13 – Clever Little Shit

An empty hamburger wrapper was wadded up and tossed into a fast food bag. Brock wiped his hands off on a napkin and let out a satisfied belch. He wasn't aware he was that hungry as it hadn't been that long ago he last ate. And he had a pretty big breakfast, too, with Rollins and Clark at a twenty-four-hour breakfast joint.

The man popped a breath mint into his mouth as he returned to Cadet Jensen's apartment complex. Along the way, he pondered the possible scenario outcomes should the young woman follow through with her word and join them on their mission to take out the Turkish mercenary boss. Would he tell her, then, he was HYDRA? He then thought about how she would react. Angry, possibly. Maybe even accepting. Should she not accept it and try to tell someone, he already told his best men he'd take care of it by silencing her. Permanently. But what if there was another way? Blackmail. If she threatened to tell someone, he'd do the same regarding her involvement in pulling the trigger on the Turk. Again, that depending on whether or not she actually went on the mission. Brock knew it would take some time to find the Turk, which could take months. After the whole town square ordeal, he would be a stupid son a bitch to pop his head up in the months following, knowing he was a wanted man by SHIELD. No, he would go into hiding somewhere. It was just a matter of where he would go.

Brock pulled up to the apartment complex and parked in front of the building unit the young woman resided. His footsteps were heavy and his mind clouded with negative thoughts should everything not work out to his plans. He went to the cadet's apartment door and knocked on it. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer several long seconds later. Was she asleep? Puking her toenails up from the codeine?

The agent jiggled the door handle to see if it was open and sure enough, it was unlocked. For someone extremely paranoid of her own shadow, she sure was careless with home security.

Brock cracked open the door and called out. "Cadet?" The sound of the shower water running got his attention.

Not caring if she was angry or not as his uninvited intrusion, he went into the apartment and closed the door behind him. He could see the light from the bathroom shine into the hallway, meaning the door was wide open. Okay, he couldn't pass up this opportunity to steal a quick peek. Not like he expected to see anything, anyway. She probably had one of those thick shower curtains. When he peered around the doorway and into the bathroom, what he saw had him rock hard almost instantly. The form of her nude body could be made out through the frosted glass. Water splashing onto the fogged-up glass gave him a very brief opportunity to almost see the details of her body. The curvature of that shapely ass he wanted to grab a handful of so badly…the perk of her breasts…34B in size from what he could tell. While he wouldn't have minded slightly larger breasts, he wasn't going to complain about the ample handful he was seeing.

There was no mistaking the white bandages taped over her gunshot wound, though.

Brock mumbled under his breath, "Oooh…my…G-" Then the shower water cut off.

Never had the man evacuated a scene so quickly before in his life. He rushed off into the living room without making a sound and made sure to stand as far away from the hallway as possible. Now to figure out how to hide his painfully obvious hard-on. While he waited for the woman to finish drying off and get dressed, he thought of everything he could to kill his sidetracked mind. Nothing was working. Finally, the woman left the bathroom. This was about to get really awkward, really fast.

Syra flicked off the bathroom light and continued to dry off her hair as she went to the living room. Seeing Agent Rumlow standing in her apartment startled her. She shrieked out loud and almost fell backward. "Holy shit!"

Brock huffed a laugh. "I told you I was coming back." His gaze fell on her choice of comfortable clothing; a black spaghetti strap tank top and pink kitty pajama pants. He felt his arousal and a part of himself die a little at the sight of her pants. Too bad she wasn't wearing a white tank top instead. It did help she wasn't wearing a bra, though.

Syra rolled her eyes, groaned something under a sigh and shook her head. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you." Brock looked at the prescription bag left untouched on the table by the door. "Making sure you take your meds like you're supposed to."

"No!" Syra stomped past the agent and went into the kitchen. "I've been taking something else, anyway."

"Vicodin? Percocet?" Brock watch the cadet take a bottle of cinnamon whiskey out of the fridge and set it heavily down on the kitchen cabinet. He cocked an amused smile. "Whiskey works, too. Wait, you're not even twenty-one yet! How the fuck do you have booze?"

Syra poured her shot glass full and downed the drink in one gulp. "Mikel. He bought me alcohol all the time. Wine, beer, liquor…"

Brock blinked. "Y'know, if the agency catches you drinking underage it's your ass and mine, too, since I know about it."

The bottle was recapped and stashed back inside the fridge. "So did you come to nag at me about my poor life decisions or was there a purpose to your presence?"

Brock crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his gaze down on the woman. "Your meds?"

Syra smirked. "Do you know the hazards of mixing alcohol and certain medications? That's my fourth shot. Those hazards only increase with the more alcohol I consume."

Clever move. "You…clever…little…shit." Everything this woman did garnered her more and more admiration from the agent.

Syra approached the man. "Since you're here, might as well make yourself useful." And just like that, he was getting hard again. She pointed at her bandages. "It's time to change them out, and I could use the help."

