"Can I get you a new one, sir?"
A soft-spoken tone did its magic as the man stopped his efforts in patting his shirt. His handkerchief paused mid-air, brown eyes blown wide.
He blinked twice to the woman clad in black, curve-hugging leather jacket with a 'Harley' patch sewn on the shoulders, matching the pants of the same material. She flashed a youthful face, although it was a mere mask on her real maturity.
"Y-yes, please," he stammered. The wine stain seeped broader onto his crisp shirt.
Sherry swayed her hips as she passed by adults donned in formal clothes, in leading the blonde man to the bar. She ordered solid whiskey on the rocks for them both, thanked the bartender and settled in her seat a little too close to him for a stranger who he had just mistakenly bumped into.
They exchanged names and she inquired about the city view from the 30th hotel floor, about his hairstyle, about his age. All of the questions she need not ask, because she knew everything. Inserting fake chuckles and notorious smiles, he innocently walloped up her praises.
"I'm truly sorry again for ruining your shirt, Mr. Baker." said Sherry with a false air of guilt as she placed a hand above his own that was resting on his lap. A lump formed in her throat, and she forced it down with the bitter whiskey before it crept up on her face.
"No, Miss Rebecca, I was quite lucky that you bumped into me. Otherwise I wouldn't have met such a beautiful fellow bike-lover." he said, eyes glinting. He thinks I'm interested. It was difficult to decide if she should be triumphant or uncomfortable.
"Ah, mentioning that, there are a few of mine in the basement. We could take a look at them if you'd like," he paused to scan the surroundings, and then leaned in closer to the woman.
"...and escape from here,".
Poor man. If only he knew where he would be escaping from.
" Go on, Sherry." Gin instructed through her earpiece, gravelly voice contrasting Mr. Baker's fruity one.
She shifted in her chair and crossed her legs, leather stretched out taut on delicate thighs, capturing the blonde's hungry eyes rather predictably.
"I would rather...if we get something for you to change into," her hand was moving onto his knee. "It was on me, anyways" she said smoothly, maintaining their steady gazes.
The blonde's eyebrows faded into his hairline, drooling eyes blinking. He let out an unbelievable chuckle.
The stain was fading into a shade of carnation, partially hidden by his navy blazer, but the man is known to be meticulously picky about fashion. So Sherry was sure it would warrant enough concern for him to make an excuse out of here.
"My, that is a great idea."
What was so difficult that they couldn't do it themselves?
"You didn't peg me as a wild one, Rebecca," Mr. Baker leaned on the bed, hands resting on Sherry's hips above his own. If the snipers were planning to take a longer time than needed, she was sure she would empty her stomach on this man soon.
"I guess appearances can be deceiving." She forced her palms on his chest. The suite was warm from negligence to turn the air-conditioner on upon their clumsy entrance, and her bare shoulders poking out from her tank top sweated. "You know, I never thought you have quite the physique. It's a good look on you." She faked a playful squeeze on thick biceps.
The cursed scene sent Gin's blood boiling, adrenaline flaring high as he stared into his laptop. A wicked shudder ran through him as he imagined the target's fate. Soon those hands on the woman's skin would be limp just on his command. He pictured crimson oozing out of a hole in his neck, and licked his lips.
He willed his bloodlust down as yet another nerve-racking sound wafted from the backseat.
"That's quite the scene. Don't you wish that was you instead?" Vermouth purred in the shadow.
He was loading the camera connection from Chianti's scope when Vermouth pointedly parked her bike somewhere near, knocked on the window saying she came with an intel. Which she refused to tell him until he let her in, her stupid face grinning from his defeat. Gin had deliberately avoided crossing paths with her in the headquarters lest she mentioned or pesked for the target file, or worse, mind-fucking him into reruiting her for the mission. Yet, here she was on her own. Gin suspected that it was only a plot to get them alone.
