The guys hosted card games almost every night. By guys I mean Liam, Louis, Niall and Zayn. It was kind of weird to think that these men are part of this whole dangerous mafia industry with the way that they act, mainly Louis and Niall. I have come to realize that they are the childish ones, Liam and Zayn just do their own thing and then there was Styles. He was never present, either he was in his bedroom or off somewhere.

In fact, I hadn't seen much of him since the last time he was teaching me how to use a gun, almost a week ago. I quickly showed him I knew how to use a gun, but I still remained hesitant about them.

Zayn and I instantly clicked, it was weird how insanely close we grew in just a short amount of time. But I guess it's because he was the only one that could keep a genuine conversation with me. I knew he was trying to make me feel better about my situation. I don't know, maybe he relates to me in a way so he feels like we should stick together.

He instantly became my best friend, aside from my sister of course. I considered the other ones friends too but I had more in common with Zayn. Our personality's were the same, our music taste was the same and we both enjoyed reading poetry books.

Although I'm not too sure Styles was very fond of our close proximity since I always found him glaring at us whenever we were together. Maybe friendships annoy him. Or maybe I annoy him. It makes sense considering he never made an effort to befriend me, never gave me a reason that he cared to even be friends. But then again, I wouldn't for the life of me ever be friends with the likes of him.

Zayn takes a swig of his beer before he goes to put his second to last card down making me call UNO. He groans and grabs another card while I smile, triumphantly. "You're getting awfully good at this aren't you?" He remarks with a smirk making me grin and place my last card down.

"And UNO." I say making everyone groan. "And to answer your question, yes I am." I say making him roll his eyes with a playful smile. When Niall collected the cards, the front door swings open. We tear our gaze from the table to the door to see Styles come in, a scowl on his face and raw bloody knuckles.

I practically gape at the sight of him, he looked like hell. As if it was a ordinary occurrence, the guys turn back to the game. Styles says nothing and stomps away upstairs.

"One more round, Tina you in?" Louis asks as he begins passing out the cards to the guys, ignoring the angry man who just walked past us like we weren't even here. When I look back at them they looked at me expectantly.

"Don't you think we should go check up on him? He looked hurt." I say, pointing my finger towards the stairs.

"It's actually best to leave him alone in certain situations." Liam says, finishing off his beer.

"Yeah, he's not really a people person." Niall adds, grabbing his cards from the table.

"He's a moody little bitch, call it what it is." Louis retorts, blowing smoke from the cigarette in his lips. "My two cents? Don't bother."

"Right," I say. It didn't sit right with me to just leave a person with very obvious self destructive tendencies alone. Especially if all Styles has done is kept me alive, somewhat. I may be nosey but I still think I should go check up on him. Besides, maybe I can repay him for keeping me safe. "I think I should get to bed." I lie, I had no intentions of going to bed. "It's kind of late." I force up a yawn and they nod.

"Want me to walk you?" Zayn suggests with a faint smirk.

"To my bedroom?" I question with a small laugh. "I think I can find it on my own." I joke and he chuckles and drinks from his beer. "Thanks though, I'll see you guys in the morning." I stand up and leave upstairs. Once I hear them resume their game, I quietly walk away from my door in search for Styles. I had absolutely no idea where he even was so I checked in every room before opening a door that lead to the attic.

I looked around one last time to make sure no one sees me before going inside and shutting the door behind me. I looked around the room, seeing nothing but a couch, a coffee table and a bed along with a small lamp.

"Styles?" I call out. A shadow catches my attention and a few seconds later he comes out, shirtless and with a furrow between his eyebrows, probably wondering what the hell I was doing in here.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I know him so well. He slips on a black shirt and eyes me suspiciously. "Are you lost?"

"You could've told me to move somewhere else." I say. "I would hate to sleep in here, and I've slept in a car." I joke, looking around the very small room.

"This is fine." He says, keeping his side of the conversation short, like always. He heads over to the couch and grabs his opened beer from the coffee table.

"If you say so." I walk towards the couch where he was. I probably should leave, but my brain has decided to sit next to him on the couch. He doesn't seem to mind because he says nothing in respect of this. "I could've gave it up but I love that I have my own bathroom."

He scoffs. "You don't have to be so nice about it."

I clasp my hands in between my knees. "It was your room after all."

"I never slept there either way." He shrugs and takes a swig of his beer. "I spent a good while in prison that I've gotten used to small rooms."

He has been in prison? That is the first and only time that he has ever talked about himself. I want to know more but I fear if I ask, he might tell me to fuck off and lock me in my bedroom. "Where have you been?" I ask, changing the subject. "I mean, I haven't seen you in almost a week."