The two people stared the other in the eye, the overwhelming urge to kiss the woman clawing at Brock's self-control. He could smell her shampooed hair, her lavender body wash -or was that lotion?- all laced with the scent of cinnamon whiskey. Those eyes…how they stared up at him with their jade green depths. Her slightly parted pale rose lips beckoned him to kiss them.

Syra watched something change in the agent's eyes as his entire demeanor changed without him making a single move.

"Sure, I'll help you out…when I'm done," he stated in a gruff voice.

Syra arched a brow in confusion and shrugged. "Done with what?"

"You."

"Wha-" but before she could even get one word out, her mouth was seized by the STRIKE agent's.

Brock grabbed Syra by the back of her head with one hand and pulled her hips to his with another. He shoved her against a portion of the wall near the kitchen and used his body's strength to pin her there. The taste of cinnamon whiskey was teasing his tongue, and the friction of her body against his painfully erect cock had him moaning into her mouth. He savored what he had longed to do in the days leading up to this moment and felt her start to reciprocate. His hand on her hip slipped beneath the elastic waistband of her pajama pants and went straight to the middle of her legs.

Brock's fingers discovered the young woman to be quite wet and aroused. His kiss trailed across her jaw and down her neck. "Wet already, huh?" Brock pulled up the base of her tank top up and over her head and threw it somewhere to the side on the floor. Using his free hand, he groped a handful of one of her breasts while he sucked and toyed her other nipple with his tongue.

Syra snapped herself out of the sex-driven trance the agent had her in. "You need to stop. This doesn't feel right."

"That's not the impression I'm getting." Brock's gentle caresses along Syra's womanhood had her already heavy breath turning into labored pants and whimpers. "You like that?" He extracted his hand from the woman's pants and licked the juices coating his fingers. "You taste fucking sweet, too."

Brock eased her pants down her hips so he could have unhindered access to her body. Her pants joined her shirt, leaving her completely bare and exposed. Taking a single finger, he inserted it into her core's entrance and aimed it to strike her G-spot. A sharp moan from the woman filled the air. Brock couldn't look away from the thin slits of jade green orbs trying to stay open. Her face, ears and down her neck were a deep red color from sexual fluster.

Brock smiled wickedly to himself. "You coming for me?" Syra weakly nodded and gasped a moan. He had to admit, the young woman being so responsive was quite enjoyable. "That's it…come for me, baby." His pressure within her firmed as her grip on his shoulders tightened. Because of, her nails bit into his skin through the fabric of his black t-shirt.

"Don't stop..." she whimpered. "I'm coming…I'm coming!" Brock wasn't about to slow in his pleasing the woman. Syra's back arched as she restrained a vocal moan. "Don't stop!"

"Fuck yes, baby, that's it!" Brock felt her body spasm in release against him.

Syra whimpered, "Oh, fuck me, Rumlow."

And here he was half expecting her to call him by another name. Hearing her damn near cry out his name had him unable to resist any longer. He unholstered his custom pistol from the back of his pants and sat it on the nearby dining room table. He then damn near ripped off his shirt and was sure he broke the zipper of his pants in the process of unfastening them. Within moments, his erection was free of its restriction and his pants at his ankles. Suddenly he hated his boots as he fought with the laces and tugged them off. In a series of swift movements, Brock hoisted Syra up to wrap her legs around him as he completely thrust into her.

A gasped yelp escaped her. Brock's initial rhythm was quick and forceful, so much that Syra didn't know if she should cry from pleasure or pain. Her mouth was once again passionately assaulted by the man's and her breath stolen by it. Her injured shoulder was screaming at her, but before her brain could register the pain for very long, another approaching orgasm stole the focus.

Brock was in pure bliss. The constricting muscles of the woman's inner walls were ushering him closer to his own climax as was her nails raking across his shoulders. "Your pussy is ungodly tight." The woman was peeled off the wall as the agent relocated their lovemaking to the futon.

Brock positioned himself above his lover and reinserted himself within her, though a bit slower this time. His hips ground into hers as the two moved together against the other. Because of his angle compared to hers, he was striking her G-spot each thrust he made. Brock wasn't sure how much longer he was going to last at this rate.

"I'm coming," Syra whimpered. She had a tight grip on the back of the man's arms and her legs just as tightly wrapped around his hips.

Brock felt her body spasm for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Words escaped him on how beautiful she was at that moment with her head thrown back and body quaking in pleasure. A pinkish scar located on her left side caught his eye. He knew its origins and tenderly ran a thumb over it. About that time, his cell phone started to ring. And there went the moment.

Brock verbally lashed out at the unwanted distraction. "Gotta be fucking kidding me!"

He didn't want to stop. But what if the call was important? The last time he ignored his cellphone, it was an important call, and he got a hell of an ass reaming from Director Fury about it. Not wanting a repeat of that, Brock reluctantly crawled off of Syra and fished his phone out of his pants pocket. Rollins' name flashed across the screen.

