by Rina Kent
“I missed ye around, love.” Kyle retrieves the bottle and hands it over. His watchful gaze lingers on my face. “Who dared to ruin yer beautiful features?”
“An arsehole.” I grin, then wince when pain erupts in my lower lip.
He cups my cheek. “At least, they’re taken care of.”
I forget all about the need to pull away and stare at him with a gaping mouth. “They’re... dead?”
“Shh.” He winks. “It’s a secret. Godfather doesn’t like talking about his heroic missions.”
“Godfather?”
He pauses. “Julian.”
Julian killed them? My toes curl. The good kind. The stupid, happy kind. It doesn’t make sense to be happy that he killed for me, but I don’t feel the least bit sorry for those scumbags.
I place the bottle of vodka on the counter. “Johnny, too?”
“Nah, love.” Kyle doesn’t remove his hands. “That would get us all in grand trouble. Godfather isn’t an idiot.”
Godfather again. Kyle is younger, but Julian isn’t that old. I’d guess early to mid-thirties. “Why do you call him Godfather?”
“He saved me.” His eyes warm, and he appears lost somewhere beyond reach. “I wouldn’t be here if he weren’t a father figure to me.”
The confession strikes deep within me. Kyle seems so genuine and grateful. Julian must’ve made a difference in his life. That puts Julian in an entirely different light. Even if he shouldn’t have thrust his Godson into this type of hell.
Seeming to realise where he is, Kyle’s hands drop from my cheeks and he steps back. His face is closed, for the first time since I met him. “Godfather isn’t an idiot.”
I nod, unsure why he’s repeating it.
He shakes his head and goes back to the easy playful smile. “Grand to see ye well, love.” He touches my cheek one more time and heads to the stairs, leading to the control room.
I’m still pondering the abrupt change when strong hands pull me by the arm. My reflexes shoot. I swing back. Instead of punching whoever yanked me, my fist ends up in a palm.
Julian’s palm.
He’s in a white shirt that showcases the sublime lines of his agile waist. Even his sleeves are rolled up to underneath his elbows. My mouth waters when I make out the strong veiny arms covered in black ink. Sketch-like lines swirl together and disappear under the bandages around his wrist. But I still can’t get a full view of the tattoos. Do they even have a meaning?
Realising that I’ve been ogling – freaking again – and that he’s still holding my arm and my fist, I snap my eyes to his.
Impassive, unreadable features meet me.
I’m momentarily paralysed. He drags me to a back storage room, shuts the door, and pushes me against it. My back hits the wood, and my body springs to life.
My breathing hitches as he leans close, too close, that I’m breathing his intoxicating air. My chest is inches away from grazing his.
My gaze gets lost in his dark one. It’s like being sucked whole in their raw intensity. I draw in a stuttering breath. He’s tall and broad and I’m so small in comparison.
I dislike feeling small.
Self-perseverance kicks in. I break eye contact and try to escape from under his merciless hold.
Julian yanks both my wrists with one strong hand and slams them above my head against the wood. The feel of his skin against mine almost causes my body to tingle. His face is only a few inches away. A slight deviation of my head and my lips would meet his. Would they taste as sinful as they look?
Where on earth did that thought come from?
I glue myself against the door, willing my body to blend with it. And I hate, hate, to admit this, but I’m about to start hyperventilating. Dammit.
Julian’s eyes darken further until the golden rings are suffocated. It’s the level of darkness I haven’t witnessed from him before. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
And cursing. He never cursed before.
“Working,” I say as calmly as my quivering state allows. And it’s not anger, dammit. Just seeing his raw energy and being close to him causes the insides of my thighs to quiver. My nipples peak against the dress until it’s painful.
Something tells me it has nothing to do with handsome men in general and more to do with him specifically.
“Didn’t I say you’re to stay at the safe house?” His hold tightens around my wrists. All I feel is him. His power. His raw freaking masculinity.
