#maxellis

Max had never been in a war zone, but if she had to imagine what it was like, the bank she was stuck in right now would probably qualify.

Shattered glass covered almost every square inch of the ground the hostages were forced to lie on, cutting into their arms.

Half a dozen empty shell casings lay amongst them, a clear message to the hostages that they were not fucking around.

But none of that was at the centre of Max’s mind – Ellis was lying on the marble floor, blood pooling beneath him, soaking into his shirt. One of the armed men had noticed Ellis’ badge, shooting pre-emptively at the cop.

He was lying in the middle of the floor, weapon-less, defenceless, doing as much as he could to quench the bleeding out of his side.

And just as much as Ellis was in the centre of Max’s attention, the same rung true the opposite way.

He may have been the one bleeding out on the floor but he was not liking the way that after some very heated argument, they’d opted to go for the “little one”, grabbing Max roughly and pulling her to her feet, gun to her back as the armed man in charge pushed her to the door, threatening to shoot her if she decided to dart to the police.

Ellis had managed to push himself up to his feet despite the pain coursing through him, beeline towards Max, not really sure what he was going to do, but knowing he had to do something.

Someone jerked his arm back, and he toppled back onto the ground, another wave of pain incapacitating him.