Team Zero Series 1-3 Boxed Set

by Rina Kent

  7

  Ghost

  Time to become Ghost.

  I jump from the window of an abandoned building and sprint in the shadows of the alleys. My hood is zipped up, and my face is partially hidden.

  The wiser option would’ve been to send one of the men to spy on Firefly and her gang. But I needed to see the meeting for myself.

  I’m still contemplating dragging her out and ordering her that there will be no more spying for President Joe.

  She’s most likely indebted to him. That’s the only reason why a fireball like her would accept doing this.

  If she’s doing this out of necessity, then it isn’t right to use her. Only I don’t give a fuck about right or wrong now. Taking care of this whole mess means getting my team back in one piece – and hopefully one soul.

  Hawk’s roars still echo in my ears. The more I delay the inevitable, the closer he will descend into madness.

  I stop at the corner that leads to the pub. There’s no one around. Maybe President Joe’s people made sure to secure the area.

  My eyes dart to the roofs. Behind and all around me. Nothing suspicious. There are rarely snipers in the UK in the first place, but I can’t quit the habit. They were a pain in the arse during Middle Eastern operations.

  As for President Joe, he doesn’t fight when there’s no need. Even though he’s a class one arsehole who uses fourteen-year-olds to sell powder.

  That rubbish is off the table in my district. The old man in prison, Owen, used the teenagers, but I kicked them out as soon as I took over.

  President Joe’s biggest weakness is his insatiable greed. If he finds out there’s a new factory up and running, he would want to get his hands on it. While he’s no man of violence, he would start a war for the factory.

  That’s the last thing I want.

  A war means men being knifed to death in the middle of the night. A war means putting the girls’ lives in danger. I haven’t come here to harvest more lives.

  What I’m looking for is option B. If President Joe couldn’t get a share of the factory, he would destroy it.

  Shadow already strengthened the security around the factory so there wouldn’t be any stealing. Now, I need to provoke President Joe to take the second option.

  Enter his spies.

  Usually, they’re hard to find. Probably because he would rather watch from afar.

  Until Elle. She reeks with Johnny’s and President Joe’s plays and she’s as suspicious as they can get.

  Her bag holds a sample of the new stuff. As soon as President Joe or Johnny see it, they will want more.

  Since Elle is a lot smarter than she lets on, she must’ve caught the meaning behind Mist’s words. A new factory is a new fucking apocalypse in this place.

  I lean against the wall of the closed pub, casting glances around. No one. Only the late afternoon sun and the smell of waste and vomit.

  All I have to do is confirm that the transaction went well.

  A muffled sound causes my ears to prickle. A female groan. I tiptoe to the window, hand slipping in my waistband for my gun with a suppressor.

  Two huge men hold a woman on the ground. One clutches her wrists and the other pins her ankles down. The scarred freak Johnny has his trousers unbuckled and is lowering himself towards her.

  The woman thrashes, twisting and wiggling as if possessed.

  Then, those bright, blue eyes that keep barging in my mind uninvited, come into view.

  Firefly.

  Drops of blood drip in my head. The need to kill mixes with an unfamiliar feeling and shoots through my veins. The mere thought of those fuckers putting their hands on her causes my pulse to spike with one need: kill.

  The urge to kill for someone else is a first for me. Even when I was Omega’s puppet.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  For once, I don’t try to shake those drops of blood from my head. Red shrouds my vision, and it’s the right fucking colour.

  I point my gun through a crack in the window when Elle twists out of one of the buff men’s hands. She rebounds and leaps into a defensive position with an athletic bend.

  Blood streams down her cheeks, but she pays it no attention. Her back heel lifts slightly off the ground and she starts rolling with fluid grace. Her fists are tucked underneath her eyes, ready to pounce.

  A professional stance.

  It’s clear she’s done that before. Multiple times.

  She blocks the arsehole I was going to shoot and goes with an uppercut, but the other man slams her face against the wall. He gets my first bullet. Straight to the back of his head. He falls on the floor as meat.

