Team Zero Series 1-3 Boxed Set

by Rina Kent

  But that’s none of my business. She slipped into my world and better be ready to bear the consequences.

  Shadow’s brows furrow. “Didn’t you say she kicked Johnny in the crotch? If they’re both from the same organisation, why would she fucking do that?”

  “To make me believe they’re not.” I place a hand in my pocket. “A spy we know about is always beneficial. We will feed her false information.”

  “Fucking brilliant.” Shadow grins. “You’re a fox in sheep’s clothing, mate.”

  “It’s a wolf, not a fox.” Mist rolls her eyes.

  “Same fucking thing.”

  “I’m not a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” I say. “I never pretended to be nice. She’s the one who came here out of her own will. President Joe needs to pay for that.”

  “Are we going against President Joe’s organisation?” Mist asks.

  “If we’re to double the revenue, we will have to.” President Joe was drooling over the previous. He only had a small share but still tried to save it from the Met Police. If he learns about the new factory, he will want a bigger share. He’s become relentless after his release from prison a couple of months ago. He’s a strong rival who’s been in this business for decades. The fact that his organisation continued to thrive while he was in prison says something.

  “What will we do about Hades?” Mist pulls me back from my thoughts

  “I will try to stall as much as possible, but when Hades says he expects results, he means that he needs results.”

  She hesitates for a beat. “What about the rest of our team?”

  “You mean Hawk.” Shadow mocks. “You don’t have to pretend you fucking care about all of them.”

  “It’s not like you care about anyone but your narcissistic self.”

  “I’m here for Ghost, not for your fucking hypocrisy, old hag.”

  Mist slowly cocks her head. Her eyes flicker to their robotic state and her shoulders tense. The position she takes when she kills.

  “I told you to stop calling me that,” she grits out.

  “What?” Shadow stands toe-to-toe with her. He draws out the words with a mocking tone. “Old hag?”

  She lunges at him, but I barge between them. Mist stops mid-strike, almost breathing fire through her nostrils.

  “Enough.” I grind my teeth. “We’re all here for the same reason. Why do you have to be at each other’s throats?”

  “Ask the old hag where she took her!” Shadow yells.

  “Instead of asking others questions,” Mist shouts back. “Why don’t you start asking yourself?”

  A throbbing starts at the back of my head. Withdrawal. Bloody hell.

  Mist and Shadow continue their back and forth.

  Dots of red drip in my head with a sickening continuity.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  My throat closes. I shut my eyes and breathe through my teeth. I stagger backwards and firm hands clutch my shoulders.

  “You all right, mate?” Shadow asks, brows furrowing.

  “Do you want us to lock you up?” Concern laces Mist’s tone.

  “I’m fine.” I pull free from under Shadow’s hand. “Go ahead, I will catch up.”

  Mist opens her mouth to say something, but I’m not listening. I stagger around the corner and stumble inside the men’s room. My stiff, sweaty fingers lock the door behind me.

  The room spins in a blinding, white light and other mismatched colours. Gutting pain snaps in my temples. It’s worse than being sliced open with a knife. And I know how that feels because I’ve been on the receiving end.

  Blood continues dripping in my head, even after I close my eyes. Sweat coats my skin as I clutch my head in my hands.

  But it won’t stop.

  The withdrawal pain gets worse whenever I reduce the dose of Omega I take.

  Blood continues dripping.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  The sound is worse than the excruciating pain. The only way to make it stop is to draw blood.

  I jam my fist at the wall. Shock reverberates through my knuckles.

  I don’t stop.

  I punch it again and again and again until blood covers my knuckles and paints the wall.

  Pain explodes in my fists. Pain is good. Pain means I’m not under Omega’s control. Pain means I can remember what I do. I can survive without ending other people’s lives.

  Even if it’s the last thing I do, I will get every Team Zero member off this poison. My life has no meaning beyond that. The ones who came with me already started going off it, but the others whom Hades is holding as hostages will need work.

