Agent Carter Captain America Novels & Stories

When he spots me, that smirk widens into something uglier. "Well, well," he drawls, stopping directly in my path. "If it isn't the captain himself. Let me guess why you are here– running to the coach to cry about the drama revolving around you?” He mocks. I force myself to stay calm, to keep my expression neutral. If I end up pissed and smack him in the face in the open, it won't help anything. "Move, Carter," I order flatly, clearly not in the mood to argue with him.

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled me out of my thoughts. My senior , Agent Caldwell, strided towards me, his expression grim. He's a tall man with greying hair, his demeanour always calm and composed. Today, however, there's a tightness around his eyes that I haven't seen before. Agent," he said, nodding to me. "We need to talk." "Sir," Caldwell glanced at the closed door of the interrogation room, then back at me. "I saw what happened there. We've got a situation on our hands."

"I'm not running. Not anymore." Now the cars were pulling up, the doors opening, the agents fanning out across the runway. Alex recognized some of them from the warehouse, from the station, from the long months when they'd been hunting him instead of the truth. They moved past him without looking, their faces hard, their hands steady, their eyes on the wreckage where the Captain's car had burned.

Her curls bounce as she chews cereal, eyes half-amused, half-concerned. “You’re seriously not going?” she asks, spoon waving in the air. “I don’t know,” I mutter, tightening the strap of my heel. I am getting ready, but denial is easier. “He’s a married man, Carrie. Married. And not just to anyone, to Amy freaking Stone. The Oscar-winning actress. If someone takes a picture…” Carrie snorts. “He’s Carter Ford. Nobody’s taking a picture. Trust me, men like that live above the rules.”

I put my hand out for a fist bump and he gives one back. "Ry-Ry! Look!" he shows me his backpack, which is a Marvel one by the way. "I'm a superhero now! Just like Captain America!" I smile at him, "You sure are, kiddo." I look away from him and at Analia, who's standing there awkwardly. "Let me introduce you to someone," Carter nods his head and we walk over to Analia. Analia fixes herself and gives a small smile to Carter. "Carter, Analia. Analia, Carter," I introduce.

My hair was still damp and the air seeping into the bathroom suggested we were in a cold area. With nothing else to do than stand awkwardly while the brother's chatted discreetly, I decided to make the best out of my situation and observe the distinct features of my captors. The one who brought me here, clad in an Armani and possibly the most dangerous of the trio had a ring on his thumb with the insignia of a crow. Jonas, the second one wore a jacket, faded old jeans, and boots. His most distinct feature was the jarring scar spread across his cheek to his neck. The third was the girl that would not stop sulking. She looked like a fighter. Her clothing complimented it. She was in a grey cami

Even from this distance, Carter could see the grim set of his jaw, the dangerous glint in his eyes. “No, no, no…” Carter turned back to the road, waving more frantically. “PLEASE! Someone!” Car after car flew past, not a single one even slowed down to look. He was going to die here, either hit by traffic or dragged back to that psychopath’s den, and no one was going to— A sleek black luxurious car slowed to a stop in front of him. The passenger window rolled down, revealing a man Carter didn’t recognize; he was maybe in his mid-thirties, wearing an expensive suit with dark hair slicked back.

That cocky part of me wanted to wink or flash a grin but I was too locked in. I adjusted my gloves, rolling my shoulders as I skated to the faceoff circle. Carter was already there with the team, warming up. He was crouched in a squat, probably trying to loosen his hips as he scraped his stick over the ice. Captain fucking America. Through the helmet, I could see his jaw was tight and blue eyes narrowed in concentration. I fucking hated him. And I wanted him too.

“It’s pathetic.” Carter turned in his seat, his face hardened, “just get in the goddamn van.”

Normally, I wouldn’t even remember my previous address. “Why do you ask?” he taunted. I was going to break his nose, too, and that was going to be a shame because he was the guy who stitched people up usually. “Why are you not fucking answering?” I raised my voice. Carter was a Savage, but he wasn’t a savage, if you catch my drift. He was a badass, sure, but not as aggressive and nasty as Derek and I were, unless you really pissed him off. But make no mistakes. He was the quiet sociopath who was more dangerous than all of us combined.