Team Zero Series 1-3 Boxed Set

by Rina Kent

  That was my weakness when I first started fighting. I always wanted to take the offence first. Liam purged it out of me. Or tried to, anyway.

  This thug is simple. He aims his knife straight at my face. I duck to one side and use our height difference to kick him in the crotch. Instead of connecting with his flesh, he catches my striking leg and yanks me towards him with brute force. I lose balance and fall on my back. The impact reverberates through my bones.

  That hurts!

  I catch Hayley’s tears as she crouches against the wall. What is she still doing here? She should run.

  The man hangs over me, an evil grin on his face as he points the blade at me. “You should’ve minded yer own business, babe. Don’t ye know who I am? Ye dare messin’ with the Great Johnny?” He brings the knife closer to my face. “How about I screw up that pretty little face of yours to teach ya a lesson?”

  Heavy breaths leave my lungs as I stare at the knife’s edge. If I’m going to live in the world of monsters, I need to get used to this. It’ll be everyday life from now on.

  I bend my knees, ready to nut him when a tattooed hand clutches the man’s wrist. The newcomer’s deep brown eyes connect with mine. I’m momentarily transfixed by the golden ring surrounding them. That’s such a rare colour. What’s rarer is the mixed feelings they give. Calmness and danger. Wise and reckless.

  “Now,” the tattooed newcomer says in a low, deep voice, then twists Johnny’s wrist. The knife clatters on the ground. “Don’t go wielding these toys carelessly.”

  Johnny’s face contorts in pain as the tattooed man keeps a firm hold on his wrist. I use the chance to kick Johnny in the crotch. He staggers and falls backwards, writhing in pain.

  The newcomer lets go of Johnny and offers me his hand. He’s dressed in a pressed black suit and a white shirt. No tie. Now that I get a closer look at him, he’s a lot more striking than his piercing eyes or the tattoos peeking from underneath the cuffs of his shirt. His dark hair is short on the sides but long enough in the middle to be slicked back. The straight jawline and the masculine, defined features give him a sharp vibe. It’s so rare to see a groomed man with such intricate tattoos. They swirl around his wrists and extend to the back of his hands.

  Uneasiness whirls through me.

  Good-looking men always make me nervous. I haven’t quite learnt how to deal with them, so I treat them like a kindergarten kid would treat his crush.

  I ignore his hand and jump up to a standing position. Hoping my embarrassment doesn’t show, I lower my head and dust the dirt off my jeans and hoodie.

  The stranger retrieves his hand and walks over to Hayley. Although still shaking, she takes his palm and stands on unsteady feet.

  I run towards her and snatch her to my side — stronger than intended. I give the stranger a ‘back off’ glare and whisper to Hayley, “Let’s go.”

  She’s still quivering, so I rub her arm awkwardly. If only I was efficient at the comforting thing. Zoe is a lot better than me. I’ll have to take Hayley back to her parents before going to my appointment with Mist.

  I hasten my way out of the alley and back to the restaurant. A part of me itches to glance behind. One more look at the tattooed stranger. At the mysterious intensity in his eyes. Yet, I shoo the thought away.

  I have no time to get up caught with strikingly handsome strangers.

  “Hey, Firefly.” The deep rumble of his voice rings behind me. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “I won’t thank you,” I say, still walking away from him. “I could’ve handled that wanker on my own.”

  “Wait.”

  I don’t.

  Still, I catch a glimpse of his tilted head in my peripheral vision. Like he’s working out a puzzle. Then, his lips twitch in a smile. Or what resembles a smile. It’s so striking that my lips part.

  I gulp and practically push Hayley through the restaurant’s back door.

  My shoulders sag in relief once we’re inside. My fingers ghost to my bracelet and connect with flesh.

  What the...?

  I frantically check my wrist. The bracelet, my last momento from Zoe, is gone.

  2

  Ghost

  Are fireflies supposed to be this spicy?

  I stare between the bracelet I found on the ground and where its possible owner just fled into the restaurant.

