Never Let You Go// The 100

June 1921

*Chapter 2*

"Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like."

-Lemony Snicket

Bellamy Blake didn't mean to be at the speakeasy. He usually hated those places, full of cigarette smoke and drunk people always asking him to dance. It wasn't really his style. All he wanted was a glass of whiskey and to get his work done, but if he was being honest that didn't sound like something that would happen.

Speakeasies tended to make you do things that you wouldn't usually do. It might have been the constant risk of being caught with alcohol at an illegal bar or just the music that was always floating through the air. Either way, Bellamy knew it wasn't a safe place to be. But like I mentioned before, he didn't mean to be at the speakeasy. It just sort of happened.

Bellamy could feel the music even before he entered the bar. It was shaking the floor of the empty shoe store, making it feel like he was in the middle of a mini earthquake. Being a private investigator, who got put on cases to shut down speakeasies all the time, he knew that if this club didn't want to get caught they should turn down their music. But in that moment, Bellamy didn't really care. Because the alcohol was calling to him and the thrill of doing something wrong for once rushed through him like lightning.

He glanced behind him, making sure no one was watching through the glass front of the store, as he felt along the wall for the secret door that would open the panel in the wall. The thump of the club was even louder there, making Bellamy's nerves jump all over the place. It took him a second before he finally found the panel and pulled it open, revealing a narrow passage leading to a big oak door. With one last deep breath, Bellamy entered the dark hallway and pulled the panel shut behind him, shrouding everything in shadows.

He walked steadily to the oak door, braced himself for the chaos behind it, then quickly pulled it open. He always thought it was easier to do things quickly like that. Like ripping off a bandaid or pulling the trigger on a gun. It made the pain swift and the relief sudden. But it was hard to be prepared for the holy mess that was a speakeasy.

This one in particular was filled to the breaking point. Men and women all dressed to the nines, flooded the rather small, circular club. At the front of the room was a small stage with a piano and a man crooning into the microphone, while people danced along. At the edge of the circle was a bar that was surprisingly empty of people. Bellamy was filled with relief. He didn't hesitate before slipping through the dense crowd, towards the shining bottles of illegal liquor.

"What can I get, ya?" the bartender asked as Bellamy sat down. Compared to the front of the room, the bar seemed much quieter, giving Bellamy's mind room to think.

"Whiskey." he answered, absentmindedly pulling out his work. The life of a private investigator didn't allow much room for fun. There were cases to be sorted through and research to be done. Not to mention the police reports that had to be written for every crime scene that Bellamy had ever witnessed. It was difficult work but it was worth it.

The bartender set a glass down on the bar in front of him then looked Bellamy over. He looked amused, staring at the pen in his hand and the crime report that was only partly written.

"I'm not an expert or anything, but I'm pretty sure bars are meant for relaxing." the bartender said, leaning against the bar and pouring the dark whiskey into the cup. Bellamy quickly glanced up but continued writing, trying to recall the exact details of the crime scene he had witnessed earlier that week.

"I don't have time for relaxing." Bellamy sighed, taking a gulp of whiskey. The familiar burn as it went down his throat felt good. It had been a while since he had had a drink. Especially since the Prohibition law was just passed.