Marked

[Toaster]

"Please, sit," the man behind the desk gestured at two chairs across from him. He appeared fidgety, his pudgy fingers twitching ever so slightly. He licked his lips nervously as the two mercenaries took their seats, continuing, "Miss Sable, it's a, uh, pleasure to meet you. I've heard about the work you've done for the LPI, very impressive."

Flattery, Olivia mentally rolled her eyes. "They paid well," she replied politely and glanced over at Beige. A grin covered his face ear to ear as he stared at the figure across from them. She knit her eyebrows, turning back to face their potential employer.

"Yes, I imagine they... we would." The man forced a laugh, covering his anxiety. "I am Desmond Price, police sergeant. I-"

Beige leaned forward suddenly, cocking his head curiously, and interrupted Price. "Why does a clearly accomplished LPI sergeant," he gestured vaguely around himself, indicating the large, nicely furnished home, "feel the need to hire so much muscle?"

Price swallowed hard, his eyes flitting back and forth between Beige and Olivia, the latter raising an eyebrow as to indicate that she, too, would like to know.

"Well, uh. You see, I, uhm-," the sergeant stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Beige's grin somehow managed to widen.

"Got yourself in deep with the wrong folks, huh? Hah!" The mercenary leaned back in his chair, laughing heartily. "Classic corporate cop!"

For a moment, Price stared at Beige, not knowing how to respond. Then his eyes shot back to Olivia, seeking some kind of support from her. She only shrugged. Beige calmed himself, taking a few deep breaths. His eyes fixated on the police officer, like those of a tiger spotting its prey. Olivia noticed his posture tense up, her right hand instinctively wandering towards her sidearm's holster.

"I really would like to know who you're involved with," Beige spoke coldly.

Explosively, he leapt up out of his seat, his trenchcoat billowing around him as he spun around. In one smooth motion, he drew a handgun from within and aimed at the guard still standing a few feet behind them. The man had time only to raise his eyebrows in surprise before the trigger was pulled, a deafening blast rocking the room. His head disappeared in a cloud of red mist. Before the body hit the floor, Beige completed his pirouette, bringing his pistol to bear on Price's head.

Olivia jumped out of her seat, gun drawn and aimed at Beige.

"Jesus Christ!" She yelled as the ringing in her ears subsided. "What the fuck, Beige?!"

The mercenary didn't look at her, keeping his eyes locked on the sergeant now cowering in his chair, whimpering in fear as he stared up at the man standing over him. "Relax, Olivia," Beige replied calmly. "Get the door." He nodded towards it. Shouts and the sound of heavy boots running up towards the house came through it.

"Damn it," Olivia muttered as she lowered her sidearm and ran to the back of the room. She reached the open door just as a member of the security detail came sprinting into the lobby. The men sitting inside stared around in shock and fear. Olivia locked eyes with the hired gun.

"You!" The man shouted and charged towards her. Olivia reached down with her free hand, deftly unsheathing a knife from its thigh holster and, with a flick of the wrist, sent it spinning through the air. With a muffled thud, the blade pierced the guard's vest right below the liver. With a yelp of pain he stumbled to the floor, clutching at the handle protruding from his abdomen. Olivia took a step back and slammed the door shut. Looking around the office they were now trapped in, she spotted a heavily loaded bookshelf and strode over to it, hoisting it in front of the door, just in time. Angry pounding struck it from the other side as the rest of the hired guns flooded into the lounge and struggled to breach into their room.

Catching her breath, Olivia turned to face the desk. Beige still stood there, pistol aimed right between Price's eyes, who, in turn, stared up at him, eyes wide. Sweat covered his rotund face, dripping from his nose.

"Seriously, sergeant," Beige's voice was little more than a whisper. "I'd like an answer." His finger tightened around the trigger.

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Olivia Sable