The Elites

Chapter Four

"Where do you think you're going, Eastbourne?"

I'd always had a very short temper. It wasn't often that my patience actually managed to stand more than a few minutes of someone's crap without kicking their feet out from under them or pinning them against a wall. Of course, The Agency frowned upon every single report that got sent back from America about me because of it, but being an Elite has its perks. I always got the job done, so a few tumbles here and there were never enough to threaten my position.

However, what would probably threaten my position was violence outside of a case, for example: punching Chase Gordon square in the jaw as he stood in front of the hall's only exit.

Chase Gordon had the kind of face that just asked for a punch. Smug and smarmy, with his lips permanently curled in the I'm-better-than-you-Eastbourne-even-though-I'm-not-an-Elite way, his nostrils flared like he had smelled his own vomit after a bad Saturday night.

People like Chase were what was wrong with how the agents were chosen. When The Elites Agency started in 1880, it was just a group of vigilantes wanting to top the police force. Though they weren't associated with the professionals, the vigilantes' popularity grew over the years throughout the UK with even the police admiring their work. Their fame reached extreme heights when they were brought onto the Jack the Ripper search in 1888, even though he was never caught. The police started to draft more and more cases over to them, and as the workload increased, the need for more Agents grew. The group had a total of a 127 agents before it was decided that the only new ones would be directly descended from the existing. It was recommended by the founder - Simon Ransom - that Agents did sign their kids over to the Agency. It would always be common knowledge to the kids that their parent was an agent, so why not make them do the same?

Chase Gordon's dad was Frederick Gordon - an esteemed, but now retired, Elite. Chase always boasted that his dad had signed him over the day he was born. I always said that that was not something to be proud of, but that was probably just because my parents had lied to me about it my entire life - the same way Lara's had. Lara managed to forgive her parents, but I never had. I pretty much cut them off the day I got told I had to start training. It wasn't easy avoiding them while they were still working at the Agency, but they retired two years after I started training. I hadn't seem them in about five years, and the last time was accidental.

"Move out of my way, Gordon," I drawled, mentally counting three seconds before I knocked him out.

"Or what?" he sneered, scrunching his face like a child. "What you gonna do?"

"Do you remember what happened when Everett got in my way?" I asked pointedly, and Chase's face returned to normal instantly. "You want that to happen to you?"

A few weeks before I'd come back to the Agency briefly to pick up a few research notes from a couple of trainees, Dexter Everett had decided it'd be a good idea to try and lock me in a bathroom stall - it was easy to forget that these were grown men with serious jobs. Naturally, I broke his nose, fractured his ribs and cracked seven bones in his left hand. Of course, nothing was ever proven, and Dexter was far too scared to tell anyone. Mr Hetley must've known though. God knows why I was still employed at this place.

"Oh," Chase said shortly, folding his arms over his chest for protection. His suit was far too small and creased horribly as his arms stretched. "Um. Well."

I raised my eyebrows as he started to awkwardly shuffle away from the front doors.

"Thanks, Gordon," I smiled sweetly. "I'll be leaving now."

"Will you, Harry? Will you really?"

My hand had just reached the door handle when I had to stop again. I felt my knuckles click in aggravation even though I had no intention of hurting the person who spoke.