Her blood would flow on his very hands if it wasn't for her connection to the boss. It would only take a second, a flick of a knife, four shots through her shoulders to bathe her with her own-
"Look, he has quite the same shade of skin as you, Gin, so cruel of you to send Sherry for this task." She muttered with feigned melancholy, cutting his thoughts.
"Target in sight. Clear to fire. Over." Chianti announced through the walkie-talkie, voice scratchy over the line. The PSG-1 aim was carefully trained over the blonde's head, and he was kissing up Sherry's chest. His eager hands soon sneaked beneath her top to find her breasts, and Sherry ripped open his dress shirt as she captured his lips hungrily.
Gin's watchful eyes never left the monitor despite the temptation to turn around and dig his Baretta into Vermouth's thick-skinned face out of the feelings pent up in his throat. "It wasn't my decision. And I don't fucking care, as long as he's dead tonight." Even so, he could feel her smirk burn a hole at the back of his head. He despised how her smallest sentences held so much power on him deep down.
"Ouch, so cold." She taunted sarcastically.
When any mission involved Sherry, which once in a while the head of research herself were called in, Gin noted the air between them shifting. They still dumped frequent insults to each other as per normal, but her jabs were bolder, something in her body language changed, her mocks trailed more along the subject of the younger woman.
A rustling tore his thoughts. He'll have to deal with this insane woman some time later.
"Oi Gin! The bastard closed the curtains, I can only see their shadows now. They're getting quite...intimate though. This scene is making my finger fucking itch." Chianti exclaimed irritably. "Can I fire? Over."
"No Chianti, shooting through the curtains won't be accurate. Over." Gin immediately replied.
"Just tell us when, then." she remarked.
An ear-splitting crack vibrated through his ear. Sherry's panicked breaths and a high-pitched mewl quickly followed, then a heavy thump before left with silence. Gin's eyes widened and he placed a finger on his earpiece, though the sharp ears detected no input.
"Gin!" Chianti repeated at an octave higher. "The shithead cut off the lights! Negative sight, Over."
Save for the reticle on Chianti's scope, Gin's monitor turned pitched black. Vermouth's lips quirked upwards as she crossed her arms. "You're really giving all of us a hard time. This would be over with if I was the one up there, and you know it."
"Waiting for the next orders, Gin. Over." Korn said dryly over his own M24 set up a few feet next to Chianti's.
"There are some noises coming from there, Aniki, but I don't know what it is. Is it time to intervene? Over." Vodka addressed. He was positioned near the room in case a back-up was needed. He sounded anxious, and Gin could imagine sweat drifting down his temple.
"Stay there, Vodka, Chianti." he said smoothly.
He inspected the line from Sherry for any noise. It continued to be silent. Unlike the other members, Gin thought that there was nothing to worry about.
He snapped the laptop shut and slid it across the seat, the uninterested display for the situation provoking the blonde woman to hurl herself forward and rest her arms on the front seat. "Wait, you can't be serious."
"Why? You sound disappointed. Have you grown some feelings for her?" He finally turned to face her uncertain gaze.
Realizing now that she was the one baffled by his actions, she studied his face. But Gin wasn't backing down. Instead, those olive eyes glinted under silver hair, and his lips stretched into a grin.
"Sorry to disappoint you tonight, Chianti." Gin muttered over the walkie-talkie. "Retreat with Korn now. Vodka, report to the headquarters for me. We're done here." The line cut off after a few hesitant ' rogers' and he leaned into his seat.
"And that leaves you, Vermouth. Get out of here," He warned.
She raised a thin eyebrow. "Well? Are you gonna throw me outside?"
He could feel her breath fanning on his face, and restrained from clenching his jaw as they gawked daggers into each other until Gin's heart rate flared up from annoyance. Vermouth smiled in return at the success in getting a rise out of him, out of all things.
She soon gave in, huffing a mysterious chuckle as her bike roared alive in the alley. "Keep your phone on, Gin. I'll see you." Through the tinted visor of her helmet, turquoise irises gazed into his as the V-Rod revved by, leaving the Porsche in the shadows.
Gin wasn't joking when he showed her what was the mission about, was he?