Chapter Text
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Louis sat at the far end of the boardroom table, the morning light filtered through the floor to ceiling windows, and across his cheekbones, his cigarette burning slowly between his fingers despite the “No Smoking” sign Liam had put up last week. Zayn hadn’t made him take it down. Probably because Louis had killed three men that week, so if the odd cigarette butt appeared in one of the office bins. Zayn was probably happy to turn a blind eye.
Niall the little shit, was lounging with his boots on the polished glass table, his patent brogues shiny in its reflection, he was snacking noisily on sour gummy worms. Nick Grimshaw sat stiff backed and smug, scrolling through his phone like he had something more important to do than be here, which he didn’t. That would equate to have some semblance of a life, and if there was one thing Grimmy didn't have, it was a fucking life.
Zayn Malik himself had called a full team meeting. That never happened unless the job was high profile… or deadly.
Liam stood by the whiteboard, his pen poised like he might start writing something at any moment, he wouldn't, but he was prepared should the moment present itself. His eyes kept drifting back to Zayn, who was pacing with the coiled energy of a man who didn’t like surprises and had just been handed one.
The brief had been simple, and absolutely something Louis had no intention of entertaining. He didn't babysit, he didn't protect, he ended lives he didn't save them.
“I don’t want to protect anyone,” Louis said flatly, before Zayn could even finish the sentence.
Zayn stopped mid step and turned to him slowly. “I’m not asking you, Louis.”
“I’m not a bodyguard. I’m not a babysitter. I kill people for a living.”
“It’s not a request.”
Louis took a long drag of his cigarette, he exhaled through his nose, head tilted back, smoke climbing towards the ceiling. “Then get someone else.”
“You’re the best,” Zayn said, his tone was set. “And this client is high priority. Big money. Big name.”
“Who is it?” Niall asked. Louis eyed him across the table flicking ash into a chipped espresso cup he hadn’t moved since Tuesday.
Zayn’s pause was deliberate. He looked from Niall to Nick and landed solely on Louis. Oh goodie, a test.
“James Corden.”
Nick snorted. “What’s he want? A hit on some late night competition?”
“He’s not the target,” Zayn replied. “He’s the client.”
Niall perked up. “Corden? That posh business guy with the weirdly successful media empire?”
“That’s the one,” Liam said, adjusting his glasses. “He’s been calling for three days straight.”
Louis leaned back in his chair, eyeing Zayn skeptically. “So what, he’s scared of getting whacked?”
“He’s not hiring us to protect himself.”
“Then who?” Nick asked. Prick, Louis thought, no loyalty that one, would sell his own sister for a block of cheese and not that Louis knew much about Nick (he went out of his way to ensure he didn't) but he was pretty sure the prick didn't even like cheese.
Zayn didn’t answer. Just met Louis’s gaze with that unreadable calm that always meant he was keeping something back. Louis hated that look. It was the same look Zayn had when he sent him on jobs that didn’t come with clean exits. Like that one time in Japan, or though to be fair, it was Niall who came off worse from that one.
“This is a protection detail,” Zayn said narrowing his eyes. “You’re doing it, Louis”
“I don’t do protection,” Louis said through his teeth.
“You do now.”
Louis stubbed out the cigarette with slow, deliberate pressure. The silence cracked a little with Niall’s chuckle, followed by Liam’s quiet sigh as he erased a name from the board.
“Babysitter Louis,” Niall said, grinning across the table at him like the little Irish leprechaun he was. “Does he get a little earpiece and sunglasses?”
“Do you want a knife in your eye?” Louis snapped at him, already standing.
Zayn smiled smugly, and it wasn’t comforting, fuck this shit, there was no way he was looking after some posh wanker. Nick leaned back in his chair, tossing his phone onto the table with a smirk. “I’ll take it, if Louis is too precious for the job.”
Zayn didn’t even look at him. “No.”
Nick blinked. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no, Nick,” Zayn said, his tone clipped. Ha! Louis thought. “This job isn’t for you.”
Niall let out a low whistle. “Ouch. He cleared you away faster than a bad Tinder match.”
Nick scoffed. “Come on, boss. If he’s gonna sulk about it…”
“I said no.” Zayn’s voice cracked across the room like a gunshot. “It’s not up for debate.”
Louis was still standing, he clenched his jaw tight enough to crack it in half. “He’s welcome to it,” he said. “Let him wear the damn suit and play chauffeur.”