  I’m panting by the end of my punching session. Blood drips from my knuckles to the tiled floor. The ache in my head doesn’t cripple me anymore.

  My forehead leans against the wall as I catch my breath. It’s over.

  For now.

  I didn’t have to cuff or lock myself up this time. I save that for when I take my minimised dose.

  After I wash my hands, I reach for one of the cabinets and bandage my knuckles. It’s sloppy and barely hides the wound. Once done, I head to the party. Or more like, sneak to the back of the spacious room in which Kyle is holding his birthday party.

  Deafening music fills the air, but the blue light is kept dim. In Kyle’s playboy style, he gathered all the girls around him. He even closed the club from business for his ‘epic’ birthday party.

  Warmth fills me as I watch him grown up and healthy. He used to be all bones and tears when he was five. The other kids in The Pit beat him to within an inch of his life. I barely managed to save him. Then, I kicked all that weakness out of his system. If he wanted to survive, he needed to be strong. If not the strongest.

  I was harsh and brutal with him. Even more than with the other disciples, because he was the weakest. Sometimes, I was under the influence of Omega, but Kyle understood why I trained him that way. He knew it was for his survival.

  Since then, he’s never left my side.

  He’s not Team Zero and therefore, he’s under no obligation to remain with Hades for Omega. Most second-generation assassins defected over the years, but Kyle stayed by my side and followed in my footsteps.

  When I was on Omega and didn’t remember a thing, he made it his mission to tell me everything that happened.

  People like me don’t deserve children, but I’ve been lucky enough to have Kyle consider me his father.

  He’s currently competing with Shadow at downing shots while the girls cheer them on.

  Mist is seated all alone at a back seat, head leaning against her fist as she watches all the girls like a hawk. She forgives anything except for the girls being harassed or forced to do something.

  I’m about to sit beside her when I catch sight of electric blue eyes.

  Firefly.

  She’s hanging onto Kyle’s arm and smiling up at him with bubbly excitement – similar to Scar’s.

  I squint. She lets go of Kyle to mix drinks with fluidity and ease, grinning from ear to ear. What is she planning now? With Kyle no less.

  Accepting her was a bad idea after all. I want her nowhere near Kyle. Or Shadow. Or any of the guards.

  Or myself, for that matter.

  She should’ve stayed the bloody hell away. Just by looking at her, at those cheeks tinted in crimson and those eyes gleaming with brightness, I want her close.

  I’m not supposed to want anyone close.

  Although a big part of me itches to drag her out of that circle, I stride to Mist and sit beside her. She offers me a drink, and I swallow half of it down. The burn of the scotch provides a much-needed comfort.

  I attempt to concentrate on the drink or Kyle’s obnoxious laugh or watch for signs of Shadow’s lethal withdrawal symptoms, but my gaze keeps flickering to Firefly.

  The gentle sway of her hips. The way she tactfully slips away from Kyle’s touch. The inquisitive way her eyes are searching the place
. Looking for what, I don’t know.

  Probably trouble.

  Her gaze meets mine, and she freezes. The bottle and the glass are suspended mid-air as those bright eyes fill with defiance.

  That gaze is so rare in my world. The fire. The challenge.

  I’m not touching her, but I can feel the pulse in her neck skyrocketing under my thumb. Those lips parting for me to slip my finger inside.

  My trousers strain.

  I fucking hate it. I don’t lust after suspicious women who could endanger my plans.

  And yet, our eyes remain locked. She purses her lips as if exasperated by this connection as much as I am.

  The moment ends when Kyle slips an arm around her waist. For an unexplainable reason, my mood darkens. The urge to go out there and yank her away almost overwhelms me.

  No idea if it’s to keep Kyle away or for something else.

  I rip my gaze away and focus on drinking with Mist in silence. Alcohol help in numbing the withdrawal symptoms. Mist isn’t touching her glass. She’s been lost in thought too often lately.

  After a while, Kyle saunters our way, carrying two shots. His eyes are starting to get bloodshot. “One shot for me, Godfather!”

