AGENT 23 BLACKOUT (Agent 23 Book 1)

CHAPTER 37

Even though he acted like it was nothing to rip the metal sliver free, I know it had to hurt. He has to feel pain, but maybe he can block it out with mind over matter? Or maybe the Mind Bender forces him to ignore it to accomplish its directives? I'm about to find out.

My next move is risky. I need to release my grip on his arm to go for his shoulder, which bleeds through the tear in his shirt.

I reach across and scrape at his chest, my fingers crawling toward the wound.

The moment his hands lock around my neck; I cram two of my fingers into the gash. They sink in deep, about an inch. At first, he only flinches, but then I twist my nails in and dig around in the flesh until he groans in agony. As I jam my fingertips deeper, he yells out and releases his grip on my throat.

While he grimaces in pain, clutching his shoulder, I kick him over me with both of my feet. I use an upward thrust and vault him over. As I scramble upright, his body flips and his spine cracks on the hatch that gives access to the interior of Trailer 1.

He grunts as he rolls off the hatch and rights himself, his glare making him look more sinister and determined for a quick resolution to this duel.

"It doesn't have to be this way," I say. "The Collective has bent your mind. If you let me, I can help you."

His eyes soften. "Really?"

"Yes." I nod. Maybe I'm getting through to him?

He straightens out his back and pops a few vertebrae. All the while, he inches toward me. "Because I thought I could help you."

"How so?"

He smudges his lips together into a slight smile and shrugs. "Help you receive the rest of your training and directives." His jawline and brow harden into a scowl. "From The Collective."

He lunges at me, raising his leg, and stomps his foot into my stomach.

I bowl over; the breath expelled from my lungs.

He twists my hair in his fingers and pounds his fist into my nose. Cartilage cracks. I wince and wail out from the pain searing its way through my nostrils.

With my hands clutching my bleeding nose, he shoves me backwards. Once and then twice.

"I've never been one for all the fancy karate," he says. "I prefer a pulverizing bare-knuckle fight—I like to hear bones break. The carnage of a good beat down leaves me feeling invigorated."

As he finishes speaking, he draws near me again, and as he does so, I channel all my remaining strength and fortitude into a last-ditch retaliation. When he's three feet away, I spin and lower my center of gravity, sweeping my leg around, and swipe his feet out from under him. His back and head slam against the trailer.

I leap on top of him and start choking.

Now, I have the upper hand.

I wrench his throat, cutting off his air supply. Hate burns through me. I see images of my mom's dead body in our house, in our living room.

His cheeks flush with blood. He glows red, and the strength wanes in his eyes. As I choke him, I realize that not only do I want to suffocate him; I want to kill him.

I want to kill another human being. I want to kill my dad.

That's not me. I can't do this. I wail out in frustration and agony, and guilt as I continue to strangle him.

I'm not a murderer. I don't want to kill my dad—I want to save him.

The tears burst from my eyes, and I release my hold on him. He gags and spits and coughs.

I back away from him as he rises; the tears streaming down my face, salty as I lick my lips. I hope he won't come after me. I wish that he had blacked out and was his old self again. But the glare in his eyes says otherwise.

As he stumbles toward me, off balance and beaten, my mind recalls a particular move in my fight skills arsenal.

My dad's reaction time has slowed after I choked most of the life out of him. He swings, but I step aside and watch his knuckles sail past my face. As he follows through with the missed punch, I latch onto his arm, whip him around, and coil my arm around his neck from behind.

I'm not as strong as my dad, but I'm not a pushover.

With my arm wrapped around his neck, I brace that wrist against the fold of my other fist and lock the choke hold like an iron clamp.

He struggles against me, but I hold on.

He emits strangled sputters and grunts. And then, after a long, intense, life draining moment, he passes out. Unconscious. Blacked out.

When he goes limp, I release him and lower him to the top of the trailer. In this surreal moment, I kneel beside him and can't help but look up at the mountain towering above us. As I wait for him to revive, I realize the gunfire has ceased because the Jeep is nowhere in sight. Up ahead, a bridge looms, spanning a lake.

My dad stirs.

His eyes open, and he gazes up at me.

I expect a snarl. But he smiles warmly.

"Aiden," he says. "What happened?"

I hesitate, unsure of what I'm hearing.

Then I realize. "The Mind Bender had control of you."

I help him stand as the semi approaches the midway point of crossing the wide-open flat bridge. With my back to the trailer's right edge, my dad glances down at his hands and circles around to face me. He appears in deep thought.

"Don't you remember?" he finally says.

"What?"

"Zero said the Mind Bender's you destroyed were the latest versions. Their spell is unbreakable."

"But we did it. You're free." My countenance falls as the words leave my lips.

He shakes his head, his eyes squinting into slits. Then he turns to the side and stares at me with a knowing grin. "No. Afraid not."

Before I can react, he sidekicks me in the stomach, launching my body off of Trailer 1, out over the guardrail of the bridge, hurtling me back-first toward the placid waters of the lake. As I plunge, the wind speed whips around me, roaring past my ears.

I struggle to breathe because the kick knocked the air from my lungs.

Zero and Agent 1 are getting away. The last view I have is the semi entering another mountainside tunnel after crossing the bridge.

When I strike the water, everything goes black.