Hey guys, this is something new I've been tinkering with and I would love some feedback!
It's a primarily Bellarke piece with a little bit of Clexa in there.
Enjoy
Bellamy tapped his gun against the sleeping man's forehead. When he didn't respond a first time, Bellamy tapped him again. It wasn't much of a gun, an old glock he'd stolen a while back, but it still fired a mean shot (he knew first hand, his shoulder rolling instinctively when he thought about it) on soda cans, anyway, but making it look dangerous was the important part. He knew how crooks worked and he knew how cops worked, and eighty percent of the job was showman ship, looking the bigger man who wouldn't care if he took a bullet to the back or the gut.
He was going for a third tap when a twitch of the sleepers fingers, reaching for something on the other side of the chair, stopped him.
"Murphy," he grunted at his partner on the other side of the chair, nodding to the sleeper.
Murphy and the sleeper dived at the same time for the gun hidden under the seat, and only Bellamy kicking the butt away from the man, the gun clattering against the wood floor, two men tussling and kicking while an irritated third stood over them, kept the sleeper from ending their plans then and there.
"Finished?" Bellamy asked.
Murphy glared up from the headlock he had the sleeper in. "It's not like you helped at all," he grunted, elbowing the sleeper in the stomach when he tried to rip free. A retching trio of coughs left the sleepers mouth before he went limp.
"We need him awake," Bellamy said as he stepped back, allowing Murphy to haul the wheezing man to his feet. He smirked when he saw a bruise colouring Murphy's cheek. "Slip a shot?"
"Fuck you."
Murphy pushed the sleeper towards the door the chair was placed directly in front of, shoving his face against the rough brick wall for good measure. Bellamy rolled his eyes but let Murphy do his thing, standing at his back with his glock raised, just in case Murphy slipped another shot. The man needed no prompting. He took a key from around his neck and unlocked the door. He reached inside the door. Bellamy tensed, gun tilting up, then lowering again when a light switched on in the room. He gave himself a moment to breath, letting Murphy whoop and charge into the room, shoving the man against the wall again, bringing the butt of his pistol against the man's skull.
Bellamy stepped into the room, over the man, glaring at Murphy. "What happened to not hurting anyone?"
Murphy rolled his eyes, passing by Bellamy and moving further into the room. "It's not like I killed him."
Bellamy followed, allowing his excitement to grow past the low thrum in his fingers, building into a heavy weight in his chest that blasted his heart double time and had his blood shooting through his veins, crying his own whoops. Murphy ran to one of the many crates. He pulled an iron bar from the bag on his back and pried the top off. Bellamy barged into the space beside him, fisting the fifties and hundreds in his hands that filled the crate. There were six more crates just like that one in the room, Bellamy knew, for he'd watched the man who owned this building check each one, and Bellamy felt more than a little stupid for only bringing a backpack.
"Holy shit." Bellamy turned to see Murphy holding a clear bag filled with snowy powder. "He stores this shit with his cash? How stupid could this guy get?" He cackled as he began to stuff bag after bag into his backpack until Bellamy grabbed his wrist.
"I said no drugs."
Murphy yanked his wrist back. "Relax. I'm not going to sell this at the Barns."
Bellamy glared at him as he resumed stuffing his bag full with the drugs. "None of this is going to local drug dealers who sell to stupid kids? Kids who come to the Barns when they need work and money we don't have." Murphy refused to meet his eye. "And then those kids start passing them around? Work stops getting done? We give out more money we don't have cause we gotta get clean workers? Then those men come back to the Barns, banging down doors-"
"No one's coming to the Barns," Murphy hissed, not backing away from Bellamy's furious eyes. "And stop acting like you care about the rest of them. You just don't want any of this shit getting back to Octavia."
Bellamy would of hit him, and enjoyed it too, if they were younger, playing a crappy game of baseball back at the Barns and he'd cheated a pitch from a fast into a curve. Instead he snatched the fourth bag of powder from Murphy's hand before he could put it in his bag and dropped it back into the crate. He didn't lift his glare, didn't let the fury leave his eyes, until Murphy moved away from the crate holding the drugs and rejoined him at a cash filled one. He ignored Murphy's glower and carried on loading the cash into his bag.
A car door slammed like a gunshot. Bellamy's head snapped up the same time as a whispered oh shit from Murphy. Men, some in cheap suits, others in tracksuits with leather jackets (Seriously, the fuck?), were leaping from their cars. All of them carried rifles in their hands and a side arm down the back of their pants.
"We have to go!" Bellamy said, zipping up his backpack. Murphy was frantically stuffing more cash into his bag, fingers fumbling, bills raining down around his feet. Bellamy grabbed his shoulder, wrenching him around towards the door. From the corner of his eye he could see men charging towards the warehouse. "Now, Murphy!"
They charged from the room, leaping the unconscious man's body. Footsteps from beneath echoed throughout the building. Bellamy saw Murphy heading for the stairs they'd come up on the way in. He leapt over and just managed to pull his head away before a bullet whizzed by and embedded in the wall above them. Murphy's pale face went even paler aside from the flush rising in his cheek, the sickness rushing to his face that came from nearly being shot.
Bellamy didn't have time for him to be sick. He pulled him along, down a corridor until they came to another staircase, thanking every god he knew that the goons were too stupid to think of blocking them off. A pop of machine gun fire had him diving for the wall, scathing along like a shadow against the sidewalk. Murphy screamed, his head ducking on reflex, the bag bouncing forwards on his back to hit the back of his neck. Bellamy reached behind him, grabbed the bag and pulled the younger boy up front. He fired a few shots off, giving Murphy time to collect himself.
They burst from the staircase and Murphy went right, through a door way and into a ground floor room. Bellamy followed as Murphy ran for the busted window and leaped out into the day. He was surprised when he stopped to wait for him to jump through after him, then saw that Murphy had dropped his gun, probably when the goons started shooting at him.
Bellamy made a note to call him a fuck up later, stepped out from the cover of the building, and immediately got taken off his feet by something big, black and moving. He hit the ground, jarring his shoulder.
"Oh shit!"
If he'd hit his head, he thought he would of imagined the female gasp. He jumped up, only letting himself register the ache in his hip and ribs, and got a look at what had hit him. A girl, blonde hair pulled into a bun and sunglasses hiding her eyes, sat behind the wheel of some kind of sports car, her mouth a wide. Then.
"Idiot! I could of killed you!"
Bellamy would of been surprised if he wasn't already gambling his life on their getaway. For once, Murphy wasn't wasting time. He leaped into the back of the convertible, thumping on the seats and screaming at the girl to drive. Bellamy followed, diving into the front seat.
"What's going on?" the girl asked as Bellamy pulled the glock. It immediately shut her up.
"You're coming with us," Bellamy growled while Murphy continued to scream at her to drive.
The girl's hands shook as she put the car in reverse, tearing down the track the way she'd come, but she looked pissed off, and if Bellamy had time to think he'd be impressed. As she backed into the road a shot split the air. Bellamy and Murphy ducked, the car stuttered.
"Keep driving!" Bellamy yelled and jammed the gun into the girls side.
The car roared to life again as more shots filled the air. And then the firing just stopped, the air dead aside from the rev of the car and Murphy's low cursing, smooth, the only silky sound to leave his lips.
Bellamy didn't dare chance a peek above the seats as the car rocketed out of the warehouse bay and disappeared down the road.
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