Nick opened his mouth to answer, but Niall cut in first, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Louis felt the beginning of a headache bloom behind his eyes. “Bet you’ll get one of those little curly wire things in your ear, Lou. Like in the movies. And a suit. Oh, and one of those black SUVs.” Now the little shit was mocking out a scene from The Bodyguard. “I'm not qualified to be your bodyguard, ma’am. I’m qualified to kill."
“Shut it, Niall,” Louis growled, he was picturing how much nicer Niall would look with a knife in his throat right now.
Niall grinned wider. “I’m just saying. You’re gonna look real cute pushing a shopping trolley at Waitrose with your protectee.”
Nick snorted. “If he even makes it to the grocery store. Louis’ll probably start shooting the second someone sneezes.”
Louis had enough. In one smooth motion, he drew the knife from his thigh sheath and slammed it into the table, the blade slicing clean through layers of varnish wood in seconds. It landed with a sickening thunk, buried inches deep barely a hair’s breadth from Nick’s twitching fingers.
Nick jerked back, so quickly his chair almost tipped back as it scraped across the floor. Louis gave a satisfied smile as Nick's face paled.
The room fell silent, and Zayn didn’t even flinch. He just looked tired. He probably was, it was a regular occurrence in this office. Someone threatening to kill someone or firing bullets in warning, usually Louis.
“That’s enough.” Zayn drawled from the front of the board room. Niall sat up straighter as he sniggered, the humour was all over his face now. “Nick, Niall, out now”, Zayn said, tone lacking conviction, he was clearly done with this conversation. Good, so was Louis.
Niall didn’t argue for once. Just grabbed his sweets and muttered, “Yikes, have fun Lou”, before shuffling out.
Nick followed, throwing his chair back, still glaring at Louis but not stupid enough to say anything else.
“Liam,” Zayn added, softer this time.
Liam stood, he hesitated by the door, glancing over his shoulder. He lingered just a moment too long, gaze flickering over Zayn’s profile like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Then he nodded, pushed his glasses up his nose, and walked out without another word.
The door clicked shut.
Louis pulled the knife from the table, wood cracking as it came free. He turned it over in his hand like it was a fidget toy. Zayn didn’t say anything. He just stared out the window for a long moment before finally speaking.
“You’re taking the job.”
Louis scoffed. “Sure, and why me?”
“Because you’re the only one I trust with this.”
Something in Zayn’s voice, the way he lingered on the words like there was more to this, made Louis pause. It wasn’t just the usual authority. It was… personal to him.
Louis slid the knife back into its sheath, but his jaw stayed tight.
“Who is it?” he asked finally, voice low.
Zayn didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into the drawer beside him and pulled out a sleek, black folder. He slid it across the table toward Louis.
Louis stared at it for a moment, before his curiosity needed stating and he flipped it open with one hand.
A photo of a young man stared back at him, a boy. He had sharp cheekbones, too pretty eyes, long curls and a mouth made for trouble. Model shots laid out before him. The boy was arrogant, with a flashy air about him like he’d never worked a proper day in his life.
Zayn’s voice was calm. “James Corden.” Louis didn’t look up. “He wants protection.”
Louis’s brow arched. “Thought you said he wasn’t the one who needed it.”
“He’s not.” Zayn leaned forward, elbows on the table. “It’s for his nephew. Harry Styles. Twenty two. Model. Spoiled little brat with a chip on his shoulder the size of Manchester. He’s got no sense of danger, and zero self preservation.”
Louis flipped through the folder further, there were endless pap shots, club photos, headlines.
“Harry Styles & Kendall Jenner Dating?”
“Harry likes all styles inside his relationship with Jack”
“Coke her with a Seaview, Has the British model gone a bit too far?”
“Pop tart or just a tart, insider close to the model say he's off the rails since split with long term boyfriend Jack”
Louis looked over the headlines with a sneer, Harry Styles the brat of Brixton by the looks of things. Zayn continued, “James owes people money, dangerous people. And he can’t pay. They’ve threatened Harry’s life and James, he’s got no one else. Harry’s his only family left. After his sister died, it’s just been the two of them.”
Louis didn’t say anything, just stared at a grainy tabloid photo of Harry climbing out of a car, middle finger in the air, his eyes glassy.
“He’s a loose cannon,” Zayn said. “Drinks too much. Fucks around, uses drugs as a coping mechanism, and thinks the world owes him something. But James, he’s desperate. He loves that boy more than his own skin. And he’s scared.”
Louis tapped the photo with one finger. “This one?”