“I can’t just decorate your room, Julian. I’m not a statue.”
Surprise passes through his eyes. “I’m seeing that clearly, Firefly.”
I can’t believe this man. Does he think he can order people around and they would do as they’re told?
“Let me go back to work.” More importantly, he needs to release me. He’s so casual about touching me – all the freaking time – and I’m starting to get used to that. Worse, I’m starting to look forward to it.
“You like flirting out there?” he asks in that deep, authoritative tone.
“What if I do?” I jut out my chin. No idea why I’m pushing his buttons, but he’s mysteriously pushing mine. It’s only fair that I do the same.
Which is so freaking stupid. I’m supposed to free myself and run out of here, not provoke him.
I don’t get a warning. Julian’s leg pushes mine apart and his knee settles close to the throbbing between my legs. I gasp. A foreign sensation shoots in my veins. It’s so similar to excitement and ...thrill. The sensations I only had while boxing. Only now, I have zero control over what’s happening.
My stomach flips like it’s contracting and the heavy sensation in my nipples becomes torturous.
“You need to stop, Firefly.” Julian breathes against my heated cheeks. The rumble of his voice causes my legs to freaking tremble. “You’re in danger, so act like someone who’s in danger.”
“What do you want me to do?” I choke out, trying to appear casual. “Hide beneath the blankets? I’m not the type, all right?”
“Obviously.” His free hand cages my face, and I can’t look away from the fire gleaming in his eyes. His warm thumb strokes my bottom lip. A strangled moan lodges at the back of my throat.
No idea what the hell is happening, but I don’t think I can stop myself. I’m damn sure he can see my pulse jumping from my neck.
A phone vibrates. I jump. My chest is in knots and my head spins.
Julian groans and steps back to check his phone. My breathing comes out harsh and uneven. A tremor rushes through my limbs as if I’m coming down from a wave of adrenaline.
Perhaps I am.
His gaze strays my way and he does that tilting head thing. “You’re going back to the safe house.”
“You mean storehouse. What type of people live in a storage house?”
“Watch it, Firefly.” He doesn’t appear angry anymore, and there’s even a bit of amusement underneath his words.
However, I don’t plan to test his limits. He’d test mine in return. That’s not fun.
“Fine.” I fold my arms to hide the tremors. “I’ll return after closing time.”
“You will go back in thirty minutes.”
His bossy tone grates at me. I point a finger at him. “Why do you think you can tell me what to do?”
“Our place. Our rules.” A smirk plays on his lips. “If you don’t like it, you can always leave.”
I huff. God. He’s so infuriating.
“Okay, until midnight at least?” I use my sweetest tone, hoping this one will work.
He reaches around me to open the door, and I push away. I have no confidence in my self-preservation anymore.
“Thirty minutes,” Julian says. “If I don’t come to take you back, Shadow will.”
I open my mouth to argue.
“That’s final.” He cuts me off.
After the door closes behind him, I kick it and mimic his tone. “That’s final. That’s final. Bastard!”
Now that I’m
on a deadline thanks to the ever so flexible Julian, I distribute the drinks instead of watching from behind the bar. This way, it’s easier to listen for snippets of conversation and hope to find something useful.
Only they’re of no value. I consider asking the customers about Zoe, but if Ghost and his gang managed to fool the police, I’m sure they would find a way to shut the customers up, too.
That is if they ever witnessed anything.
Scarlett is nowhere in sight. My chest tightens at the thought of any pig doing something to her. She’s an escort, and I know sex isn’t expected of her or any of the girls, not without their consent at least, but I can’t help worrying. Without her, this place would feel like hell.
As I pass between the tables, the girls throw snarky remarks my way.
“Julian’s new puppet.”
“How long will it be before he tires of you? Tomorrow? Next week?”
“What’s so special about her? All she does is hide behind Scarlett’s skirts.”
It takes everything in me to not punch them in the face. There’s a limit to my patience.
