TITLE: Through the Alleys
AUTHOR: Simply_Cath
DISCLAIMER: Don't own anyone involved, not making a profit. Names trademarked to WWE, guys own themselves obviously.
DISTRIBUTION: Get my permission first
RATING: M
CONTENT: Violence, bad language, lots of bad language.
SPOILERS: None
SUMMARY: Moxley's had people pissed at him. He's had people after him. He's never been hunted like this.
NOTES: An idea that's been kicking around for a while.
Through the Alleys
By: Simply_Cath
Jon Moxley tried to open his eyes and boy was that a bad idea. He turned away from the bright, burning light. Was he outside? Was it morning? He lay still and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the after images to fade from his vision.
There were voices above him. He clenched his fingers and tried to focus on the words.
"- pretty serious..."
"Is that really necessary?"
"They'll be here any minute."
A phone rang somewhere behind him. Jon's nails dug into his palms. The footsteps moved away from him, but not far enough for his liking. He turned his head to the right and slowly opened his eyes. They had their backs to him. Three steps and he'd be out the door. Jon closed his eyes and counted down from five. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and bolted for the door. The halls were well lit, too well lit. Jon hissed and lowered his eyes. Someone had thrown their hoodie over a crate. "Finders, keepers," he muttered under his breath, shrugging it on and starting down the hallway. What was that buzzing noise?
Jon pulled the hood up over his head and kept his eyes down. Behind him, he could hear voices getting louder. Footsteps were getting faster.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. A big one.
Gasping, Jon whirled around and shoved his attacker. He broke into a run, his eyes scanning the halls until he spotted a doorway. Anoher set of hands grabbed him, but he got free. Not breaking his stride, he put his hand out in front of him, pushing the heavy glass door open as he found his way outside.
A gust of cold wind slashed at his exposed skin. He could hear a rustle of activity nearby and took off again. The gravel crunched under his feet until it turned into smooth pavement. He looked back over his shoulder and took a deep breath. "Fuck. What the hell?" The wind blew again, cutting through the hoodie, seeping right into his bones. Jon ducked into an alley and leaned against the wall. His breath puffed past his lips, a little fog that dissipated into the night. He hunched his shoulders against the chill and kicked an empty soda can out of the way. The street lamp buzzed from the sidewalk. Like it was talking to him.
Jon poked his head out from the darkness and tried to find a street sign, but his vision blurred. He wiped his eyes and shook his head. Bringing his hands up to his mouth, Moxley blew warm air on to his fingers before pushing them back into his pockets.
The light changed, the shadows got longer. Jon looked up.
Two men were there.
The shorter one spoke first. "What the hell are you doing out here? It's freezing."
Were they talking to him? They stepped closer, in lockstep. "No." Jon drew back and they paused. "Stay away from me."
The second guy piped up this time. "No?"
"What are you, deaf?" Jon spat. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Come on," the first guy said. His voice had grown softer. Jon could barely hear him over the hissing of the lamps. "It's freezing out here; you need to get inside."
Jon jumped back when he felt the shorter guy's gloved hand on his arm. He hadn't seen him move. He hauled off and slugged the dude as hard as he could, catching him off guard and sending him staggering up against a nearby dumpster.
As he moved to press the advantage, Jon suddenly had arms wrapped around him. He wriggled, but it was like there were two iron bands wrapped around his chest. "Fucking let me go, you tatted up twat!" Moxley threw is head back into the guy's chin, then lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the first chunk of flesh he found. He gnashed his teeth until he felt the skin split.
The second he felt some slack, Jon writhed his way free. His feet hit the ground and he bolted, not stopping to look behind him.