  I’m supposed to feel peaceful after a kill. That’s why I kill under Omega’s influence in the first place, but right now? Rage is all what fills my veins.

  Elle is on her knees, shaking her head as blood drips from her nose to the ground. Then she collapses. Johnny grabs the waist of his trousers with one hand as he and the other bastard pull out their guns. I fire another bullet in the other man’s heart, or I think I do. I missed by an inch because I’ve been watching signs of life from Elle.

  The bullet hits the bulky man’s shoulder. Blood drips down his chest. He meets my gaze and his eyes widen, in horror or surprise, I can’t tell, but he recognises me. I have no time to finish him off. He staggers and flees from the backdoor. Fuck. A witness.

  My mind jumbles with options. I must follow and kill him. Leaving no traces behind is the reason Team Zero is highly efficient. But if I do, Elle will be alone and unconscious with Johnny.

  Not an option.

  Johnny squeaks like the pussy he is. His hand with the gun shakes as he aims towards the window — but I already left.

  I slip through the back door and point the gun at Johnny’s nape.

  He jolts and raises his hands in the air. His gun clinks to the floor. “P-please don’t kill me.”

  The urge to do just that and end the scum’s life once and for fucking all darkens my vision. He dared to touch Elle, not once, but twice. In front of my fucking eyes.

  “President Joe will avenge me,” Johnny mumbles. “You just started a fucking war, Ghost. Those were two of his most trusted men.”

  The shroud of red dissipates progressively. I came here to prevent a war and I just triggered it.

  Fuck.

  Elle is on the ground, unconscious. Her nose is bleeding and her lips are swollen. Because of this bastard. And yet, I can’t kill him because he’s President Joe’s right hand and the witness must be running to him with the news now. Any reckless move on Johnny and I’ll endanger the girls in Le Salon.

  The entire district, for that matter.

  I clutch Johnny’s shoulder and turn him around so hard, he releases another squeaky sound. “Why the hell would you do that to her?” I motion at Elle.

  “Why else? She’s the bitch who kicked me in the dick.” He snarls despite his reddening face. “Fucking twice!”

  I grab his broken wrist and squeeze through the cast until he releases a hiss of pain. “Nothing more?”

  He grunts. “Aside from wanting to fucking break her neck, nothing.”

  “Listen well.” I twist his wrist until a pop sounds. He screams. “That girl is under my protection now. Touch her again and it won’t be just a kick to your dick. Understand?”

  He nods frantically, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

  When I let him go, he runs to the exit. Once he’s at the threshold, he shouts over his shoulder. “You still got yourself a fucking war, Ghost. Hold on to your bitch while you can!”

  Kill.

  Kill.

  Kill him.

  I inhale deep and suppress the urge. One day, I will, but not now. Too many fucking things at stake.

  Johnny may be a pussy, but he has power. A power he gained by building an army of teenage thugs and drug dealers and keeping the organisation afloat while President Joe was away. He’s also the first in command, so h
e’s off the table.

  For now.

  With a resigned sigh, I turn towards Elle’s unconscious body and her bleeding face. The compulsion to run after Johnny and finish his fucking life almost overwhelms me.

  It’s a miracle that I manage to tuck my gun away and wrap my arm around her shoulders. Her fist swings my way. Since her eyes are closed, her strike is weak and unfocused, but she still tries to punch me.

  Fucking hell. This woman is really a fighter.

  I squeeze the soft spot in her carotid artery. Choke-outs are convenient in times like these. Not long after, she falls limp. Her head lolls on my chest and her breathing evens out.

  Now that she angered Johnny, he’ll be coming back for her. Even if it takes everything he has. His ego is bigger than President Joe’s greed.

  Stupid people who also happen to be arrogant are dangerous. Her life is now at stake.

  I remove a strand of hair from her face. I’ve always been neutral about blood or drawn to it due to Omega. But the blood marring her cheeks and nose is the most disgusting view I’ve seen.

  I place my hand under her legs and the other behind her back. She fits so perfectly in my arms like she always needed to belong here.

  Which is so damn wrong.