Brock answered in an almost yelling voice. "Fuck you, man! You have to call right now?" He put the phone on speaker and set it down on the futon's armrest. The agent fiercely kissed the beautiful angel below him and wasted no time getting back to his previous rhythm. "The fuck do you want?"

Rollins answered in a tone of voice much like his team leader's. "What the fuck is up the with attitude?"

"Seriously, man, what in the hell do you want?"

Rollins released a slow and heavy sigh. "Clark and I were about to head to the bar for some drinks. You coming?"

Once again, Brock spoke before thinking. "Funny you should ask that, right now."

Clark was heard laughing hilariously in the background. The call must have been on speaker on their end just as it was on Brock's. "For fuck's sake," groaned Rollins and the call was abruptly ended.

Syra punched the STRIKE agent in the side. "Thank you for announcing my personal life to your bros!"

Brock stopped her from hitting him again and sneered. "Oh, you like to play rough, do you?" He both strengthened and quickened his motions against her that kept her mute of words but full of moans and whimpers. "I'm getting close," he grunted and, in a few pumps, pulled out to completely drain himself on the inside of Syra's thigh. The room was spinning around his head, and his heart beat racing from his exertions. "God, you're beautiful." Brock passionately kissed those trembling pale rose lips and laid down beside her.

Syra rolled her eyes and grabbed a blanket draped over the back of the futon to wipe off her leg. "You're so full of shit."

Brock scoffed a laugh. "No, I'm not! I've been nothing but honest with you since day one. Why would I start lying now?"

Once her leg was as cleaned off as it was going to get, she dropped the blanket to the floor. Syra cut her eyes down on the pleased with himself STRIKE agent. "Then answer me this…"

Brock snaked an arm under the woman's head so she could lay her head on his chest. Wait a minute, wait a minute… what the fuck was he doing? Cuddling? Since when did he cuddle anyone after sex? He gave up arguing with himself. There was no reason to at this point. Fucking. Parasite.

Brock rested his hand on Syra's hip and caressed the soft skin there. "Okay, what's the question?"

Syra propped herself up on her right elbow to look down at the sweat-laden man. "Those powerful people you mentioned…" Brock's chest seized up. Here it comes… wait for it… wait for it… "They're HYDRA, aren't they?"

Aaaannnnd BAM! The broken beautiful figured it out a hell of a lot faster than Brock imagined. To the rest of the blissfully ignorant world, HYDRA was destroyed thanks to the actions of Captain America during World War II. How the fuck HYDRA crossed her mind was the million-dollar question. Brock groaned a sigh and cut his eyes up at the green ones looking down on him. Her partially damp hair from her shower curtained her face and tickled his neck. With a touch ever so gentle that even surprised him, he combed the stray locks behind her ear.

When Brock didn't answer, Syra's eyes glazed over with tears. She sniffed back an encroaching sob. "Mikel was right. He suspected HYDRA was lurking about like a cancer in the shadows. Just because that deformed freak leading HYDRA back in the forties was killed by Captain Rodgers doesn't mean an entire organization is just going to dismantle and call it quits." She watched the agent -no, HYDRA operative- clench his jaw and get up. "What's that saying? Cut off one head, and more will grow back in its place?"

As Brock got dressed, his heavy eyes settled on his custom SIG-Sauer P226. He was starting to tear up. Seriously? He reached for the pistol and with a flick of his thumb, took it off safety. The gun cocking shattered the gut-wrenching silence in the air. "Yeah…something like that."

Syra continued. "That's why Mikel hated you so much. He knew you were HYDRA…he just couldn't prove it."

The man slowly turned around to see saddened jade green eyes unblinking on him. She hadn't moved where he left her, stretched out on the couch. Brock raised his gun and centered the sites on that beautiful face. The last time he saw her similar to this, she was afraid and crying from a panic attack at the academy range. Now it was different. There was no fear in those eyes nor was she shaking from a panic attack.

Those eyes…

In those endless seconds that felt as though time had stopped, Brock realized something about himself. He wasn't hesitant when he pulled the trigger on Winslow. He wasn't hesitant pulling the trigger on all the SHIELD agents he offed under HYDRA's orders. He didn't even falter in pulling the trigger that day at the firing range teaching this same cadet to overcome her fear, either. So why was now different? Because Winslow and those SHIELD agents weren't a product of his creation like this girl was. In the two weeks they had been exposed to the other he had made her stronger just as she had become his weakness.

The knuckles of Brock's hands shined in the dimly lit apartment, but his finger was feather soft around the trigger. Then his aim fell. His expression was contorted with inner turmoil and regret. "You're a damn parasite, you know that?" He secured his pistol and stormed out of the apartment. The door was slammed so hard it rattled the wall.

Syra blinked in wordless shock. A parasite? Where the hell did that come from?