Mark pushed me back slightly, his smile lighting a fire inside me. "Well, I guess that's the answer I was looking for," he said, smiling softly. Still, there was sadness in his face, and he looked down at my feet. "Listen, there's a lot we need to talk about, and not a lot of time to do it. Let's go inside, quickly."
Mark reached inside his truck and pulled out a small backpack that he slung over his shoulder while I locked up my car. Holding my hand, he led me up the stairs to my apartment, his eyes darting back and forth the whole time. "What's wrong?" I asked, perplexed. "It's just my apartment building. I mean, you were here just three days ago."
"Inside, I'll tell you everything," Mark replied, pausing at the top of the stairs to look back at me. "Sophie, I promise you, I'll tell you everything, the good and the bad."
Mark turned his back while I unlocked my door, putting his hand on my shoulder once the door was open to go in before me, his hand on his backpack. Once he turned the lights on, he let me in before closing and locking the door behind us. "You don't know how much I regret what happened this morning."
"Me too," I said, still confused as Mark set his backpack down on my coffee table, but staying standing behind it. "You said you'd tell me the whole truth. Mark, as much as I love you, I need the truth if there is to be a future between us."
Mark rubbed his hands through his hair and nodded. "You have no idea. Well, I guess I should start with the minor things. Like where my car is."
"Yeah, I was wondering about that. I've never seen that truck before."
Mark shrugged. "It's one of my backup vehicles. I don't keep it at my apartment, but in a storage unit over on the East side of town. You're probably now wondering why I have backup vehicles and talking about units and stuff like that. I guess there's no way to tip toe about it. I've told you that I'm a freelance problem solver."
"Yeah.....?" I asked, confused. I mean, while I didn't know the details about his job, what could Mark have been, other than a freelancer? His work hours were weird, he worked seemingly out of his apartment, going to the clients, not to an office. What else could he be?
"Well, I'm a bit more than your normal freelancer. I'm kind of a...."
Before Mark could complete his sentence, the front door to my apartment crashed open, and two men came bursting through. Both of them were carrying guns, although I couldn't see what type other than that I'd seen them in action movies spitting out a lot of bullets really quickly. I thought I was going to die as the men started to raise their guns.
I barely saw Mark spring into action, and at the time I wasn't sure what happened, but over the next few days I had the chance to try and piece together what I saw. Mark first reached down and grabbed his backpack, swinging it in one smooth motion into the hands of the first gunman. Spinning with the force of his swing, Mark rotated towards the two men, his left arm cocked and catching the second gunman in the jaw with his elbow. The man sagged to his knees, stunned. Mark completed his turn, ending up behind the first man, whose gun hadn't even hit the ground yet. Mark grabbed the man's head and twisted, a sound like twigs snapping reaching my ears and the first gunman dropped, dead.
Turning his attention back to the still stunned second gunman, Mark's face grew hard as he stood above the man. Grabbing his hair, he cocked his right hand back in a strange sort of fist, where only the first set of knuckles on his fingers were bent before his hand flashed forward, the knuckles striking just below the gunman's chin, in the space right above his Adam's apple. A thick, gurgling sound came from the gunman and he dropped, his feet drumming weakly as his hands clawed at his throat. Mark studied him for a second before bringing his booted heel down on the side of the man's head, either knocking him out or killing him, I wasn't sure which.
"Holy shit," I whispered, the first words that came to my mind. It was over so fast I didn't even have time to scream, but just sat there in partial shock. "What the hell are you?"
Mark looked down at the two bodies, and I thought I heard him whisper to himself. "Seventy five, seventy six."
Chapter 6
Mark