But even with my anger, I can’t help weighing their words. New puppet. How many puppets did Julian have and will he really tire of me so fast? I shake my head. Not that I care.
I don’t.
I take a tray with a few drinks and pretend to carry it towards a customer. Instead, I saunter past the patrons and head up to the second floor. Mist usually pays visits to the private rooms at this time. Kyle is in the control room. Shadow and Julian also disappear to God knows where. Probably to deal with gangster things. Like killing.
God. I can’t believe Julian killed for me. He took actual lives.
That definitely wouldn’t endear him to Mist. It could also cause a war… I think. Why would he risk that?
My mind goes on overdrive, and I come up with nothing. Trying to figure out Julian is a headache. He’s as bottomless as the darkness in his eyes.
Once I arrive in front of Mist’s door, I take a quick peek at my surroundings. No one. If Julian finds me snooping here again, he’ll lock me up in a dungeon.
But I’ve been watching during the time I’ve been here, and I’m confident that he’s never around during this time. Today, I confirmed that by the phone call he received. I’m sure he’s off grounds.
I place the tray on the floor and remove a pin from my hair. Zoe taught me to pick locks when we needed to run away from our foster houses and their abuse.
After a few tries, the lock clicks open. I suck in a breath, remove my heels and go inside.
A relieved sigh leaves me when no one comes into sight. The office still has that faint red lighting. I wonder if it has a meaning. Perhaps something erotic. After all, this is Le Salon we’re talking about.
I head to the locked door I noticed the first time I came in here. I use the pin again. This time, it takes a bit longer due to the light and the weird, smaller lock. My fingers turn clammy. Sweat beads on my forehead.
Come on.
With a deep breath, some of the knots in my shoulders loosen. I try again with a relaxed grip.
It clicks. Yes!
I take another brief glance behind me, then tiptoe into the room.
I jerk to a halt, heart thundering.
My feet remain rooted in place as if someone drenched me with freezing water.
Mist and Julian sit on a white marble ground. Their wrists are cuffed to huge, thick metal bars that take up half the room. Like a prison cage.
Julian is in the shirt from earlier. The cuffs dig into his bandaged wrist. Mist’s long-sleeves are also rolled up. Her cuffed wrist is bandaged, too.
The sight is horrific, but it’s the look in their eyes that freezes me. They’re glazed over and so glassy, it’s freakishly inhuman.
They stare at me, but they seem to see through me. Their expressions are haunted, robotic, as if they’re possessed by something.
I approach with hesitant steps, my heart almost leaping out of my throat. “Julian?”
He lunges at the bars and jams a fist through it, and so does Mist. I jump back. They still don’t see me, but they’re following my movements as if by hearing.
They pull at the handcuffs. The frantic clinks of metal against metal cause my skin to crawl. The cuffs keep Julian and Mist in place, but due to their force, blood soaks their bandages and drips to the floor.
That’s why Julian’s wrist is always bandaged and Mist only wears long sleeves. They must do this – whatever this is – all the time.
Is this some type of drug they’re trying? But makes no sense to hurt themselves. And they are hurting. Even if their expressions are robotic. The blood forms a pool on the white marble. No one bleeds that much and doesn’t feel pain.
I should turn around and leave. Julian and Mist’s couple torture is none of my business, but my heart tugs at the sight. For a foolish reason I can’t even pinpoint, I dislike seeing Julian in pain.
So, I call in my loudest tone. “Julian! Snap out of it!”
Mist lunges again, but Julian remains in place like a statue. His eyes are twitching. That should be a good sign, right?
I would’ve advanced, but the risk of being caught and choked to death keeps me in place. “Julian!”
“So noisy.”
I yelp at the sound coming from right behind me. My heart almost falls to the ground as I spin around. The man standing in the entrance, wearing a hood and considering me with a bored expression is the same man who has Zoe’s bracelet.
Ghost.
I glance at his wrist, but the bracelet isn’t there anymore.
