Agent Rogue

Chapter 17

Amber Knight
An aggravated sigh rumbled in my dry mouth as a blinding white light lit up the room.

I rubbed my sore, tired eyes and reached for the coffee table, groaning as my fingers touched the edge of the wood, unable to even touch my phone.

Most individuals would have done the logical thing and sat up to grab it, but somehow my fatigued mind decided it would be too easy to be logical. I stretched out my arm further from the warmth of the blanket, leaning over the edge of the sofa.

My fingers brushed the edge of the rose-gold case, pride filling me up before I slipped and landed on the floor.

I sighed at my own idiocy – Barnes had influenced me more than I realised. I pushed onto my knees and grabbed my phone off the oak coffee table to read the text while sitting on the woven cotton rug.

Mika's coming for you. Get out of your flat and find us at the agency. You need to leave the city.

—Collins

Alistair's doubt had been fed since I left headquarters. He'd never kill me – I had to believe that – but he would never let me get in the way of his plans, either. Perhaps I was to be apprehended, questioned, then locked up if I still did not change my mind.

I locked my phone. "Not that easy," I muttered.

Jumping to my feet, I made an internal plan. I sent a short message on my phone before grabbing my boots off the floor, pulling them on and swiftly tying the laces. I should have expected this. It was not as if I was allowed even a moment of peace anymore. I was standing again the moment the final knot was tied, and headed to the kitchen, grabbing my jacket from the floor on my way there.

A fist banged against the door.
"Agent Knight! Open up!" roared Mika.

I cursed inwardly, scanning the room as I opened up one of the kitchen drawers.
"Agent Knight!"
"I'm looking for my keys," I replied calmly, feeling the weight of them in my pocket. "Just a moment."

For my own protection, I always kept two handguns in the flat: one in the kitchen, with the other in the bedroom. There had been a few instances in which enemies of the agency had appeared in my home, and the firearms had saved my life more than once.

I took the gun from the drawer and checked its contents while approaching the window to open it wide, smiling as a familiar silver car pulled up alongside the pavement.

"Knight!"

I slipped the gun into my back pocket and rushed for the door to unlock it. Once open, Mika and four other followers stormed inside. I shut the door behind them and strolled casually to position myself in front of the window.

Mika frowned, curiosity having him glance over the open-plan room to take in my lack of belongings. "You're letting us in? Just like that?"
I shrugged. "My landlord said he can't keep replacing the doors." Sixty-something-year-old Samson despised Scotty and I and had threatened to kick us both out if our flats kept suffering damage. We frequently insisted the issues were of no fault of our own, claiming to have had constant break-ins, but the excuses only made Samson grow more ballistic. Eventually we grew to fix our own flats, keeping any property damage hidden.
"Fair enough," Mika replied. He strutted around the room, prowling with keen eyes.

"It's... so empty in here," he eventually said.
"I'm not here a lot," I said, pulling on my jacket. "And I'm not particularly bothered about how my flat looks when people like you come and destroy it anyway."
"Are you being passive-aggressive with me?"
"Work it out," I replied. "You'll get there eventually."