  I don’t give two fucks about women. Yet, I just started a war for this one.

  Would I do it again?

  Absolutely.

  8

  Elle

  My temple throbs. A groan rips from the back of my throat as I crack my eyes open. A dim-lit room comes into view and it smells of... masculine scent? It should be the usual rosy perfume Scar bathes the room with.

  Where am I? Have I been beaten up in a fight or something?

  Flashes of those pigs restraining me stab my pounding head. Thick fingers crawl on my arms like insects. Someone detains me, banging my head against the wall, attempting to –

  I jerk up, my fists clenching in a defensive position in front of my face. No one comes in sight. No Johnny or his buff men.

  My lower lip feels swollen and puffy and my nose is partially clogged. I can hardly breathe.

  Those arseholes did a number on me.

  I massage my aching head and try to remember what happened after I kicked Johnny. One of his men banged my head against the wall, and then it was black.

  I wince as my temples pulse.

  No. Not entirely black. Someone tried to take me, and I punched him and then...

  Nothing.

  I remember absolutely nothing. Except for... relief. I felt safe when he carried me. That’s weird. That was a red light situation. Why would I feel relaxed enough to pass out?

  My fingers shake, and I clasp them together in my lap. Dammit. I’m strong. No small incident such as that should faze me.

  And yet, tears form in my eyes. If that person hadn’t come, I would be in a worse situation. No matter how tough I am, I can’t take three men. Two of them were a lot bigger than me.

  I wipe my eyes with jerky hands. I hate myself for letting someone else save me.

  It eats at every part of me to be that exposed to anyone. Who was it anyway?

  My gaze flickers around the room. It’s basic or more prison-like, actually. Grey walls surround me, casting a gloomy hue, even with the light coming from the tall French window. I assume it has to do with the thick curtain flapping inside. The large bed I’m sitting on is the only notable furniture – but it also has grey sheets. Another grey item – a metal wardrobe rests on the side.

  Whoever this person is, they must be too gloomy for words.

  I take note of myself. Instead of the half-torn dress, I’m in shorts and a T-shirt.

  My body stiffens.

  Who the hell changed my clothes?

  “Cupcake?”

  I flinch backwards, my back hitting the bedpost.

  A shadow passes behind the window before a man jumps inside. He flings the curtains open, and I wince at the blinding light. It’s Shadow. This means I’m back at Le Salon.

  Is he the one who saved me?

  Shadow is agile, tall, and bulkier than Kyle. He’s handsome, if we’re talking about the whole dark-blond-bedroom-hair-and-strong-jawline-bad-boy handsome. But for some reason, he never triggered my anxiety around attractive men. Probably because of the striking contradiction in the grey of his eyes. He always appears mischievous, but the eerie danger in his gaze pushes me away. I’m more wary than suspicious of him.

  He’s wearing dark jeans and a white T-shirt. His arms are fully inked with sleeve tattoos. I squint. It’s the first time I’ve gotten a close look at his ink. Colourful Chinese tigers fall over his biceps and down across his forearms. They’re snarling at each other. The details are so intricate, it’s as if they’re picking a fight with me.

  “Cupcake?” Shadow repeats, holding a cupcake in his hand.

  I startle, realising I’ve been gawking. Shadow is watching me with undivided attention, too.

  “No, thanks.” I’m in no mood to eat. “Where is this place?”

  Shadow drags a chair, but instead of sitting like normal humans, he crouches above it and takes a bite of his cupcake. “The building in Le Salon’s back-garden.”

  “You mean the rubbish, haunted-looking storehouse?”

  “Hey there, doll.” He scowls. “Don’t be fucking rude.”

  I scrunch my nose.

  “Pardon my Spanish,” he says.

  “You mean pardon my French?”

  “Same thing, doll. Both are foreign languages.” He continues chewing on his cupcake, eyes shining with a strange dark grey gleam. I’ve often seen Shadow around Julian, but I’ve never interacted with him. I’ve been avoiding Julian, and as a result, Shadow, too.

