It was slowly becoming her least favourite sound in the world. A frantic glance across the crowded area confirms that she really isn't the only one feeling this way. Those too blue eyes were wider than she's ever thought she'd seen 'em. The fear on his face was almost too much for to handle, and that only made her resolve that much firmer.
Another one, this time closer to the base of her skull. Fearful green eyes clamp shut quickly and her breathing is becoming erratic, lengthy eyelashes fluttering all over the place. Multiple different scenes flash before her eyes and she can see how this plays out: she does what they say and they kill her; she doesn't do what they say and they kill her and about half a dozen other people as well; she does what they say and the really ugly guy in the corner—the one with the face that reminds her of a rabid dog that she used to see walking home from school every other day—moves over impossibly gracefully contradictory to the sheer size of him, and cocks the semi-automatic he will have behind the head of her beau, fat fingers tugging swiftly on the trigger—
No, she thinks. That will never happen if she can help it. Blue eyes' life ain't gonna end today. But the alternative… It was a case of choosing the lesser of two evils here, you know? But whatever she has to choose, it's damn near impossible because she wants to do it in such a way that no one—except those money hungry, trigger-happy bloodhounds; fuckin' low-lifes—will get hurt.
Sure, she could use her dad's ex-military training to break free from her captor, but it so was not worth it. There is a ratio of about two civilians to each gunman in this room, and in the split second that it will take to disarm the mofo standing behind her, the others will be more than happy to take aim at the rest of them in here, collateral damage and all that.
A crack at the back of her head jerks her eyes open only to see nothing but gray spots clouding her vision. She blinks a few times, either clearing the hair that had fallen stray into her eyes or to get over the pain that the hit had caused, she didn't know. As far as she was aware, they both sucked equally.
"I said," came the all-too-calm, painfully clear voice of the leader, "are you gonna do it or not?"
Her eyes flicked over to her beau only to see his head being wrenched back in a rather uncomfortable way, and as much as his body pleaded to be saved, his eyes held what he really, truly felt.
And, damn, if that doesn't make her just want to cry, but it's reinforced another layer to her decision. Too long eyelashes blink away the tears as one or two fall down her cheeks, but she doesn't look away.
It'll be okay, her eyes plead. It'll all be okay, just you see.
Cold lips blow icy breath into her ears. "So what's it gonna be? Will you have a guilty conscience because you let the bad guys get away, or because you have the blood of two dozen people on your hands?" Baddie lets out a firm, breathy laugh, taunting her, challenging her to choose the wrong one. "What's it gonna be?"
She closes her eyes one last time, knowing that she can't follow through with it if she looks into the too blue eyes of her beau. She takes in a deep, shaky breath.
"Fine," she clears her throat so he can hear her better. "I'll—I'll do it. Damn it."
Opening her eyes, she finds herself being hauled up by Baddie who's standing in front of her now. She sees him give a quick nod as she's being forcefully dragged into the back room.
But not before she hears her beau call out a final, "Dean! NO!"