Zayn nodded.
Louis closed the folder with a snap and leaned back again in his chair. “I don’t babysit.”
“I’m not asking you to babysit,” Zayn said quietly. “I’m telling you to keep him alive.”
Silence fell between them like a loaded gun on the table, cocked and ready to shoot.
“I said no,” Louis repeated, more firmly this time. He pushed the folder back across the table with two fingers. He would not be playing Mary Poppins to a drug fueled party bratt with glitter eyeliner and a god complex.
Zayn raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, you will because I'll make you. “You haven’t even asked what the pay is.”
Louis scoffed, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his lighter. “Didn’t think the golden boy had anything left. Thought he couldn’t pay his debts?”
Zayn gave a slow, knowing smirk. “Our fee is apparently less.”
Louis scoffed, these millionaires and their credit cards. “Still, too much to babysit a brat with a death wish, it's a no from me.”
Zayn stood then, casually. Walking around the long table, he stalked Louis like a shark circling its prey, slow and deliberate, until he was leaning both his hands on either side of arm's of Louis’s chair, right in front of Louis face, leaning in close. “Here’s the new deal. Every target that comes in from now on, Nick gets first refusal.”
Louis froze. “You wouldn't fucking dare.”
Zayn shrugged. “He’s eager. He’s annoying, sure. But he’s loyal and if you’re too precious to take the jobs I give you, I’ll give them to someone who’ll do what they’re told.”
Louis' eyes narrows into thin slits, willing Zayn to lament. “You won't.”
“I would.” Zayn shrugged, moving back. “You think you’re untouchable? There’s always someone waiting to fill your spot.”
Louis stood up, his jaw clenched. He was halfway to the door when Zayn called, “take the file home.”
Louis paused.
Zayn nodded toward the thin black folder on the table. “You’re not done thinking about this. And this conversation? Not over.”
Louis didn’t look back, but he walked over, snatched the folder with a sharp movement, and left without a word, smoke trailing behind him like a storm cloud.
____________________________________
The key turned in the lock with a soft click, and the moment Louis opened the door Clifford came bouncing out of the living room like a rocket and jumped up at Louis almost barreling him over.
“Oi, Clifford, down,” Louis laughed, though there was no bite to it. He dropped to one knee and let the dog fuss all over him, scratching behind floppy ears, letting the weight of the day fall off his shoulders with every lick to his face. “Miss me, did you?”
The apartment was large, a mix of black leather, dark woods, and cool chrome. It was quiet, and cold.
Louis straightened up, tossing his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, and made a beeline for the sideboard where his whiskey lived. He poured two fingers neat, shrugged off his jacket, loosened his tie with one hand, kicked off his shoes with a relieved sigh, and finally collapsed onto the plush sofa.
Clifford jumped up next to him, head in Louis’ lap.
“Good lad,” Louis muttered, giving him a few distracted strokes as he reached for the remote. He clicked the telly on to the Premier League, Manchester city vs Arsenal. He kept the volume low. It was background noise, anything to drone out his own thoughts.
The folder sat there on the counter top, it called to him.
Louis ignored it for a whole three minutes before caving, reaching for it with a curse under his breath. He cracked it open, pulled the file out, and flipped through the pages lazily at first. Just a glance. Just a skim. His curiosity had gotten the better of him.
Harry Styles.
Male
01.02.03
22.
Model.
The Belvedere Chelsea, London, SW10 OXA
A grainy press photo clipped to the top showed a long haired lad with smirking green eyes with far too much confidence for someone that young. A mop of wild brown curls, lips that were a little too pink, and cheekbones that could probably cut glass.
Louis flipped to the next page.
Green eyes. Six foot. Cocky. Makes headlines for all the wrong reasons. Party boy. Too much to drink. Too much coke. A revolving door of pretty faces, boys, girls, both. No impulse control. No filter. No fear.
A long list of club appearances. Paparazzi shots, scandals, headlines.
Louis snorted, tossing the folder down on the coffee table. “Brilliant,” he muttered, idiot was a walking target. He screamed daddy issues and look at me.
Clifford shifted, curling closer, and Louis looked down at him with a sigh.
“Looks like I’m a bloody babysitter now, Cliff.”
The dog blinked up at him, completely unimpressed.
Louis took another sip of whiskey, staring at the screen but not seeing it, already imagining what kind of nightmare Harry Styles was going to be.
And somewhere beneath the annoyance, a flicker of curiosity lit in his chest.