  The silver chain holds a firefly with some yellow jewel underneath its wings.

  I asked the woman to wait, but apparently, the restaurant was a lot more interesting.

  Or perhaps she was running away from me.

  I fail to notice how scary I can come off sometimes.

  Even after shedding the usual hood and stepping into comfortable-looking clothes. I’m starting to think it has less to do with my clothes and more to do with me.

  “Hey, Ghost!” Shadow jumps from a window on the ground floor of an abandoned building across the street and reaches me in a few strides. No idea what the hell he was doing there, but then again, Shadow prefers windows even if the front door is secure.

  He runs a hand through his blond hair and dusts off his white T-shirt. Colourful Chinese tiger tattoos cover his arms. They’re snarling, just like the wild side of the man wearing them. A wide grin stretches his lips as he hooks his thumb towards the corner. “The cockroach went that way.”

  I cast one last glance at the restaurant’s back entrance and slip the bracelet into my pocket.

  It’s not my habit to keep something that doesn’t belong to me, but if Firefly wants her bracelet back, then she’ll need to come get it.

  The thought of seeing those fired up blue eyes again causes my lips to twitch.

  “Did you just smile?” Shadow considers me with wide eyes. The man witnessed and committed countless murders but never appeared so shocked.

  “What’s wrong with that?” I say as we quicken our pace after our guy. He wouldn’t have gotten far.

  “You never smile. Stop doing it. That look will haunt me in my daydreams.”

  “You mean nightmares?”

  “Same thing, mate.” He sprints ahead and rounds the corner.

  When I catch up to him, Shadow already has Johnny by the collar and pinned against the bricks of an old building. This alley is a darker than the other one. There’s more rubbish and a stronger smell of waste, but it doesn’t bother me.

  We’ve been thrown in worse places than this. After a few years, it just becomes... normal.

  No idea what that says about us.

  A shaft of sun slips through the buildings, highlighting the crazed look in Shadow’s steel grey eyes. The expression of a killer.

  I dash towards him, my shoulders becoming rigid.

  Must be the remnants of the Omega drug messing with his brain.

  “Back off,” I say when I’m at arm’s reach. Johnny’s bulging gaze meets mine with a plea. His body is shaking, and he looks like he’s about to piss his trousers.

  Serves him fucking right. He should experience what it feels like to be cornered by someone stronger than him.

  But he doesn’t deserve death. We’ve killed enough for a lifetime.

  Judging by the iron fist Shadow is keeping around Johnny’s neck, he’ll snap it in a few seconds.

  “I said. Back the fuck off,” I grit out. When he tightens his hold on Johnny, I clutch Shadow’s arm and shove him back. My friend throws a punch my way. I stare at him in the eye, unblinking and unmoving.

  Shadow is an underground boxer. His punch is no joke, but I’m ready to take that if it will snap him out of his kill mode.

  His fist freezes inches away from my face. Shadow blinks, and the robotic look slowly withers away. Colour returns to his cheeks. With a long sigh, he lowers his arm and steps back. “Fuck. My bad.”

  “It’s Omega’s bad,” I say

  If we hadn’t been forced to take that poisonous drug since our early teens, we wouldn’t have become killing machines who only understand the language of blood and violence. />
  My eyes zero in on Johnny who has been trying to crawl away. He freezes and puts his hands in the air. “I swear I didn’t do anything. C-come on, we have a truce so –”

  “Shut the fuck up, cockroach.” Shadow massages his temples. Withdrawal symptoms. They will soon kick in for me, too. “One more word and I will rip your tongue out.”

  Johnny thins his lips in a line but gulps audibly.

  I crouch in front of him and hold the wrist I almost broke earlier. My tone comes out calm as I squeeze. “Does it hurt?”

  Johnny’s face twists in pain, but he shakes his head frantically.

  “Relay a message to President Joe, that is if he still listens to you.” I keep the pressure on his wrist until his face reddens and the scar turns an ugly faded white. “If one of you steps into our territory again to sell those filthy drugs or harasses the girls at Le Salon, I will burn his whole firm down.” I smile. “Understand?”

