Scribbles and Drabbles

Run Little Lamb Remix 1

Originally Typed Up: 2012ish, Updated: 2016 - Poly version started in 2023

Warnings: Dub/Noncon implications

It was cold, but the building often was late at night. Lawrie worked late most nights, and any sense of dread of ghosts in the shadows got lost in the pressure of getting his paperwork done and filed. The harsh glare of a desktop lamp hurt his eyes as he tried to get the accounts to a safe point. Tax season was the worst.

He rubbed the back of his neck, but it did nothing to stop the low, constant ache. A strange noise came from one of the closed-door offices across the room. The cleaners finished earlier, but sometimes one got stuck in a cupboard or something. Or maybe someone else stayed behind tonight. Either way, he got up to check it out, wanting a distraction from the endless columns of numbers.

Light gleamed under the door, and there was a low murmur of voices. Someone was here.

Lawrie's first mistake was not ignoring it. A manager he liked and trusted owned this office, so he had no reason to be nervous about entering it despite the late hour. The last thing the manager would want was for someone to use their office as a late-night hookup spot.

Hot liquid splattered over Lawrie's face. A loud bang rang through the room before he could register the scene. He blinked, rubbing the liquid out of his eye.

What?

He stumbled back, red on his hand. It turned from chilly to freezing, and the sound vanished as he tried to understand what had happened. His stomach churned, and bile crept up the back of his throat.

The blood on his hand and face itched.

A man lay on the floor. Blood pooled from his head, starting to stain the carpet. A metallic click drew his attention to the gun pointing in his direction. Erick Thornton's bodyguards stood on either side of him, unfazed by their boss shooting someone. Three sets of eyes locked onto him. The bodyguards dismissed him as a threat and remained in position. Erick's eyes did not dismiss him.

A familiar hum of irritation broke the silence, and dark brown eyes met his deeply annoyed. The last time he saw this look, someone had got the man the wrong coffee. It was a look Lawrie saw directed at incompetent employees but not him.

He watched his boss kill a man.

Breathing got harder, his chest constricting tight. He focused on Erick as the man cleaned the gun and returned it to his jacket. Erick's eyes remained on his, calculating, assessing.

"Lawrie. I remember you promised me that you would go home at a sensible time tonight," Erick said, sitting on the office chair and crossing his legs. Erick had a thing about Lawrie working late. He approved of the work ethic but wanted Lawrie to be at his best and not overtired.

Lawrie was not stupid. Erick could read him like a book and wanted him to stop panicking. Or maybe, he wanted to trigger whatever Lawrie was about to do next. Lawrie hadn't moved from the doorway, his hand keeping the door open. Lawrie forced his head to move, checking the clock on the wall as if he didn't know what time it was.

It was 2 am.

"Time must have gotten away from me, sir," Lawrie said, hoping his voice sounded steady. "My apologies; I'll get my bag and head off."

Erick snorted and gestured at the chair next to him. "Sit," he ordered in a tone no sane man would disobey. 

Blame shock and adrenaline or maybe the look in his boss's eyes, but despite being conditioned to obey that tone, Lawrie ran.

He slammed the door shut and legged it down the corridor, half expecting bullets to fly towards him.