AGENT 23 BLACKOUT (Agent 23 Book 1)

CHAPTER 3

The man—who's half a head taller than me—forces us to leave the coffee shop at gunpoint, shielding his suppressed pistol from the rest of the patrons with his broad shoulders and torso. Before we step outside, I think to separate him from Kayla by shifting left, hoping to brush her aside. But our captor expects this. Before we reach the exit, he loops his arm around her and draws her close. To sell his charade to anyone looking our way, he adds in a parental tone, "Honey, I told you we have to hurry, or we'll be late for our dinner reservation."

By my estimation, the man is good at what he does, which likely has something to do with breaking bones and snapping necks. He's a pro and we're amateurs.

Outside, the advantage favors him even more. I work out occasionally, but I'm a thin support post compared to this man, which makes me no match against him. Not to mention, he's packing heat.

Once we're past the Lattes' picture window, he keeps a hand on Kayla's neck while he stabs the gun barrel into my lower back. I play this out in my mind. This is it. This is how I will die. How Kayla is going to die. And neither of us saw it coming.

With the sun down and the temperature dropping, there are fewer people out and about. This adds to his advantage and decreases our chances of escape. Further down the sidewalk, he shoves us into an alley that's so dark it looks like a dead end. But as we sink deeper into the void, I realize my eyes haven't had time to adjust. Once my pupils dilate, I notice a dumpster that blocks most of the narrow passage in the rear, leaving a slim gap, and our only path to freedom between the two buildings.

With our backs to the garbage container, our captor levels the gun on me and says in a gruff voice, "Stop playing games with me, Agent 23. I know who you are, and I know about your next assignment. I know you've been ignoring your orders to activate, and I know you're thinking about going AWOL, but you can't run from your responsibilities. No one walks away from The Collective and lives."

My chin drops as my mouth flies open. "I'm only sixteen."

"Oh, come on?" For a split second, the man's expression betrays him, revealing a subtle thread of doubt, but he recovers in a snap. "You expect me to believe you're some geeky teenager out for coffee with his girlfriend?"

He tilts his head and grins. "She's not your girlfriend, is she?" He snorts with enough force that his head bobbles on his shoulders. "Figures. Just because you're an agent and a skilled assassin doesn't mean you have social skills."

"What are you talking about?" The words burst from my lungs. "I'm not an assassin."

"None of this makes sense," Kayla adds, her hair ruffling in the frigid breeze. "We don't even know who you are and why you're doing this."

"I'm Agent 24, the next man up, and my first assignment is to kill the previous agent, or at least make sure he, or she, is dead."

"So, all the agents before you and Agent 23 are supposed to be dead?" I say, trying to follow his logic.

"All of them but one. He's the only one who ran and got away."

Despite being scared to the point of almost wetting my pants, I'm curious. "Who is he?"

"The infamous Agent 1. But don't worry, he's long gone and of no help to you." The man waves the gun at Kayla. "But you, of all people, why is he hitting on you?"

"Why would you say that? Why wouldn't he be interested in me?"

"Wait a minute, I get it now. He must know who you really are." The man glares at Kayla. "I think he's on the job, working you for information."

"What are you talking about?" My eyes dart back and forth from Kayla to the brute of a man.

"I'm growing weary of the games," the man replies.

I look at Kayla and back at our captor. "We're not playing games; I promise, you've got to believe us."

"Okay. Entertain me for a minute. If you aren't Agent 23, then who are you?"

"I'm Aiden Quick. I'm a sophomore in high school. And trust me, I'm not a secret agent. Do I look like an agent to you? I'm only sixteen years old!"

"You've already told me that, and I don't believe you. You could be in your early twenties with a baby face."

"Do I act like an agent?"

"No." The man readjusts his aim, putting my forehead in his crosshairs. "But it could be a ruse."

"It's not," Kayla says. "He's the same way in class as he is now, which is not all bad, actually."

I glance at her, wondering what she means.

"Enough of the small talk. I've already carried this past the point of no return. If you are Agent 23, then you die. If you're not, you die anyway, and the girl dies because she's in the wrong place at the wrong time." The man narrows his eyes and stiffens his stance. Sighs. "I have to do what I have to do. All of my intel points to you being Agent 23, but let me ask you one last question, and maybe you might change my mind."

"Shoot," I say. "No. Wrong word. Ask is what I meant to say."

"Have you been having headaches lately? In particular, over the last two weeks?"

I ponder the question and can't see any reason I shouldn't answer truthfully, so I nod in confirmation. "Pretty bad ones. Incapacitating."

"That can only mean one thing."

"What's that?" Kayla asks as the man edges closer, point-blank range.

"That I must kill both of you. I don't have a choice."