Outlaw (Alpha Agency Protectors Book 3) Read online

  Alpha Agency Protectors 3

  Outlaw

  By:

  Scarlett Winters

  Copyright 2020 Scarlett Winters

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any way or by any means. Including but not limited to recording, photocopying, any electronic methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher. This book is strictly a work of fiction, any references to persons, places or things are all completely fictional.

  Warning: This book is for adult audiences.

  Contents

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  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

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  Chapter One

  Adam

  I can’t get caught. I won’t be caged!

  These are the only thoughts running through my racing mind as I decide I’ll have to make the dangerous leap from one rooftop to the next. It’s just as few feet; a space I can usually cross with ease, especially in the daylight. But, it’s not daytime. It’s three in the morning, and there’s cloud cover making it close to impossible to see the flat top of the adjacent building.

  My heart is pounding with the adrenaline rush the danger supplies. Sweat drips in my cat’s eyes; green as the grass in the park where I lost the first group of cops. They were fat bastards, and couldn’t keep up with me. I choke on my laughter just remembering their heaving bellies, and apple red faces as they stumbled to the ground to lay face down in the gravel around the play equipment. I imagine them still lying there when children come out to play in the morning. It’s damn near worthy of that funniest videos show.

  I run full out across the open space of the office building, readying myself to take the leap to the apartment next door. My breathing is erratic; not from fear, but from excitement. I live for this kind of rush. A tame world doesn’t fit me in the least. I’ve been this way for most of my life. It comes from growing up in the foster care system where you never know who will be in charge of your life. I’ve always sworn to be in charge of my own. If that means running flat out across a building in the dead of night, and taking a leap of faith across the open sky over a dark alley filled with trash, including drug paraphernalia, then so be it. At least I’m still free.

  I’d rather fall and die, than be locked inside a cell for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t be able to breathe in a cage. So, here I go! Into the sky. My legs pump as if I’m running on the air beneath my feet. Somehow, I think this motion helps me make the distance to the adjacent rooftop. My lungs hurt. My chest heaves. Then, I feel my feet touch ground, and I bend my body so that I curl and roll instead of crash onto the rough surface of the rooftop.

  I made it, but the fun isn’t over yet. I can still hear the sirens blaring on the streets below. In the lights that line the road, I catch a glimpse of the men who are now in pursuit of me. These men are fit. Their muscles match my own, and they run with a stealth and urgency. This is not what I usually expect from the local police force. This isn’t the donut fed bunch I most often see. Who are these guys? What do they want with me?

  I’m definitely a criminal. You might even call me notorious. But, this chase is out of the ordinary, even for me. It’s as if they are tracking me across the rooftops, and that’s never happened before. It’s unsettling, to say the least. I have to lose this bunch, and hunker down to think about this mess. I need to assess what they want from me. What did I do to gain their interest?

  No one died in the last job I pulled. They seldom do. Killing isn’t my kind of thing. I avoid it whenever possible, especially once my own brother was murdered. Killing brings it all back to me. The pain of remembering takes my breath away.

  I check to be sure my blonde hair is covered by the dark skullcap. It would be a beacon to the group below me. I tug on the sleeves to my black turtleneck, and am assured that all my skin is covered, although it’s doubtful that my skin would bring any attention to me. I may be white, but I am so heavily tattooed the skin on my arms is barely visible. I’m sporting full tattooed sleeves, which include a tribute to the brother I lost.

  It’s time to move. Thankfully, the door into the apartment building is still unlocked. In fact, the lock remains broken from the last time I used this escape route. It pays to make a run through the slums. What I break doesn’t get noticed, or repaired by the lazy managers of these crumbling towers of stinking trash.

  I slip through the hallways with ease. In the slums there are no cameras to catch your movements, and the lights barely make a dent in the darkness. My shoes make a slight popping sound on the grimy floor as they stick to the goo left there by who knows what. I ignore it. I’m used to the disgusting mess, and the awful smell that accompanies it. I thrive on the fact that in this environment I fit in so well that I’m practically invisible.

  I race down the rickety stairs, knowing exactly where to place my feet in order to miss the broken steps. Once I reach the basement, I take a moment to catch my breath. The darkness here is absolute, yet I’ve been here so many times there is no need for light to guide me. I even know where each of the homeless people who sleep here make their pallets. I can hear their muffled groans as I pass them. I’m thankful that I’m not in their shoes.

  My breathing has returned to its normal pattern. My heart has settled into a slower rhythm. I’ve made it to safety. I’ll wait behind the basement door for just a few more minutes, and give the fancy cops outside time to decide I’ve magically disappeared. Then, I’ll make my way outside into the air that is less permeated with vomit, sweat, and other bodily waste. I’ll slide down a few alleys, and reach the nicer street where I reside for the moment. It’s not a palace, but it’s a respectable place to stay for the short time I need it.