  His head bobs up and down. The fear in his eyes and the trembling in his body calls to the unhinged part of me. My vision shrouds in red as if a dose of Omega has been shot through my veins.

  Dots of blood splash in my mind.

  Kill.

  You’re worth nothing if you don’t kill.

  I close my eyes and grit my teeth. The urge, the compulsion to spill blood is so strong. More drips of blood splash behind my lids.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  I’m not that person.

  Not anymore.

  I’m done being Omega’s marionette.

  I’m done watching people I consider family die.

  My lids snap open, and the red retreats from my vision.

  Johnny’s fearful gaze meets mine, but he’s alive.

  I fought Omega’s hypnosis.

  Even partially.

  I flick my wrist, and bones crack under my fingers.

  Johnny howls in pain. Shadow smirks, still massaging his temples.

  “That’s to remind you to keep your hands to yourself.” I drop his limp wrist and stand up.

  We have to return to Le Salon before this gets worse. I won’t be able to control Shadow’s urges if I can’t handle my own.

  Shadow staggers on our way out of the slums. I’m about to reach out and steady him, but he hates that.

  We’re all fighting in our own way. There’s no room to pity one another.

  “Are we drinking tonight?” he asks once we’re inside my car. “Alcohol is the only thing that will keep my head from ringing like a fucking ambulance.”

  “It’s Kyle’s birthday.” I weave into the main street. “He’s hosting a private party in the club.”

  “Thank fuck.” Shadow’s lips twitch. “Kyle is a lucky twat to know his age and even his birth date.”

  We don’t because one of Omega’s side effects is retrograde amnesia. We hardly remember anything from our lives prior to being kidnapped into The Pit and made into killing machines.

  I remember a few patches about meeting Shadow. We were maybe ten or eleven, and he was being beaten up by older thugs. Despite his big boxing body now, Shadow used to be a scrawny kid. I couldn’t stay put and threw a rock at the thugs. Shadow and I were then beaten together. Mist saved our arses by shouting police!

  She’s always been the smartest amongst us.

  The three of us have been a team since that day. That’s one of the few memories I have before Omega.

  “It’s nice to have the little fucker as a way to count our age, though,” Shadow continues. “How old is he this year?”

  “Twenty four.”

  He scratches his head as if in deep thought. “He was taken in when he was what? Six?”

  “Five.” My lips pull in disgust at the state he arrived in. Kyle was small and a crybaby and shouldn’t have been taken that young.

  “You became his mentor back when we were about seventeen? So now, we’re probably thirty-five or thirty-six. The witch Mist is a lot older, though.”

  “No, she’s not.” I shake my head. Shadow makes it his job to irritate the hell out of Mist.

  “Wait a fucking minute.” His eyes widen. “Does this mean we’re approaching the coming of age crisis?”

  “You mean midlife crisis?”

  Shadow furrows his brows. “Same bloody thing.”

  “No, it’s not.” But since he’s mixing idioms again, it seems that he’s better. No severe withdrawal symptoms. My shoulders relax.

  The phone vibrates. A glance at the device, and my body goes rigid all over again.

  Hades. The head of The Pit and our fucking hell.

  All smiles vanish from Shadow’s face, too, as I click the in-ear piece.

  “Ghost.” Hades’ cool, posh tone filters through the line. I can almost imagine him lighting his cigar and leaning back in his office’s brown leather chair. “Keep the firm up and running for a few more months. There have been complications. My friend will take some time to return.”

  My grip tightens around the steering wheel. His friend, and one of his partners, Owen Green, is a scum who’s been caught by the police but needs his drug and illegal business sailing even while he’s behind bars.

  A sum of money to Hades was all it took to send us over. He’d sell his and our souls to the devil for money.

  Actually, he already has.

  “Everything is well,” I say in the coolest tone I can manage.

  As if Hades doesn’t have spies at my back. But as long as they keep out of my closest circle, Hades will know nothing about our plan.

