Crowed (Team Zero #2) by Rina Kent

But also exciting. You forgot exciting.

I shoo the voice away as he finally stops, but not before barging into my personal space. If this is a tactic to intimidate me, then it’s working. His scent and height overwhelm me. I’m not short by any means; I was always the tallest between my female colleagues, but the sheer size and height of him make me feel so small. It takes all my effort to stop ogling his chest and tattoos and to focus on his face. Those rebel, blond strands are begging to be pushed back.

I clear my throat. “Do you often have seizures?”

“That’s none of your business.” He shoots back with a grin that I want to slap off his face.

He’s infuriating.

“It is if you’re living under my roof, Mr...” My brows furrow. “What’s your name?”

“Crow.”

Like the one on his back. I tap my foot on the floor. “That’s not a name.”

“It is for me.” He points at the door. “If you’re done questioning me, out you go.”

Annoyance swims to the surface in no time. Why does he always know the exact buttons to push? I don’t know how to stop being provoked by him.

So I brush past him, holding Dad’s pictures close to my chest, and deliberately hit his bad shoulder. “It’s not like I want to stay anywhere near you.”

He clutches my arm, drawing me to a halt. The tingles from earlier resurface again. Hot breaths tickle my ear as he leans in to whisper. “You didn’t seem to think that when you moaned in my arms.”

My eyes widen. A thousand retorts form at the base of my throat, but none of them come out. I’m thankful because the first reaction would be blabbering. I yank my arm free and do what any sane person does: I run.

I don’t stop until I reach my room and lock myself in.

Not only is my heart once again threatening to leave my chest, but my cheeks are almost exploding with so much heat. And my body, my damn body, is itching to go back to him. To feel those sinful sensations again.

Oh la la.

I might have lost many things since Maman’s death, but at least, I had numbness to protect me. A castle. A fortress.

Only those walls seem null and void around Crow.

It frightens and fascinates the hell out of me.





Crow


Pets are needy and annoying as fuck.

Except for cats.

So when I open the door of my room and I’m faced by the growling of Eloise’s fat dog, I confirm that I don’t like dogs. Not one bit.

The little thing doesn’t even reach my shin, but she’s barking and snarling like she can rip my bones and chew them.

“Charlotte, right?” What type of pussy name is that, anyway? I shake my head. The French.

“I’ll call you Cheerio. Don’t be a bitch. Go away.” I can’t believe I’m talking to a dog in a gothic house in the middle of nowhere without any kill scheduled.

The decimation of Crow’s assassin life.

Cheerio continues growling, her paws digging into the wood with a screech. She has smudges of dirt on her silver fur. Someone needs a bath.

“All right. I won’t hurt Nurse Betty.” At least not yet. “Killer’s promise.”

The dog doesn’t seem to believe me either since she launches at my ankle. I hold her by the collar at arm’s length. She does that squeaky sound dogs make when they’re hurt. I release her and point a finger. “Stop attacking me or I’ll lock you up under the stairs.”

As if understanding what I said, she whines and hides her head under her paws.

Brilliant.

I’m actually having a conversation with a dog.

After adjusting my leather jacket, I go outside and into the night’s summer breeze. The cool smell of the ocean fills my lungs, and dampness forms a sheen on my skin. I stand in front of the house and inhale deeply.

When I was on Omega, I never noticed any of this. The smells. The mere feel of the air on my hair and skin. All those basic human sensations were swallowed by the drug. Even pain. It varies amongst Team Zero, but we barely felt anything worth remembering. The only consuming emotion was determination about the need to spill blood.

Not anymore.

I strap on my helmet and straddle my bike. My shoulder aches in protest. It’s still sore, but tolerable.

Cheerio watches from the window with sad puppy eyes. The dog is as lonely as her owner. It almost makes me feel bad.

Almost.

But I don’t have time for that.

I need to go to town for the third night in a row to search for the traitor. Or Paul. Whom I’m starting to think is the traitor.

I weave my bike through the twisted dirt roads that lead to the village. Instead of thoughts about ending Paul as painfully as possible, only Eloise’s image occupies my head.

That petite face and those doe green eyes keep barging into my thoughts uninvited.

Three days ago, when I found out Doctor fucking Johnson was her father, my first thought was to kill her. Rip her head off those pretty shoulders for all the suffering her father made me endure. For turning me into a nobody who couldn’t even remember his own name.

For the hell Team Zero lived and continues to live through since we were teens.

But those were mostly the withdrawal symptoms speaking. The Omega trying to kick in. Once the effects subsided, everything cooled down. What’s the point in killing her? Just because she’s Doctor fucking Johnson’s daughter? She’s probably never seen him since that picture. It’s not like revenge would bring back Team Zero’s dead members.