Agent (CENTURIES series: Book #3)

1

"Oh shit, this is so dangerous..." I murmured to myself as I tried to steady myself on top of the moving van.

Yup. Its definitely not a good idea to jump off a bridge and onto a moving vehicle. They never told you this in the movies, but landing on something moving and metallic really sent a painful jolt up your legs, no matter how graceful you landed. It just bloody hurt.

But of course landing was the easy part – it was staying on the rapidly turning and shifting van that was the real struggle.

Just as I was finally getting a good grip, the psycho-driver made a sharp turn to try and shake me off. It almost worked as I lost my grip and rolled across the top, doubling over the edge and taking a clear path towards the concrete. In the last minute I managed to grip on to the side of the van before I was thrown off completely. But I was barely hanging on.

"Sonofabitch!" I seethed, holding on for goddamn dear life. Once I got my hand on this guy, it was clobbering time.

Trying to avoid getting thrown off for the last time, I found footage on the side of the van and managed to hook myself on like freaking Spidey. Then carefully, I started working my way sideways towards the driver's seat to face the crazy driver.

His ugly mug appeared in the side mirror and grimaced at me, before he picked up a Glock 21 and stuck it out the window. The gun started firing, aiming at me.

Shouting profanities, I narrowly avoid getting my head popped open like a jackalantern on November 1st. I set off with my foot and manage to kick the gun out of his hand. It flew away and crashed against a windshield of another moving car behind us. I heard the screech of a car stopping.

Not giving myself time to look back, I edged my way all the way up to the door and met Mr Ghost-Rider face to face. Sneering at me, while still keeping one hand on the wheel, he tried to punch me in the face. I grabbed his hand and twisted it backwards while still managing to cling onto the car, if you can imagine the struggle of that.

"Pull over, you goddamn shithead!" I snarled at him, twisting his hand back even further. He cried in pain and made a violent turn on the wheel.

"Cagna!"

I didn't speak Italian, but I didn't need a dictionary to understand a curse.

"And cognac to you too, asshole," I growled. I ended this stupid dick's attempt of fleeing the law by giving him sharp elbow straight to his face. The douche jerked backwards in his seat, only to bounce forward when he accidentally hit the brakes. His forehead slammed again the stirring wheel and conked him out.

The van then came to an abrupt stop and steered sideways when the wheel automatically turned. I grabbed on to the side of the door with a curse and waited as the van doubled over on its side and skated across the road. Cars crashed behind us and in front of us as we rammed into the curb of the highway. The van then finally came to a complete stop and left a trail of damage behind us.

I groaned painfully. That did not go as planned.

Cursing a little, I began to dismount the van and jumped onto the road. The van was lying on its right side, looking as beat as I felt. I could hear sirens behind me, finally catching up with us.

"Wilkens!" I heard my mission supervisor call. I saw him coming out and between the crashed cars in his suit, an army squad following behind him. "Wilkens, you OK?"