"I had things to do." He says keeping it short. Things to do. Somehow what he said irked something in me, making a shiver run down my spine.

His bloody knuckles come to mind.

"You killed someone?"

"What's with all the questions?"

"I'm just—"

"Don't." He interjects. "Don't be curious, curiosity is a dangerous thing."

I stay silent for a while, looking elsewhere. What am I even doing in here? "Did you though?" I ask once more.

He looks over at me, probably deciding wether or not to say. He then looks away. "No, I didn't kill anyone." He says, somewhat of a relief washing over me. "I just pay visits." By that I can assume he means beating the shit out of someone who owes him something.

I know this because my father used to 'pay people visits' too. Until my mother threatened to take Mila and I away for putting us in danger. So he sent men out to do his dirty work.

"It doesn't scare you that they might come looking for you?" I ask him.

"I told you I'm not afraid of anything."

"Surely that can't be entirely true," I fight. "I mean there has to be something there." I refused to believe there was actual people in the world who weren't afraid of anything. I mean, as much as they claim not to be, there is always something to be scared of.

He shrugs. "I've seen some fucked up shit." Styles looks down at his knuckles.

"Okay, if you had to say your worst fear, what would it be?" I was going to get something out of him.

"What are you, my therapist?" He remarks and I cross my arms. He rolls his eyes. "Hesitation." He says. Hesitation.

"Hesitation of what?"

"Hesitating to pull the trigger when I need to." He finishes off his beer. "But that isn't me. I don't hesitate, and I certainly never miss."

"You've killed before? Aside from Clyde?" I was taking advantage of his calm nature right now, I was enjoying getting as much out of him as I possibly could.

"It's part of the job."

"I don't think I could do it," I think the guilt of killing someone would eat me alive.

"That's because you're weak." Styles retorts making me turn to him, an annoyed look on my face. "That is the difference between you and I. Some people are meant to protect, while others are meant to be protected." He continues. "That is me putting it in the nicest way possible."

"Oh please," I roll my eyes. "Nothing you say can ever be nice."

"Yet you're still here." He says. "I haven't said one thing that unfortunately hasn't made you leave." I chuckle, pulling on a string from my hoodie. We stayed in silence for a while, this time it wasn't like the silence we would always have when he ignored me in the car, it was more comfortable, bearable.

This was also the first time I had ever seen him show any type of emotion other than anger since I met him. He was always so closed off and cold towards me—towards anyone to be fair, but I feel like now that I'm around he projects that anger on to me more often than not because I'm accesible.

When I look to him, I see him looking up at the ceiling. His chest heaves up and down soundly at a slow relaxed pace. Suddenly I had the urge to ask him more questions, but I held my tongue. I liked this unknown side of him.

He made it a little easier to be around.

"Quit fucking staring at me." He retorts and just as unexpected as this new side of him came, it quickly left. I looked away, blowing air out and look anywhere but at him. "What's with you and Zayn?" He asks, taking another beer from a mini fridge.

"What about Zayn and I?" I say, looking back at him as he took a swig.

"Don't make it sound like you don't mentally fuck each other." This catches me off guard and he raises a brow. "Please don't tell me you're a virgin." He sounded annoyed.

"That is none of your business." I say, feeling my face get hot. He rolled his eyes and swirled the beer bottle around in his hand.

"Wow." He says, putting the bottle to his lips. "You're probably the only eighteen year old virgin left in the world." This whole conversation was making me feel like I had bugs crawling up me. I was so uncomfortable right now.

"Not that it should concern you, but I never got to live the life of a regular eighteen year old."

"But that's all going to change, right? Cause of Zayn." He mocks and I glare at him.

"We're just friends!" I say almost in a shout.

"Sure, Tina." He mocks making me stand up from the couch. Not him too calling me Tina like the rest of the guys do.

I hate it so much.

"And I thought you were actually being nice for once, turns out you're still an asshole." I say, crossing my arms.

"Oh, is that what you thought?" He let's out a dry chuckle, probably the only time I've heard anything close to a laugh from him. And I hated it because he was laughing at me. "I can't help that you're entertaining to me." He takes a swig of his beer and I stand up from the couch, already sick of his constant insults for tonight. "Close my door on the way out."

"I can't believe I was coming to check if you were okay and to maybe thank you for keeping me alive." I say, opening the door. "But you know what? Fuck you!" I slam the door shut behind me and stomp to my bedroom, I also slam that door.

Asshole.