  I take the drink and down it.

  Mist doesn’t accept hers. “My space is already dizzy. I need no alcohol to add to the chaos.”

  I stand, take the second shot, and clasp Kyle’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, brat.”

  “I’m not a brat anymore, stop treating me like a kid.” He smiles. His nose scrunches just like when he was a crybaby. “Wanna drink one-on-one later?”

  “Can’t. I have to sleep properly to chase Omega.”

  His face darkens, but then he grins. His eyes gleam with mischievousness. “Then, do ye wanna share my birthday presents?”

  I fall back next to Mist.

  “Come on.” Kyle hooks his thumb behind him. “Not even the new girl?”

  My gaze strays to Firefly who’s mixing drinks for Scar. “No.”

  Kyle waggles his eyebrows. “Why are you watching her, then?”

  “Because she’s suspicious.” I meet his stare. “Stay away from her.”

  He smiles, and the devil peeks from his eyes. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Kyle.” My voice holds a warning. Trust issues aren’t a game for me.

  “I’ll only back off if she’s yours.” His lips curve in that playful, devil’s advocate smile. “Other than that, she’s game.”

  He saunters back to a group of girls who cheer him on.

  I gulp down the rest of the glass and clench my fists to my side. Kyle knows full well I would never claim any woman under my fucking protection.

  He’s just provoking me.

  It’s not working.

  My phone vibrates. A message from Flame.

  Come over. Hades sent a video.

  My muscles lock, and Mist stiffens beside me. She must’ve seen the text.

  We spring to our feet at the same time. I practically drag Shadow by the neck. Kyle is too busy and drunk to be bothered.

  Shadow, Mist, and I jog to the office. Shadow closes the door behind us.

  Mist and I freeze in place. Even Flame isn’t lying around as usual. He stands beside me, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. On the screen, there’s a video of a white room. One of the rooms in The Pit.

  Inside it, Hawk is going berserk. He’s roaring and clawing at his shirt until it rips open. His nails dig into his bare skin and scratch it. Blood drips from his chest and fingers as he hits his head on the wall over and over. Guttural grunts fall from his lips. The sound is haunting and holds so much fucking pain.

  Hawk is the silent, broody type. Even when he’s shot, he hardly utters a sound. To see him writhing in pain and hitting his head like a crazed animal tightens my chest.

  After what seems like forever, Hawk falls limp on the floor. His bloodied chest rises and falls, but he’s unconscious.

  Withdrawal. Severe Omega withdrawal.

  If the drug is taken away abruptly, the withdrawal can cause us to go out of our fucking minds. Just like Hawk.

  We’re slowly detoxing and it already hurts like hell. I can’t even imagine the amount of pain Hawk is going through.

  Mist is shaking, but she folds her arms under her chest and clenches her fists.

  Hades appears on the screen. His aristocratic nose is held high as he lights a cigar.

  Body wise, he’s on the lean side. He’s never been physical, and that’s his strength. Brains and schemes are all it took to build The Pit.

  Patches of white colour the side of his hair while the rest is black. His eyes are a deep shade of green, mossy and calculative. The angular lines on his face give him an authoritative look.

  A foam of smoke leaves his lips. “Hawk will be put under systematic withdrawal sessions until I see double revenue. If I don’t, all Team Zero will encounter the same fate.”

  The screen goes black. Shadow curses.

  The urge to murder Hades with my bare hands takes over my vision. Blood red covers my sight.

  Mist tightens her fist with so much force, her nails draw blood. Her eyes shine. Tears? I haven’t seen her cry since we were kids. “Let’s do as he says.”

  “And flood the streets with drugs?” I raise my voice.

  “I don’t usually agree with her,” Shadow points at Mist. “But coke is far different from Omega, mate. Hawk is fucking dying in there.”

  “If we don’t comply...” Mist trails off. “Not only Hawk, but the rest of Team Zero will be put through torture.”

  Flame is still staring at the black screen, rolling the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “He will kill them.”

