by Rina Kent
Beside her, a darker-skinned woman in a beautiful tulle gown sniffles and half-hides behind Mist.
The madam hisses something in the man’s ear and his face turns ten shades redder. She lets him go and says in a cool tone, “One more strike and you’ll be banned from Le Salon, Mr Jacobs.”
He stumbles away, massaging his wrist.
Whoa. That’s so cool. I don’t care if she’s the madam or the leader of an illegal organisation, but if she protects the girls then she’s a hero.
Having grown up in the dirtiest of places, Elle and I are no strangers to the scene of madams and prostitutes, but they usually treat their girls as a business, nothing more.
Mist’s hawk eyes zero on me and their deep hazel is striking against the crimson red hair. “Yes?”
I straighten my posture. “I’m Zoe and I’m to start working today.”
I thought about using another name, but that will give me away for sure since I don’t respond to other names. However, I changed my last name and got a fake ID to go with it. Liam managed to hide my police track records, so they shouldn’t find anything suspicious. I’m only an orphan who bounced from one foster home to another.
“Right.” Mist measures me up and down. “Natalie was supposed to take you on a tour.” She faces the still crying girl — who I assume is Natalie — and her tone softens. “You can take the night off.”
Natalie sniffles and shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll freshen up and then return.”
She walks to the stairs that must lead to the third floor.
Mist keeps watching Natalie until the girl disappears upstairs. She faces me and gives one hard, but not harsh, look over. “You can wait for her downstairs.”
Then she disappears behind a door.
I go back to the Victorian-styled bar and slide onto one of the stools. Partying isn’t new to me. It made me forget things. Elle has always been an unwilling accomplice and barely went with me, though.
Le Salon is a million times different from my usual clubs. It’s elegant and the men here are groomed and put together. I prefer someone ruggedly handsome like that boxer from yesterday.
I shake my head. While I like his looks, his darkness and arrogance are a major turnoff and he brings serious flashbacks from the monster in my childhood.
Besides, I was out of that game since my freshman year when my then boyfriend Nick told me I’m not normal. I’d rather stay celibate than be judged for my preferences.
You’re fucked up, Zoe. You should do some counselling. No woman in her right mind would want that.
Sometimes, I can’t help thinking he’s right.
I push the haze away and order a martini — only because they don’t have coffee here unlike they do in pubs. Coffee relaxes me more than alcohol.
I take my first sip when heat radiates down my back. Warm breaths tickle my ear before a dark voice murmurs, “Stalking me, beautiful?”
Chapter Four
I never thought trouble would come to find me. I’m the one who crashes into it head first.
But here she is. Right under my fucking roof.
The woman who almost made my guard impotent is staring at me with huge green eyes. I would’ve called them jade or emerald or some fucking cliché, but they’re not. It’s like they didn’t know whether to be blue or green and settled on an imperfect, nagging colour I can’t even describe.
Fucking annoying.
I can, however, imagine those same eyes staring up at me while little miss trouble has those full red lips wrapped around my cock.
Only… the headache isn’t worth it.
From that encounter yesterday, it’s clear that she has an attitude that doesn’t interest me. I prefer my women bound and fucking silent. Unless they’re screaming.
And yet…
My gaze rakes over her. The tight dress – that would look better on the floor – hugs her full tits and gives her long legs more leverage. It almost rivals the leather dress from yesterday.
Nah. I preferred how she struggled to stop her tits from spilling.
The moment I caught sight of her sauntering to the bar, I couldn’t fucking look away. Must be the red lips. They’re so much like blood.
Little miss trouble stares at me as if I’m a ghost. It’s close enough.
“So?” I repeat when she says nothing. “Are you stalking me?”
She reverts her gaze to take a sip of her martini as if I don’t exist. “In your dreams, mister.”
There. The reason why I didn’t stay away even though she’s incompatible.
Women are usually willing – if they’re into what I propose. Even if they play hard to get, they don’t attack me head on. It’s been a damn long time since I’ve been with a woman, though, so maybe I’m losing track of things.
Unlike the others, little miss trouble has no fucks to give. She even flipped me off. It takes a lot of balls to do that. I’m sure she’ll change her attitude once she knows who I am.
“I’m Shadow.” I slide on the stool beside her and place my arm on the counter.
“Uh… okay?”
“You don’t know me, do you?”
“Should I?” She flips her hair back. Its colour is as confusing as her eyes. It’s like it had fucking trouble at deciding whether to be blonde or grey so bam. Some grey-blonde shit as a compromise.
“Hmmm.” I let my eyes roam over her body before sliding back to her narrowed gaze. “You’re new in the area?”
She releases a feigned gasp. “Are you stalking me?”
“Believe me, beautiful. If I’m to stalk you, it would be more…” My voice drops a range. “Intense.”
Her lips part. She has this cupid bow shit that I would usually want to ruin just because.
I hate perfect fucking things.
And yet, on her, with those fuckable red lips, all I keep thinking about is shoving my dick between them.
“If you don’t want me to stalk you…” I tap the table in front of her. My hand is inches away from hers that’s clasped tightly around the drink. “Tell me your name.”
“I’ll pass.”