  “A new factory will open soon.”

  I freeze. Fuck. I managed to get a tip to the Met Police and exposed the previous factory to avoid huge drug distribution in my district. I expected Hades and his partners to come back with a new factory, but I thought I had more time. How the hell did they manage this in less than two months?

  “I expect the revenues to double by the end of the upcoming month,” Hades continues. “I’m keeping the rest of your colleagues as a guarantee.”

  “But—”

  The line goes dead.

  The only reason Hades calls is to give orders. Others’ opinions don’t matter.

  I draw the car to a screeching halt. I punch the steering wheel with so much force, pain shoots through my knuckles.

  “Mate!” Shadow clutches my shoulder. “What the fuck does he want now?”

  “Double revenue. Meaning double drug production and double sales.”

  “Bloody hell. I can’t believe he got a new factory up and running so fast.” Shadow squints. “Can’t we destroy it?”

  “Negative.” I form a steeple at my chin. “We released the tip about the old factory less than two months ago. If we repeat it, Hades will know for sure that this is an inside job. He’s testing us with this. We need to double the revenue for now and think of a way to make the new factory disappear.”

  Shadow leans back against the leather. “We’re fucking assassins, not the mafia. We shouldn’t be doing any of this.”

  “Once we’re off Omega and everyone is out, we will burn this whole place down.”

  Until then, we’re stuck in Hades’ hell.

  Shadow and I settle in Mist’s office in Le Salon. The soft red light highlights the vintage wallpaper and sixties’ style lounge area.

  It’s our base for strategizing. No listening devices and no cameras.

  Mist saunters from behind her desk to sit opposite us. She’s wearing a tight, long-sleeved black dress and red heels that match the colour of her tied hair and nails.

  And blood.

  Mist’s hair always reminds me of blood. Which isn’t good in my attempt to fight off Omega’s effects.

  “Being the madam of this place is tiring.” She massages her neck. “Those girls bicker the entire time. I even have to interview a new one in a few.”

  Shadow heads to the cabinet and pours us scotch. He offers each of us a glass before he takes his and sits down. His sarcastic tone is in full bloom whe
n he addresses Mist. “Do they call you Mum yet? Or are you probably as old as their grandmother?”

  “Shut up, filth.” Mist throws him a dirty look. “Don’t pollute my space with your voice.”

  “Burn.” Flame’s dark ginger head peeks from behind the sofa. He’s probably been sleeping there the entire time. That’s his way of fighting Omega. He meets my gaze, his eyes are a glassy, pale blue. “Can I burn something?”

  “Not today, Flame.” I sip my scotch.

  Disappointment flickers across his face. “I sent you some stock profit.”

  “Got it,” I say. He’s a genius with numbers and hacking into shady bank accounts. It helps to maximise profit by stealing from other trafficking organisations. He just has to do it in small doses to not alert Hades or make enemies from other mafias around the world. So, we can’t meet Hades’ double revenue unless the new factory starts producing.

  That’s the last thing I want to do. I down half the glass of scotch.

  Flame disappears behind the sofa. “Night, then.”

  “Come drink with us, you daft!” Shadow calls, but Flame doesn’t even stir.

  Mist’s eyes glaze as she sips from her glass. “Diablo loved drinking. Remember when he spent months in Scotland just to convince an old man to sell him his rare scotch?”

  My chest tightens as I empty my drink. Diablo was a part of my family, but Omega took him away.

  “Team Zero isn’t the same without him.” Shadow raises his glass. “To Diablo. Rest in peace, motherfucker.”

  “To Diablo.” Mist and I echo.

  Team Zero are the founding members of The Pit. We started as fifty teenagers. Omega killed thirty-eight. Those of us who survived trained the second generation and remained as Hades’ demons for decades.

  Then, Diablo died without any symptoms. He was drinking with us and then, he dropped dead. After I investigated, it turns out that Omega destroyed him from within like stage five cancer.

  It was a wakeup call to Team Zero. Or at least the five of us.