A bead of sweat pooled at the collar of Eames' shirt as he glanced down at the numbers in front of him. According to his watch, there were only sixty seconds left, and he still couldn't crack the tumblers in front of him.
His watch beeped as it reached the thirty second mark.
"Bloody hell," Eames muttered, and, reaching into his tan jacket, brought out his last resort - his silenced Heckler & Koch. Glancing left and right down the opulent hallway, Eames aimed carefully before squeezing the trigger, shooting four bullets in quick succession into the thick wood in front of him.
The sound was overwhelming and sudden in the silent hall.
Brushing chips of lacquered wood off the front of his paisley shirt, Eames kicked opened the door with a flourish, the frame swinging inside to rebound off the far wall.
Arthur appeared out from behind an alabaster bust. He was dressed in his usual impeccable attire, his gelled hair accompanied by a customary frown and polished Glock. Eames shrugged at the man's disgruntled countenance, slowly peeling off black gloves from his sweating hands. "You told me ninety seconds and we could have sex wherever I wanted. I improvised."
"It's been ninety-nine seconds," Arthur informed him. "And I don't remember bullets being part of our deal." Eames sighed, putting on his most seductive smirk. Arthur claimed to hate it.
The man looked at him a moment more, imperious.
There was the clink of metal as Arthur's belt buckle contacted with the marble floor.
"I'm feeling generous," the point man said. "But we have exactly eight-point-nine minutes until the local police arrive."
Eames grinned, his leather gloves hitting the floor. "I can do that, darling."
A/N:
Prompt: locked out
Word count: up to 300 words