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elementof_riskHe didn't want to leave, and that was a simple truth. He supposed he could stay, really, for a bit longer. He didn't have to take the job, after all. But the offer had come from a very valuable client, and it wouldn't do to send business elsewhere when he was hoping to set up at least a pleasant working relationship as he transitioned over to using more of Irina and Sloane's assets.
He'd broken the news to Baileigh, saying he had a few days, but then he wasn't sure how long he'd be away. His client had been unclear of the mark's agenda, knowing only that he was traveling, though he was supposed to be in Istanbul at the end of the week, so Sark decided to start there. Taking a sip of his wine, he studied the girl across from him, and found himself, once again, regretting the leaving in a way he was unaccustomed to. It was unlike him to stay so close for so long, and yet here he still was. His gaze flitted away from her and around the room, half curious, half trying to figure out the strange reluctance settling over him.
With a sharply indrawn breath a moment later, he set the wine glass down and straightened, gaze fixed on a table across the room. It was nearly impossible, and yet, there, before his eyes...
Karma was so very much his fucking bitch, because his mark? Was less than 100 feet away. He tried to contain the excitement, glancing back at the menu, but when the man rose and waved his bodyguards back to his seat, he knew he had to act.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, glancing at Baileigh with a bit of a smile. "I forgot something in the car. I'll be right back, and then we can order..." He brushed a kiss over her cheek, ignoring her quizzical look and hurried outside.
Slipping around the restaurant, he went down the alley, and back in through a side entrance that skirted the kitchens where everyone was far too busy to pay much attention. He kept to the shadows, moving to the men's room, and smiling when he saw the mark still there. No one else was in there, and Sark reached back for his gun, pulling it out and aiming it at the mark.
"In the stall, please," he ordered crisply, and the mark spun, staring at him.
"Who...?"
"In the stall," Sark said again, gesturing with the gun.
Shaking a bit, the man complied. "If it's money you want...."
Sark didn't answer, waiting until the man was in the stall before giving him a bit of a smirk.
"Whatever they're paying you, I'll double it," the mark promised.
"Tempting, if I didn't think one of you would have a hit out on me by the end of the day," Sark said with a tilt of his head as if considering it.
"I promise, I would..."
He fired, just once, right between the man's eyes. Moving into the stall, he situated the body so the blood would take the longest to pool and anyone looking in would just think someone was using the facilities. Locking the door, he hoisted himself up and over, dropping neatly back to the floor.
His gun tucked, his suit straightened, his hair immaculately mussed, Sark let himself back out into the alley and came back in the front entrance, tucking his wallet back into his jacket as if that's what he had left. He gave Baileigh a brilliant smile as he slid into the seat across from her.
"Good news. I don't have to go to Istanbul after all. So..." He picked up his menu again, scanning it as he took a sip of wine. "Do you want something of your own, or shall we split the chateaubriand for two?"
He'd broken the news to Baileigh, saying he had a few days, but then he wasn't sure how long he'd be away. His client had been unclear of the mark's agenda, knowing only that he was traveling, though he was supposed to be in Istanbul at the end of the week, so Sark decided to start there. Taking a sip of his wine, he studied the girl across from him, and found himself, once again, regretting the leaving in a way he was unaccustomed to. It was unlike him to stay so close for so long, and yet here he still was. His gaze flitted away from her and around the room, half curious, half trying to figure out the strange reluctance settling over him.
With a sharply indrawn breath a moment later, he set the wine glass down and straightened, gaze fixed on a table across the room. It was nearly impossible, and yet, there, before his eyes...
Karma was so very much his fucking bitch, because his mark? Was less than 100 feet away. He tried to contain the excitement, glancing back at the menu, but when the man rose and waved his bodyguards back to his seat, he knew he had to act.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, glancing at Baileigh with a bit of a smile. "I forgot something in the car. I'll be right back, and then we can order..." He brushed a kiss over her cheek, ignoring her quizzical look and hurried outside.
Slipping around the restaurant, he went down the alley, and back in through a side entrance that skirted the kitchens where everyone was far too busy to pay much attention. He kept to the shadows, moving to the men's room, and smiling when he saw the mark still there. No one else was in there, and Sark reached back for his gun, pulling it out and aiming it at the mark.
"In the stall, please," he ordered crisply, and the mark spun, staring at him.
"Who...?"
"In the stall," Sark said again, gesturing with the gun.
Shaking a bit, the man complied. "If it's money you want...."
Sark didn't answer, waiting until the man was in the stall before giving him a bit of a smirk.
"Whatever they're paying you, I'll double it," the mark promised.
"Tempting, if I didn't think one of you would have a hit out on me by the end of the day," Sark said with a tilt of his head as if considering it.
"I promise, I would..."
He fired, just once, right between the man's eyes. Moving into the stall, he situated the body so the blood would take the longest to pool and anyone looking in would just think someone was using the facilities. Locking the door, he hoisted himself up and over, dropping neatly back to the floor.
His gun tucked, his suit straightened, his hair immaculately mussed, Sark let himself back out into the alley and came back in the front entrance, tucking his wallet back into his jacket as if that's what he had left. He gave Baileigh a brilliant smile as he slid into the seat across from her.
"Good news. I don't have to go to Istanbul after all. So..." He picked up his menu again, scanning it as he took a sip of wine. "Do you want something of your own, or shall we split the chateaubriand for two?"