I glide my fingers towards hers, and she visibly pushes back. Hmmm. Interesting. “Is it a secret?”
She feigns a gasp again. “How did you know? It’s top secret.”
“I love secrets.” I grin. “Especially if they will come out of your mouth.”
A light shade of red colours her cheeks. She lowers her head before gulping down more martini.
Fucking hell.
Is she blushing? And here I thought nothing can faze little miss trouble.
An unhinged part of me springs to life. A part I’ve been trying to control and the reason why I don’t take women anymore.
The need to hurt.
To mark her skin red.
To see blood oozing against her pale flesh.
But that’s not me. That’s Omega’s drug that’s been in mine and my mates’ systems for two decades. That shit about losing control won’t be happening anymore.
Certainly not for a woman.
Lachlan strides towards me. He’s a big man, not bigger than me, but he’s fast and agile. He’s one of the youngest men we found in this organisation when we took over. Barely twenty-three. I don’t need an aid, but he kind of glued himself to me.
Maybe it has to do with how I saved his family from debts. His father has been struggling with cancer and treatment fees, and Lachlan became distracted at work. However, when he found out a source of embezzlement, he reported it back instead of indulging in stealing. I searched the reason behind his distress, found out what was wrong, and fixed it.
Loyalty is important to us.
Lachlan stops beside me, shoulders squared and hands crossed in front of him. His brown eyes – that almost turn black – are as stoic as they can get. One thing I keep telling the lad is to chill. He never fucking listens.
He says in a thick Scottish accent, “We ‘ave tae leave.” His gaze falls on miss trouble
and he stiffens.
I lean back on my stool, keeping one elbow on the counter, so I can watch the show live. I’m just missing some popcorn.
She meets his gaze and becomes rigid as well, then she laughs, but the sound forced. “Oh, hey there. You okay after last night?”
“I’ll be okay after I break yer neck.” Lachlan’s shoulders square.
“Come on. No need to be all butt hurt about it. I was only defending myself.” Miss trouble laughs again, and this time, I detect the nervousness behind it.
Interesting.
So she’s using that smart mouth of hers as a defence mechanism to not show weakness.
Lachlan grabs her by the arm. “We’re settling this outside.”
She twists her hand, but when Lachlan doesn’t let go, it’s as if someone hit a switch. Her face reddens. Those soft features contort into pure panic. Her pupils dilate and her chest rises and falls quickly with ragged breaths.
Lachlan doesn’t notice the change since he’s bent on dragging her out. Her attempts to get herself free become frantic and unfocused, and something tells me she’ll soon turn violent.
A panic attack? Why?
I stand and tap Lachlan’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
He’s about to argue but clamps his mouth shut. For once, I’m glad the lad doesn’t argue.
He’s giving miss trouble a fright, and for an unknown reason, I don’t fucking like it.
If anyone will give her a fright, it should be me.
Lachlan drops her hand. She falls on the stool and shrinks in it while inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. It’s as if she’s trying to control her reaction.
We start to walk towards the exit when Natalie walks to us with slumped shoulders. She bows her head upon seeing me and keeps her eyes downcast.
There. They’re afraid of me. Meaning they respect me and keep their distance.
Perfect.
“Natalie,” I say. “Do you need something?”
“I have to give her a tour.” She motions at miss trouble. “She’s a new waitress.”
Well. Well. Well.
She’ll be working for the organisation. Every day. All day. My mind goes rampant with endless possibilities.
I grin. “What’s her name?”
Miss trouble snaps her head and starts to stop Natalie, but the latter already says, “Zoe.”
I still prefer miss trouble, but I had to get the name out of the way.
I tap in front of her once. “Looks like I found out your secret, Zoe.”
A defiant glare meets me, and her lips press in a line like she’s seething inside.
I wink at her and leave with Lachlan.
Looks like my days have become a lot more fucking interesting.
Lachlan and I pass rows of production. Workers go about filling boxes like bees. It’s fitting that they’re all wearing plastic overalls and caps.
It’s a factory after all.
No. Not a normal one. Well, on the outside, it’s a legal beauty products’ factory, but on the inside, a good portion is dedicated to coke.
Where do I fit in all this? I run the fucking thing.
Or I run it for someone or what-the-bloody-hell-ever.
Worst part? I have no say in the matter.
I belong to the assassination organisation The Pit. Petty fucking name, if you ask me, but Hades, the founder, is hideous with street names. See mine for reference.
The Pit handles killing contracts and Hades takes a large share. The tale doesn’t end there. You think we all signed up willingly for this? We like being ordered around like dogs?
No, and fucking no.
I’m from the first generation, Hades trial and error generation, which he so fittingly named Team Zero. No shit. He’s that rubbish with names. He kidnapped fifty of us from the streets when we were children or early teens. He chose those of us who are orphaned, street urchins, and absolute nobodies that no one will miss.
One would think it’s over with the whole kidnapping, but fucking nope. See, Hades and his partners are fucked up. He had this ingenious idea of building an army of killers to serve under his command. He injected us with the drug Omega so we’d become his loyal servants.