“You shouldn’t be here.” His freakily pale blue eyes are similar to Julian and Mist’s, but unlike them, he’s clearly concentrated on me.
The thug.
“Are you the one who put them through this torture?” My voice raises. Mist rattles the bars in unison.
Julian’s tugs on his cuffs, drawing more blood, but he faces away from me.
My chest tightens at all the blood dripping from his wrist.
Ghost is watching me with a strange gleam like a researcher studying his lab rat.
“What are you doing to them?” I ask again.
He places an index finger in front of his mouth. It has the word ‘BEWARE’ tattooed vertically. “Your voice makes it worse. Get out.”
“But –”
It happens so fast, I don’t even get to react. Ghost yanks my arm and shoves me out of the room and then out of the office in a beat.
The fucking brute.
I jerk my arm away, and the skin is already reddening. Ghost stands at the threshold of the office and stares down at me as if I’m a peasant at his feet. “Ask Scar to tell you about Omega.”
My lips part. “What’s that?”
The door slams shut in my face.
I throw a punch in the air. The bloody bastard.
Although I’m confused out of my mind, I put on my shoes and run all around the place, searching for Scar. She’s not at her usual private room.
I try calling her. No answer.
She sends me a text.
Scar – Bit busy, Ellie. Talk to u later.
Shit.
My eyes stray to the clock, and it’s near the thirty minutes deadline Julian’s given me.
My feet automatically lead me to the storehouse. All I think about is how much I want to see Julian’s intense eyes again.
I hate the robotic ones.
10
Ghost
Sounds buzz back into my consciousness, loud and erratic. My breaths.
I shake my head, once, twice, before the white room comes into focus. The metal bars blur like mismatched colours.
It’s over. For now.
Something is nagging at the back of my mind. No idea what.
I check my watch. Ten minutes. Not bad. We’ve progressed from thirty minutes to this. If we continue our gradual detoxification, we will soon lose Omega altogether.
These small drop
s ease the withdrawal, but they also push me back into that mindless state.
Omega’s effects are different for every Team Zero member. Shadow and the others don’t usually go on a rampage, even after receiving the dose. They either fall asleep or meditate. Actually, Shadow does, but only because he’s been cheating the detox and taking a stronger dose than needed. That’s why I’m keeping an eye on him.
Mist and I suffer from the exact opposite effects from everyone. Whenever the drug shoots into our veins, we turn alert as hell. So we have Flame or Shadow cuff us.
Blood soaks my bandage and pools against the white marble. Mist shakes her head and stumbles to her feet. Her wrist is also coated in blood.
Why is there blood? If we’re kept in complete silence, we do nothing.
The nagging from earlier returns. There’s something important that I can’t remember.
Fucking Omega.
The door swings open. Flame saunters inside, keys dangling from his forefinger and a cigarette from his lips. He isn’t wearing his hood and his dark ginger hair is slicked back. He almost looks like a respectable gentleman if it weren’t for his bored expression.
“What happened?” I croak, my free hand clutching my throbbing temple.
“What do you mean by what happened?” He undoes my cuffs, then Mist’s.
“We’re bleeding.” I twist my hand to allow the blood to circulate. “Someone was here.”
“I was.” A glimmer passes through his eyes before they go back to their usual glassiness. “I came to check up on you.”
I’m sure that’s not it. One of the major side effects of Omega on Mist and I is that we forget what happens when we’re on it. Even a small dose is able to wipe our memories during the time we’re high. In The Pit, we were only given our dosage when we were sent after a target, and that target was in range. Shoot, clean, and retreat. Shadow and especially Kyle filled me on what happened afterwards.
Flame is either hiding something or I’m losing my fucking mind because I clearly remember a female voice calling my name.
“Julian!”
Could it be that blurry memory from my childhood?
“Stay here, Julian. Mummy will come right back.”
I clutch my throbbing temples with both hands. No. It’s not the same voice.