  The sirens are long gone. I’m getting restless, and hungry. It will be dawn soon, and I’d rather be inside my hideaway before light strikes the dark world I prefer to exist in. I slowly open the creaking door, and hear nothing from the alley. I breathe in a sigh of relief, and step into the darkness.

  As the door closes behind me with a bang, I sense I’m not alone. The hair on my neck rises, calling my attention to danger, just before I notice the black SUV’s that sit like ghosts across each end of the alley. From the darkest corners, even behind the overflowing dumpster, I see movement. The men who are holding guns on me are not cops. I hear the clicks that tell me the guns will fire if I make the wrong move. What can I do?

  My mood switches to fight or flight. It only takes an instant for me to realize that flight isn’t possible. It would mean certain death. I imagine my
self drawing my gun, and trying to fight my way out of this mess, but then I see the sniper above me. I’d lose my life before I got my gun out of the waistband of my pants. They’ve won, and I know it. I’m sick to my stomach thinking about being caged forever.

  Chapter Two

  Adam

  There’s nothing else to do. I don’t have a real choice in the matter. I have to surrender, then brazen it out, and rely on my instincts to get myself set free again. Inside my head, I’m begging, “Help me, big brother. I need to find the perfect words, and say them in the right tone, or I’m a goner.”

  Out loud, I assume a nonchalant, tough guy attitude, and brazenly demand, “Who the hell are you, and what the fuck do you want with me?”

  A large man, dressed in black military style gear steps forward into my personal space. I can see his pearly white teeth as he grins at me. In the darkness, those teeth, and his gleaming gray eyes are all that is visible. He widens his legs into a fighter’s stance before answering in a deep, sarcastic voice, “Not that it’s really any of your business, but we’re the fucking CIA, and we can do whatever we please with your sorry ass.”

  The CIA? What is going on? I’ve never been in the sights of the CIA. What did I do to deserve this? I just left an idiot tied to a chair in his own residence, with a busted up face, and one finger missing. I cut it off to get information out of him concerning my brother’s murder, but it turns out he didn’t know anything. His wife will find him soon enough, and he doesn’t know who I am, so why should that have brought out the CIA? The cops have only been chasing me because I accidentally tripped off an alarm on a parked car. It is a stupid, and rooky mistake to make, but my mind has been on my brother too much lately. The anniversary of his death is coming up soon, and it always messes with my head.

  “You guys have the wrong man. I’m not anybody important. I was just stepping out to get some air, and maybe have a smoke. The CIA shouldn’t be wasting their time over us homeless sleeping in a basement,” I tell them, using my own white smile, and the dimples that usually gain me a successful bluff.

  “We know you aren’t one of the homeless who squat here. Do you really think we’re that stupid?” the man growls at me. “I suppose you think you’re acting all cute, and innocent. I’ll have you know, we’re all immune to those dimples, and your pretense of innocence. We’ve seen it all before. Adam Marcus, you are under arrest for crimes against…well everyone, I suppose. Drop your weapons carefully, and push them toward the dumpster. Don’t run. I wouldn’t mind shooting you in the head, but my boss would likely be a little upset.”

  Frowning in confusion, and finally getting scared, I do as I am told. Something is wrong with all this. It’s a twisted scenario that doesn’t make sense. I’m a career criminal, and I’ve been arrested many times. Yet, I always get the charges dropped due to lack of evidence, or spend only a day or so in jail. Surely, the CIA couldn’t have evidence against me. I’m far too careful. Well, except for that car alarm. But, you don’t call in the CIA for someone who’s trying to break into a car.

  I am handcuffed, and unceremoniously stuffed into the back of one of the SUV’s. Nobody will look at me. It’s so surreal. I sit frozen in place, not even trying to ask questions that I know instinctively won’t be answered. Besides, I’m not sure I want the answers if anyone does volunteer them.

  The sun is rising when the SUV’s pull into a parking garage located beneath an empty warehouse. The entire area surrounding the warehouse is deserted, as if a war has come, and destroyed all life anywhere close to it.

  Several of the armed men surround me as I am herded toward the double metal doors. I stumble on the concrete steps, but I’m quickly grabbed by rough hands that squeeze my biceps in warning. I assume they think the stumble was deliberate, and I was trying to get free. They are very wrong. Fear of things being out of my control is making me uncharacteristically clumsy.

  I am tossed into a room that holds a metal desk, one metal chair, and a really nice office chair that seems out of place. The floor is concrete, as are the walls. There are no windows, and only the one door I’d been tossed through. Not being a complete idiot, I choose to sit in the metal chair to await my fate.

  It isn’t long before I am joined by a stranger. This one wears a power suit. It fits his slim body to perfection, and I can clearly see the outline of a gun at his shoulder. His black hair is wavy, and recently cut. His blue eyes glare at me as he takes the office chair, and crosses his arms.