  “Are you the one who saved me?” My skin prickles. Even though my head is a pounding mess, my voice raises. “Did you and Mist send me out there to kill me and now, you’re playing saviours?”

  “It was...” He hums while nibbling on his cupcake, seeming not the least bit fazed by my outburst. “A misunderstanding? We thought you were on Johnny’s team.”

  “What?” I almost shout.

  “You know, Johnny, the one whose bollocks you kicked?” He grins a charming, boyish smile. “Nice, by the way.”

  “You think I was friends with someone who was harassing me?” I grit out. “What the hell is wrong with you people?”

  “Trust issues.” His grin widens as he jumps to his feet. “We don’t completely trust you.” His eyes darken and all humour disappears. He reaches out a hand, and I instinctively push backwards. My shoulder blades hit the bedpost, and the sound echoes around us. There’s some sort of a black energy thing radiating off him that causes my damn skin to crawl with unexplainable fear.

  Shadow’s finger connects with my forehead as if he’s marking me for Satan. “There’s something about you. Like I know you.”

  “You don’t.” I swat his finger away.

  “That’s why it’s strange.” He goes back to grinning like a class one playboy as if he didn’t just summon the devil. “You’re under our protection now.”

  What the hell is being under their protection supposed to mean? My head goes dizzy and the burning in my lip makes it even worse.

  “I don’t want to be under anyone’s protection.” I try to stand.

  Shadow places a hand on my shoulder and pushes me down. When I attempt to punch him, he forces me down. He’s still smiling, though.

  “I’m going back to my room,” I say.

  “No, you’re not.” The voice from the entrance causes me to jump.

  God. Once again, I didn’t even sense him come in, let alone approach me this close.

  Julian stands beside Shadow. He’s in that sloppy suit that he somehow manages to make appear rugged and drool-worthy. His black jacket is buttoned, outlining his broad shoulders and the strong curve of his waist. The cuff of his shirt is rolled around the sleeve of the jacket.

  One wrist is bandaged as usual. A few more details of his ta
ttoos peek out, swirling around his wrist and ghosting to the back of his hand, but I can’t get a full image.

  If only he wore short sleeves like Shadow.

  I clamp my lips shut because I’ve been checking him out. Like really checking him the hell out. There’s definitely something wrong with me. I don’t do attraction, especially to men like Julian.

  He’s practically the fucking mafia, dammit. The mafia that took Zoe.

  Julian squints at Shadow’s hand on my shoulder. Heat rises to my cheeks. No idea why, but the sombre look in his eyes strikes a chord deep inside me. The need to wiggle free overwhelms me.

  Which is so damn stupid.

  There’s no reason why I wouldn’t want another man to touch me in Julian’s presence.

  “Mist is asking for you,” he says to Shadow, gaze still flickering to where his friend’s hand rests on my shoulder.

  Shadow rolls his eyes. Interesting. He and Mist along with the mysterious Ghost rule this place. But I’ve noticed that he doesn’t particularly like her. Good to know the redhead witch ticks off even her closest circle.

  Shadow gives me another glance over, like he’s trying to remember something, then he shakes his head and jumps out of the window.

  He’s weird, but somehow, he doesn’t strike me as the threatening weird. Just the level of strange I would expect in this place. But there’s also a lurking danger in him that I would rather not be on the receiving end of.

  Then, I realise, too late, that with Shadow leaving, it’s only me and Julian.

  Shit. I did everything in my might to not be alone with him.

  It’s cowardly, but I would rather be a coward than lose myself to him.

  A heavy, long silence pulses between us. Julian watches me with an unreadable expression that unnerves the hell out of me.

  The room becomes stuffy under his scrutinising gaze. My breathing deepens, and I become aware of the soft sheet beneath me, the tame masculine scent surrounding me, and my chipped nails clutch the sides of the pillow. Scar will kill me for ruining the French-manicured art she did for me.

  It’s unexplainable how Julian’s mere presence brings out these foreign sensations from within me. Even when I avoid him. Now that we’re all alone, my mind drifts to the last time we were one-on-one in a closed room.