  Fuck.

  I can either sacrifice my family or fill the streets with drugs.

  Unless I can make that factory go away without being obvious.

  Perhaps President Joe and his firefly spy could help.

  6

  Elle

  A few days pass and I still have nothing. The staff is standoffish and the girls are giving me death glares.

  I realised, too late, that it had to do with how much Kyle preferred me at his birthday party. I made potential information sources hate me.

  Shit job, Elle.

  I tried to fish for information with Kyle, but he’s only interested in his cognac or shots whenever he sees me.

  Apparently, he likes my cocktails.

  I still haven’t been able to pinpoint his position in the firm, but he always spends time in the control room. It’s one of the places I plan to raid, but I need a careful strategy. If Kyle isn’t there personally, then his closest guards take turns. They’re also distant, so I couldn’t even strike a conversation with them.

  I sit cross-legged on the bed in my room and open the password-protected app where I jot down notes. These organising methods aren’t my thing, but Liam rubbed off on me. If I keep all my notes in one place, I’ll have a clear track of where I’m going.

  Scarlett is having a shower, so it’s the perfect opportunity to regroup.

  Bullet points I have so far:

  Scarlett is the nicest person here. She’s the number one escort so she can be a mountain of information when she’s not jumping to rock music.

  Kyle can be useful if he’s not elusive. He’s not suspicious. He treats the girls well and never takes liberties with them. They’re the ones who throw themselves at him.

  Mist is my number one suspect. She’s stern, but the girls like her since she doesn’t allow anyone to harass them. Considering how much Ma’s madam only cared about the money, it should be admirable that Mist is different, but I still don’t like that woman.

  The man named Shadow, Mist’s partner, is indeed a shadow. He doesn’t appear much in public, and when he does, he’s usually retreated into a corner. He’s mildly suspicious, but he never pays attention to the girls. I heard some girls gossip about him, and he’s apparently the ‘enforcer’ of the firm. That means a
hitman, I think.

  There’s still no sign of Ghost no matter how hard I search.

  Julian is...

  I frown. I didn’t jot down anything about him. He’s the most mysterious of all.

  In my expeditions to discover this place, I asked Scarlett to take me on a tour. Apparently, Julian, Shadow, and Kyle live in a two-storey, grey storehouse located on the outskirts of Le Salon. They’re unlike all the other guards who go home and come over for different shifts. It’s like they have no other home but a storehouse.

  I continue glaring at the dots. I should’ve written: Julian is Mist’s closest henchman and therefore, he’s as shady as her.

  He’s either drinking with her, huddled in her office, or out of sight.

  It grates on me. And that makes no freaking sense. Just because some stupid thing happens in my body whenever he looks at me or touches me? There’s no reason why I wouldn’t classify him in the enemy line.

  He’s suspicious. That’s all. I type the note with jerky fingers.

  “Why are you mad at your phone?”

  I startle. Scarlett stands a few feet away, drying her sleek blonde strands with a towel. I was too engrossed in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice she’d returned to the room.

  Before I can react, she saunters to her console, seeming to forget what she’s just seen. Or didn’t see.

  The thing about Scarlett is that she’s... unpredictable. She’s hyperactive and flips between subjects so fast, it’s a headache. That’s why it’s been a chore to get her to talk about anything useful or provide any coherent information.

  She clicks on her iPad, and old rock music drifts around us. Oasis. Again. She even has the main singer’s poster as her phone’s background. His name is indeed Liam. I had to learn about him thanks to Scarlett gushing about him the entire time. In her words, ‘he’s the man.’

  I’m pretty sure he’s the age of her grandfather now.

  Today, Scarlett’s tight pink shirt has ‘Docile Bitch’ written on it. Hair wrapped in a towel, she paints her toes in sparkly green. The colour is a perfect match for the long gown flung over her bed.

  “Did you know that Mussolini had the same fate as an old Roman Caesar?” she asks without glancing up. “Both of them were killed horribly in the streets.”