Tom looked up with a start, a million and one things happening in the split second it too to lock eyes with Axel. His heart nearly stopped with the sudden amount of dread that fell upon his situation. How could he ever forget that voice? How could you ever replace the cocky way Axel carried himself, especially when he knew he had something good.
The novel Tom had been holding hit the ground, let go by numb fingers, and all he could think was no, no, no!
"Fuck.."
More of a whisper, really, as he quickly looked around for a way out. Naturally, of all the places to sit, he would choose the far corner - effectively boxing himself in. There was nowhere to go that didn't involve trying to get past Axel, and they both knew it.
Fuck, FUCK, this can't be happening-
He had been so careful. SO careful not to talk to anyone, or look directly into security cameras, how the fuck had Axel found him? And more importantly, what was he supposed to do now?
Bolt. Or, he tried to, at least. Tom jumped up, hurling the amber bottle of whiskey at Axel as hard as he could while scrambling up from his seat to make a run for the parking lot.
Even in his panic, Tom had damn good aim. The bottle beamed Axel hard in the shoulder, stunning him for a second and allowing Tom a decent head start.
“No!” he bellowed, taking off after him. Tom had roughly fifteen pounds of muscle on him, but Axel was a faster runner by far and caught up with him before he reached the office, shooting out a hand to grab him by the back of his coat. “Son of a bitch!”
When Axel hauled back nothing but an empty hooded sweatshirt, his blood boiled and he took off in pursuit of Tom once more, retrieving the gun from his jeans and waving it above his head. Any concerns he had earlier about witnesses were long gone. All he cared about now was sating the blind anger that propelled him forward.
But he didn't. In fact, it just made Tom run faster.
Swearing to himself, he made for the other side of the courtyard, willing his body to just get the fuck out of there as quickly as he could, but his steps faltered as he ran. He didn't want to get shot, but what was he supposed to do? There weren't any good options here.
Regrets began to pile up again, his breaths short and shallow as Tom slid to a stop at the corner of the courtyard - back pressed up against the side of the archway.
The novel Tom had been holding hit the ground, let go by numb fingers, and all he could think was no, no, no!
"Fuck.."
More of a whisper, really, as he quickly looked around for a way out. Naturally, of all the places to sit, he would choose the far corner - effectively boxing himself in. There was nowhere to go that didn't involve trying to get past Axel, and they both knew it.
Fuck, FUCK, this can't be happening-
He had been so careful. SO careful not to talk to anyone, or look directly into security cameras, how the fuck had Axel found him? And more importantly, what was he supposed to do now?
Bolt. Or, he tried to, at least. Tom jumped up, hurling the amber bottle of whiskey at Axel as hard as he could while scrambling up from his seat to make a run for the parking lot.
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“No!” he bellowed, taking off after him. Tom had roughly fifteen pounds of muscle on him, but Axel was a faster runner by far and caught up with him before he reached the office, shooting out a hand to grab him by the back of his coat. “Son of a bitch!”
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He reeled back, clawing to unzip his hoodie and slip away again.
"No!" And as the zipper gave, that was exactly what Tom did.
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“Stop or I’ll put a bullet in your fucking knee!”
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Swearing to himself, he made for the other side of the courtyard, willing his body to just get the fuck out of there as quickly as he could, but his steps faltered as he ran. He didn't want to get shot, but what was he supposed to do? There weren't any good options here.
Regrets began to pile up again, his breaths short and shallow as Tom slid to a stop at the corner of the courtyard - back pressed up against the side of the archway.
"I don't want any trouble."
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