Chapter 3: New Agent in Town

Max went directly to his car after they were dismissed. He zoomed through Manhattan traffic and reached the HQ in less than an hour. He was still five minutes late, despite him leaving the campus as early as he could.

"I apologize for being late."

Multiple pairs of eyes fell on him as soon as he entered the room. Its windows were covered by thick curtains, almost cloaking the entire room in darkness, if not for the hologram screen on one end of the room. In the middle was a long table full of men in suits, and a man in a wheelchair at the end.

Max skimmed the looks on their faces—curiosity, disapproval, nonchalance, and many more were present in the faces of over twenty men at the long table. He tried to catch sight of the man at the end’s face, but thought it’d be nothing he wants to see, so he decides against it.

“Take a seat, Agent Gomez.”

He accepted the offered seat to him, and the meeting commenced. He listened quietly to the updates for the recently completed missions. The usual disposal, investigation, or interrogation missions. There was nothing unusual with the missions, and they were all cleanly completed. But his eyes were glued on the agent profiles on the top right of each mission, his eyes often catching a familiar face.

She was either participating in or leading almost every big shot mission.

And he just saw her before coming here.

“That concludes the presentation of recently accomplished missions, Minister,” the presenter clasps his hands over the other and nervously glances at the man at the end of the table. “Moving on to the remaining unassigned missions. This is an A-class mission that has no assigned agent yet—”

The man’s cool, calm voice cut him off. “Assign it to Agent Gomez. The rest of the nonpriority A class missions will be assigned to him from now on.”

“Yes?” The presenter dulls out and glances at Max. “To… Agent Gomez, Minister? Alone?”

Max’s busy eyes darted everywhere but to the Minister. Isn’t being transferred here enough punishment for him? Why should he shoulder all nonpriority missions too?

In Rome, he was almost treated as the Alpha of the Ministry there. He was nearly worshipped. Bloody hell, only the Minister can humble him this much.

He mentally curses.

Damn fathers.

“He should be able to handle those. Correct, Maximillian?” His father called him by his first name, and he controlled his expression as much as he could, turning to meet his cold eyes with his steel, unfazed gaze.

“No problem.”

The tense air in the room never disappeared for the remainder of the meeting, as his missions were explained. He never stopped analyzing, never stopped memorizing. By the end of the slide, he counted up to a whopping twenty missions. He was expected to finish them by the end of the year, but he’s no mere rogue agent. He’s A-class, and he will rise to the challenge.

He can finish all twenty in a few months.

No sweat.

It might just be his pride talking, but atleast there’s something in him living up to his reputation. Maximillian Gomez, A-class rogue agent and the Prime Minister’s only son, a prodigy from ever since his first mission.

After the presentation, all the other men left the room. Everyone except Max and his father. The tension was more palpable in the silence; his stare only on the table and the Ministers on the empty walls.

Their breathing was the only sound coming out for a few minutes until the Minister spoke.

“Have you met her?” He asks.

His question was not a surprise. He’s been going on about his favorite A-class rogue for years, but it’s been more prevalent recently. Especially after he tasked him with a personal mission. One he’s yet to understand the reason behind.

“I have,” he replied, curtly, before realizing his father wants to hear more. “We’re partners for a thesis. I expect to see more of her in the next few months.”

“What do you think?” Max felt the Minister’s eyes on him. His’ remained on the table.

“She looks harmless, for the most part. Quiet, reserved, and good at blending in.”

The Minister suddenly chuckles, amused by his remark. “There is no harmless bone in her body, Maximillian. Have you seen her doing one of her missions?”

He remembered their interaction that early morning outside the building. He merely wanted to confirm her car so he can tail her, but he was immediately caught. He did his best to play innocent and be unrecognizable, but her vigilant—maybe hypervigilant—nature memorized his every feature. Her bloodstained pistol was aimed right at his skull, her aim firm. Her sharp eyes were piercing and her presence was threatening.

He thought, at that moment, that it might be the view of her victims. Not too bad.

“Yes. I retain my impression,” he sternly says, finally meeting his eyes. The Minister’s eyes were piqued with interest, his head slightly tilted. Now he’s curious.

“Anna is an agent I raised for 14 years, Maximillian. I should know her best, but at any moment, she might be curious about her past. That is an inevitable event. Watch her carefully.”

He fell silent.

“Is this another punishment? Babysitting her?”

“No. I’m allowing you to get to know her.”

Max swallows the rising bile in his throat. He was no fool to know what he meant. Aside from her beauty and deadly intelligence, Max was also well aware of what she is. A human, Alpha wolf, and lycan hybrid—the strongest of their race. As long as she’s alive, the balance of power is tilted in her favor.

“Agent Anna is a wonderful woman—but I am not interested in her,” he clarifies. “I’m sure you know who my heart belongs to.”

“Love is futile,” his father coldly spats. “I’m not asking you to manipulate your feelings. At the very least, you ought to consider what she is and how strong your offspring will be. Strengthen our lineage. That’s what’s important.” The Minister slams on the table, glaring at Max through his furrowed brows.

“Seduce her. Marry her. It’s highly possible her wolf will not find her mate, so tie her to you before anyone else does.” Max clenches his jaw and bites his tongue, barely containing himself. “That is an order, Agent Gomez.”

Max heavily dropped on the bed, his glaring eyes not softening any soon. He glared at the door of his new apartment; almost forgetting the password. He glared at the empty fridge. Now he’s glaring at the plain ceiling as he lay in bed.

This was the life he dreaded coming back to.

In Rome, he was free. His father was not constantly on his business. He was living his best life. After fucking up one mission, it’s as if he’s back to step one. He’s back in New York, shackled and a puppet of his father.

Fuck me.

He ground his teeth, unable to contain his frustration. His fists clenched and his breathing shallowed, he wanted something to vent his emotions on. He leaves his apartment and works out in the gym on an emotional outburst, wanting to exhaust himself. No matter the violent environment he was raised in, he wanted no part in taking his anger out on others. So he takes it out on himself.

By the end of his emotional gym visit, he was drowning in sweat. His body was worn out with the week’s worth of workouts.

But that was all he could vent out on. He had no person to talk about it with. No pets either.

As much as he wanted to deny it, he was utterly alone.

That was frustrating, too.

He returns to his lonely apartment, crestfallen, and showers then eats dinner. The silence of his place was deafening. The buzz of the traffic nearby was the only noise frequently breaking the silence.

If he was in Rome, he’d be surrounded by his friends and colleagues. They’d be keeping him company. And they’d be good at it. Or he would be preoccupied doing missions. That was enough to keep his mind off of things, too.

But now, even with twenty or more missions on his plate, he couldn’t find the motivation to get started on them. His mind would still drift back to her, or his father, and it was driving him mad.

And like a true person going crazy, he goes down to the store and buys a basket of alcohol. To drown out his thoughts, he downed bottle after bottle of liquor. He was seated on the floor, his back on the bed, his one hand holding the bottle unstably supported by his raised knee, and his eyes unfocused—his brain all the more unstable.

Then, as if spiked by the youthful feeling of rebellion, his liquor-invaded mind comes up with a wicked idea.

What if… What if Anna is the key to his freedom?