That drug is the fucking devil. Not only do we barely have any memories from the years before our kidnapping, but it also erased our bloody humanity. Scratch. None. We were only designed to kill.
We only know blood. Its absence confuses us.
To Hades’ bloody doom, things didn’t go well. Out of fifty subjects, only twelve survived. Since then, we do Hades’ bidding because Omega’s withdrawal is a fucking bitch. No shit. It’s the worse bitch anyone can come across. Imagine having a few naked, green, disgusting bitches who appear like some elf terrorists hitting your brain with an axe over and fucking over again.
That’s how bad it is when on withdrawal. At least for me.
No Team Zero member would want to go through that torture.
Only, well, fuck Hades. One of our mates, Diablo died from that poison a month or so ago because Omega eventually destroyed his organs like bloody stage five cancer with no symptoms.
I don’t know about everyone else, but that won’t be my end.
So when Ghost suggested we start detoxing. I was all for it. Only, well, Ghost doesn’t need to find out about this, but I’m not so diligent about detoxing as he is.
Green, naked, disgusting elf bitches, remember? Those things hit so bloody hard, it feels like slow, agonising death. I have to take a dose now and again to not descend to insanity.
It’s all under control, though.
Hades dispatched five of Team Zero to run this mafia business on behalf of one of his partners who’s rotting in prison for tax fraud. And by a partner, it means a shareholder of The Pit, as in one of the rich, international fuckers who made us what we are.
We have to remain on Hades non-suspicious side until we completely detox because if he catches a breath of what we’re doing, we’re royally fucked. Like chained to a basement in The Pit and tortured, kind of fucked.
Lachlan stays to supervise the production while I saunter to the back to my office.
It’s a white room with a desk, a sofa; and a few scattered chairs. The overly white décor brings back flashbacks from The Pit where we used to be trained and injected with Omega.
Many of Team Zero view The Pit as our hell, I see it as a transition point.
My life in The Pit turned me from the weakling I was in the streets – beaten and stomped upon – to someone whom people think twice before even talking to.
Omega is fucking nasty, but if it makes everyone scared of me, then we’re cool.
Ghost and Mist sit on the sofa, each of them drinking alcohol from a short glass. Ghost is about my build, but he’s all dark hair and features. His sense of fashion takes the form of a sloppy suit that he thinks makes him more approachable. It doesn’t. He’s so serious and no-nonsense and everyone at Le Salon bows their heads upon seeing him.
The old hag Mist is crossing one leg over the other. Her posture is straight and pristine. Her dark red hair always sits in some twisted knot at the back of her head. Her nails are always red as if she needs the sight of blood close. Her appearance fits some snob high-class lady instead of a fucking killer.
“What are you doing here, old hag?” I throw my weight on the chair. “Shouldn’t you take care of your wrinkles?”
She cuts me with a dirty look. Her hazel eyes about to shoot fire the colour of her hair.
I grin. Getting on her nerves is my favourite hobby.
Mist, Ghost, and I go back from before The Pit, since we were street urchins. I don’t remember my age, but we’re probably in our mid-thirties. Mist is younger, but I like to spite her by calling her old.
“Shut it, filth,” she hisses.
There. Good sport.
“Will you ever stop being at each other’s throats?” Ghost stares at each of us like an old man scolding his children. He’
s the middle line between us. We would’ve killed each other a long time ago if it weren’t for him.
“No.” Mist and I say at the same time.
He shakes his head, like every time. It’s a mystery why he bothers anymore.
I guess he wants us as a unit like we were in the streets — starved children ganging up together. We were abandoned each in our own way.
At least I remember I was.
Can you believe they threw him in a rubbish can?
“How’s the production?” Ghost asks.
“We’re good.” I grab the bottle of scotch on the table, don’t bother with a glass, and drink straight from it. “We’ll meet Hades’ revenue rate, but we need to sabotage this. We can’t keep filling the streets with drugs.”
“Not now.” Mist slams her glass on the table. “He has the rest of Team Zero.”
Yeah. Did I mention that Hades is a fucking bastard? He holds the remaining of Team Zero’s members hostage to keep us ‘motivated’. His words, not mine.
My fists clench around the neck of the bottle. I want my mates out. All except for the one who knows my damn secret.
“We’ll get them out,” Ghost says. “We’ll have to think of a way to ruin the factory without Hades linking it back to us.”
“Police.” I grin. “We can use those puppets.”
Ghost nods. “Let’s give it some time so Hades won’t be suspicious.”
“President Joe heard about the factory.” Mist twirls a finger on the rim of her glass. “He wants to meet and negotiate.”
“And a share.” Ghost finishes.
“Yeah, not gonna fucking happen.” I drink leisurely. “He’s a slimy, greedy bastard and can sabotage us when we decide to run the tip to the police.”
“Let’s wait and see.” Ghost sounds thoughtful. “I don’t mind if it’s a small share. A gangster war is the last thing I want.”
“We’re not afraid of him or his little gangsters.” I meet his gaze. “We’re fucking killers.”
“I say we show a firm hand, too.” Mist nods.
Look at the old hag agreeing with me.
“We’re not killing for sport anymore.” Ghost glares at both of us. “Innocents are off the bloody table.”