Page 159 of Victorious

“You won’t like it.”

“Oh, I will.” He could practically hear the smile in the man’s voice. “Your file is … extensive. But paper is no substitute for personal experience.”

Victor adjusted his grip on the knife. “Sorry in advance for disappointing you.”

If it was possible for dead space to sound amused, it did. Then: “I look forward to meeting you, Victor.”

With that, a burst of static rang across the agents’ comms. As if someone had turned the volume up, just so he could hear. Two words spilled out, the voice no longer Gabriel’s.

“Target acquired,” it said. “Withdrawing now.”

The target.

Sydney.

The moment Victor moved, so did the agents, falling on him in a wave.

Victor had never been physically imposing. He was tall, and thin, had gone from a bony kid to a wolfish adult, rangy and lean. The years of dying over and over had whittled him down to gristle and bone. But that was before he found Dani. Before she found the cure. He’d since clawed his way back.

And now, he was stronger than he’d ever been.

He grabbed the nearest agent by the helmet, using their own momentum to carry them in, and drove his blade up beneath the helmet’s chin.

The agent crumpled, and Victor turned in time to catch a powered baton in the ribs. Electricity slammed into him, and for a halting second Victor was back on the table in the Lockland lab, knuckles white as Angie turned the dials up and up and—

He snapped his own nerves off, and caught the baton, twisting it out of the way as he sank the blade between the slats of the agent’s armor.

It should have been a killing cut, but the gap was too low, the angle off, and instead of dying, the agent grabbed Victor back, and didn’t let go, locking the two of them together.

He slammed his boot into the agent’s front, but it was no use—they were dead weight on their feet, somehow immovable, and it was a stalemate, or it would have been, if not for the final fucking agent, the one who shot him in the back.

Even through his deadened nerves, Victor felt the close-range force of it slam into his shoulder at the same time the agent holding him finally died and let go.

Victor stumbled, reaching back toward the spot, and found a fucking dart.

He wrenched it out and turned, vision already faltering as the last agent came toward him, gun raised to fire a second time when a pair of hands caught hold of the agent’s helmet and snapped it to the side, breaking their neck with an audible crack.

The last agent dropped, lifeless, to the ground in front of Mitch, who stood, chest heaving, as if he’d run a mile.

Victor swayed, and turned his nerves back on, ignoring a dozen minor pains for the only one that mattered. The one inside his chest. The ache, which had at some point turned much sharper. He dropped into a crouch to catch his breath. Brought the inhaler to his lips, and breathed in. Instantly, the warning pain drew back. His heart steadied. Stabilized.

“What part of stay put don’t you understand,” growled Victor.

Mitch looked at him darkly. “I think the phrase you’re looking for is thank you.”

“I’d thank you if you killed them before they shot me,” countered Victor, flicking the dart down beside the body. The sedative was spreading through his system. He turned his nerves up, until pain lit up across his skin, hoping it would keep the drug at bay a little longer.

“We have to get to Syd,” Mitch was saying. “Before they—”

Victor started to shake his head, then stopped when the world kept rocking. “They already got her.”

Mitch groaned. “God dammit, Victor. If you’d let me help—”

“Then I’d be saving both of you.”

“Fuck off, Vic.” He locked his hands behind his head. “What happened? One second you were heading toward her and the next—”

“I don’t know,” Victor said through gritted teeth. He straightened, vision sliding in and out of focus. But he stayed on his feet. “An EO. A strong one. It was like being sucked into a dream…” he trailed off, remembering Lockland. Eli.