Conrad had been working on a way of getting them out of there. Or trying to, at least. Neither of them were armed and the man in the doorway seemed to be blocking their only exit, but surely there was a way out through the back. But what would they do once they were outside..?
Yes, the situation looked grim, but Conrad was weirdly optimistic about their chances of getting away. He had been in worse situations. How hard could it be to escape from one man with a gun?
To Conrad's utter surprise, though, Wesley had taken the reins of the situation. The Brit had speculated about what Wesley had told him the night they met; that he had received unofficial training. However, no matter how many guesses he had made, Conrad wouldn't even come close to the reality of the situation. Needless to say, he was both puzzled and intrigued by Wesley's sudden change in how he conducted himself.
Initially, he wanted to argue. Conrad had experience. Maybe he should be the one with the weapon, not Wesley. However, his friend suspiciously looked like he knew what he was doing. So instead of clapping back or asking questions, Conrad would do as he was told, keeping quiet and staying up against the bar where Wesley had put him.
There was a brief wave of melancholy in his chest. They had been so happy two seconds ago. Singing to one another, dancing. Touching. That was another thing Conrad was starved of and honestly, on most occasions, he avoided it. He didn't like being touched. Or being physically close to others. Yet he had reached for Wesley's hips, as if they were old friends. He couldn't even blame the Scotch. He really wasn't all that tipsy, though he could feel the warmth of alcohol swimming though his veins.
A warmth that would, rather suddenly, come pouring out of his gut. Conrad had jumped at the sound of gunshots, startled by the noise. A bullet must have ricocheted off something, for there was a sharp pain shooting through his stomach, forcing Conrad to double over. He'd been wounded. Badly. He pressed his palm to his stomach, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. Although, Conrad knew that his efforts would be pointless when he realized his limbs were growing cold..