take off my shoes, empty the entire contents of my bag on the table, and go through the metal detector, which of course, always went off, seeing as I was basically a walking artillery. 

   I stood inside the frame of the metal detector, throwing my arms up in defeat as the loud beeping began. 

  "Ralph, you do realize it's my job to be armed, correct?" I asked sarcastically. He just grunted in reply, ignoring my frustration.

"Whit, am I done here?" I sighed, growing tired of hearing the repetitive beeping ringing in my ears.

   Whit laughed, and nodded, beckoning me to follow.

"Have a great rest of your day Ralph!" I called back in a singsong tone! Blowing him a kiss and chuckling as he rolled his eyes.

   He'll warm up to me one day, I'm sure.

Whit marched down the aisle of many different weapons stations, computer centers, and training areas, everyone occupying them immediately stops what they were doing to greet first him, then me.

   Whit tuts out quiet hello's, clearly on a mission to get to the fifth floor, which is where most of the higher up's business gets done.  

Once we reach the elevator, Whit does the same thing that he has done every day for the past four years I have known him. He repeatedly presses the elevator button, convinced that it actually makes it arrive faster. I lean my back against the wall, listening to the faint but persistent clicks of his finger on the button, over and over, until finally, the glass doors pry themselves open. When we get in the elevator, guess what he does next? The same damn thing. Pressing the number five button nonstop, as though his life depends on it. 

   I try to ignore it by looking through the glass of the elevator, feeling like a fish in a tank, peering out over everyone else. Seeing the new trainees doing boxing warm-ups, noticing that our snipers finally got those new scopes they wouldn't shut up about, all of them high fiving and pumping their fists in the air like they just won the Super Bowl. 

   The elevator doors open again once we have reached the fifth floor. It is much more like an office space up here than the lower levels. Not like your typical office though either, as everything in here probably cost enough to buy an entire neighborhood and furnish it. 

    The floors are a dark cool-toned walnut wood, and not a crack can be found between the boards. I remember when they renovated this floor, Whit was going around like a maniac yelling at the carpenters, saying that if there was even one splinter, heads were going to roll. Needless to say, there were no splinters. 

   The desks are all stainless steel, everything on this floor was sleek, modern, and spotless, just how Whit liked it. Even down to how people dressed, Whit had a say in it. You could wear grey, black, and white. Everything had to be uniform. It was a bit over the top, but it was just another one of the many ways that Whit liked to control everything and everyone around him.

  I started down the hall to the conference room, where Whit would meet me after getting his afternoon coffee. I hear familiar voices through the conference room doors and feel my lips turn up into a grin, as I prepare to open the doors and see the other members of my twisted makeshift family. 

As soon as the doors are open, I am greeted with shouts and friendly banter from all the boys. There was Niall, who didn't do much of the dirty work but found most of the people we were after for us, trailing them and reporting back to us what he found to help with whatever our next mission was.

  Then there was Abel, the youngest, only seventeen, and the tech genius. Quiet, and a little scrawny, but probably the smartest damn bloke I've ever known. The guy can and has hacked into multiple government agencies, without so much as a peep, pausing only to adjust his glasses every once in a while. We looked out for him and tried to keep him as far from any bloodshed as possible, he was probably the most innocent of all of us, which isn't saying much.

And then there was Will. Will was my partner in crime, quite literally. He was trained to kill, just like me, and together, we were absolutely lethal. He was about the same height as me, with dark brown hair and blue eyes, and biceps so big that he honestly didn't even need a weapon sometimes, he could just as well crush someone's skull in between his muscles.

   Will walked over to me and clapped me on the back. "Nice work today Styles, heard you went with the knife? Odd but I like your thinking, very creative. I haven't slit a throat in a while I might have to try that next time," he joked, guiding me with his arm around my shoulder to the seat next to him.

   I noticed Able shifting in his seat uncomfortably, and I decide to change the subject. "Do you lot have any idea what Whit wants to meet with us about today?"

   "Harry, really, you couldn't wait one more second? Tssk, Tssk, so impatient."

I laughed and sat back further in my seat, leaning back. "Speak of the devil."

  In strided Whit, coffee in hand, along with a few manilla folders, which he threw down onto the conference table, before plopping down at his seat at the head of the table. 

  He took an unnecessarily long sip of his coffee, as though he wanted to create suspense among the group. He peered at us over the top of his cup, eyes bright and excited, like he had a secret that he just couldn't wait to tell us.