  “Well, we finally get to meet. It took us long enough to get you, Mr. Marcus. You are a wily bastard. You slip away from the cops so easily, but we’re a bit better at capturing our prey than the common police force. I bet you didn’t even know we were watching you.”

  “I don’t know what you think you’ve got on me, but whatever it is won’t stick. Let me go now, and there won’t be any hard feelings,” I demand.

  The man dares to laugh, which makes me instantly furious. I start to rise from the chair, but soon realize it will be useless. My hands are still cuffed behind my back. I can’t punch his smirking face, and if I try to kick him, I’ll end up in a heap on the floor.

  “Ah! Good boy. You see your dilemma, and aren’t foolish enough to continue down that path. We knew you were intelligent. That’s why you were among the short list of candidates for our needs.”

  “Piss off, asshole! We have nothing to talk about,” I bluff.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Adam. I can call you that, right? After all, you’re at my mercy. You can call me Agent Franklin. We’re going to be friends soon enough.”

  “You’re wrong about that. I don’t make friends with people like you,” I reply in anger at his continued audacity.

  “You’re the one who isn’t seeing the big picture, Adam. We’ve been observing you for a long time. We’ve carefully collected evidence against you, and there’s quite a large stack of it. We have surveillance pictures, as well as video putting you at crime scenes. That includes today’s little excursion into torture. We’ve got you red-handed, but we want to make a deal. I assume you don’t want to waste away in a cell for the rest of your life, and never discover who killed your brother. Am I on track?”

  I feel the walls closing in on me. They have chosen this room to make me understand what my life will be like if I don’t cooperate. Already, the cold sweat is trickling down my spine. I need freedom. I long for it. My head aches.

  I have to reply, “What is it you want me to do? I’m all ears.”

  “We wish you to go undercover for us, Adam. You’ll fit in perfectly with the mob. You’re handsome as sin, strong, crafty, and notoriously evil. That’s exactly what we’re looking for. If you do as we say, and get us the information we require, then the evidence against you will vanish. We might even be convinced to help you discover who killed your dear brother. Do we have a deal?”

  The adrenaline in my body is spiking to a whole new level. This is a challenge that I’m up for. If I do this, then I may be able to start a whole new life, one without the baggage from the past.

  “Give me the details,” I say with a grin.

  Chapter Three

  Kelsey

  I place the mascara down on the bathroom counter, and stare at myself in the mirror. The person I see isn’t the one I was born to be. I see a tart, a mistress, a woman who lives to serve a man. It disgusts me, but only briefly. This is necessary. I know it is, and I’m determined to finish what I’ve begun.

  The red dress hugs my body in all the right places. It shows a large amount of creamy skin, including the cleavage Harrison claims he adores. The hem stops high on my milky white thighs, all the better to showcase my long legs. I’m not allowed to hide any of my charms beneath clothing. If I try, Harrison punishes me. I have learned that lesson well.

  As long as I behave, the mob boss treats me like a cherished pet. If I don’t…well I’ve got a few hidden scars I can display.

  I check my face one more time. This time, I’m looki
ng to see if I’ve chosen the perfect shade of red to match the dress, and curled my blonde hair in the way Harrison prefers it. I don’t want to slip up, and upset him needlessly. I need him to be so enamored with me that I can sneak out to the greenhouse, and check my secret phone for messages from my real boss, the head of the CIA.

  I’m nervous as I walk down the long staircase, trying not to fall in the required stilettos I’m barely used to wearing. Harrison appears at the base of the stairs, and I plaster a flattering smile on my face that proclaims me being happy to see him.

  “My dear, I’m so glad I chose that dress for you. You are simply stunning. I have a meeting with a friend, and you must join us. He will be so jealous of me, just as I planned. Keep him staring at your marvelous cleavage, and be sure to offer him a quick glimpse of what lies beneath that tight skirt, while I make a deal that brings me all his money. I promise you a wonderful reward for your efforts. Don’t I always pay you well for your beauty?” Harrison asks me.

  Taking a deep breath that makes my breasts swell over the lowcut neckline, I answer, “Always, Harrison. You give me lovely gifts that make me swoon. I don’t deserve them, but you are so generous. Thank you again for the dress, and the necklace.”

  I finger the large diamond that falls between my breasts, watching as his eyes glaze over. I know what he’s thinking, and it’s all I can do not to gag.

  Harrison is in his sixties, though he appears younger. His body is still strong, muscular, and healthy. His hair is brown, with silver at his temples. He is considered a distinguished gentlemen in most circles, yet I can see right through him to his evil heart. His gray eyes are dead. There is no light left in them. His smiles never reach that far. He is the enemy that I must appear to adore.