    "I am assuming we are all well aware of who James Collins is?" he began, awaiting our response.

"You mean the bastard who is one of Grayson Peters' right-hand men?" Will asked, and Whit nodded.

Grayson Peters was a leader of another organized crime group like ours, not as big as us, but still, someone that we always liked to keep tabs on, and definitely not someone we were a fan of.

   Each group had varying goals and means of business, some trafficked drugs, some did paid assassinations or kidnappings, others sold software that was worth millions, but they all had the same goal; money and power. 

    Our group mainly specialized in software and paid assassinations, Whit preferred to stay out of the drug scene, as they usually called more attention to themselves, and Whit liked to stay discreet and under the radar. 

I stretched in my seat, before opening my mouth to speak. "So, let me guess, you want Will and I to kill James because Grayson owes you money or did something to get on your bad side?" I guessed, assuming that I was right.

  Whit folded his hands in front of him on the table. "Wrong. I want you to save his life."

    Will and I looked at each other and paused for a moment, before bursting into laughter.

"What the hell do you think we are, bodyguards?" Will laughed. 

Whit waited for us to finish laughing at his weird request before continuing. 

"Gentlemen, are you familiar with the saying, "the enemy of my enemy is my friend?"" he questioned.

   I narrowed my eyes at him from across the table. "What are you getting at, Whit?"

"I'm so glad you asked!" he chirped, flipping open one of the files placed in front of him, before turning it around and sliding it to me. 

    I scanned the front page, huffing in disdain at the first name that caught my eye. Quinton Beck.

Quinton was enemy number one. There was no greater rivalry than the one between Whit's group and Quinton's. They were just as vile, just as ruthless, and just as relentless as we were, and the hatred that our two groups had for eachother was unparalleled. 

 My train of thought was broken by Whit continuing on with what he was saying. "Apparently Grayson Peter's has managed to royally piss off Quinton Beck. A few days ago, I got word from my sources that Peter's stole a large sum of money from one of Beck's accounts, due to there being a bug in the system. Due to this little pest problem, Beck is out about five million dollars."

   Niall looked at me from across the table and made a slicing motion across his throat with his finger, causing me to smirk. 

Whit went on, "Beck has given Peter's two weeks to return the money before he retaliates full force. However, my source has informed me that he is planning on sending Peter's a warning by killing James tomorrow night. So, Styles, I want you to make sure that that doesn't happen. I don't like Grayson Peter's, and quite frankly, I don't give a shit if James dies, but, I would love nothing more than to piss Quinton off, and so, for the time being, we need to form an alliance with Grayson." 

     I leaned forward in my seat, placing my elbows on the table. "Go on," I prodded, waiting to hear my tasks.

"Abel is going to find out the exact coordinates of where the assassination is supposed to take place, once he gets them, you will arrive. I want you to kill whoever Quinton sent to take down James and then hand James my business card. The bitch will be so grateful, he will be running back to Grayson to tell him about how you so heroically saved his life, and then we will be able to meet and discuss the terms of our alliance."

   He paused for a moment to scan his eyes over us, making sure that we were all paying attention.

   "You all know that we have recently come into possession of some very important, very coveted software. Software that will make the shit we have sold in the past look like child's play. Beck knows that too, and I am confident that he will be directing his attention towards us soon, and we need to be ready, more so than we ever have been before, he will be coming at us at full force. We need this alliance." he emphasized, and we all knew how serious he was. 

   "Got it, save James' life, form the alliance, and beat Quinton's sorry ass," I stated, checking off the tasks on my fingers as if I were making a grocery list. 

      Whit began to stand up, signaling that the meeting was close to it's end, and we all began to gather our things, following his actions and standing up, looking up at him one final time before heading our separate ways.

     "Well then, gentlemen," he started, giving us all a mischievous grin, "it's time to start fraternizing with the enemy."

AN: Thank you so much to everyone who has read and supported my story so far! You seriously have NO idea how much it means to me! I hope you are all liking it! Please continue to vote and comment and always feel free to message me! Things are going to be very action-packed from here on out, and I hope you are getting a feel for everything after this chapter! There are still important characters to meet, and I can't wait to introduce them to you! Again, please comment and let me know what you think, I appreciate your feedback and support so much! Have a great rest of your day!