Crowed (Team Zero #2) by Rina Kent

Revenge is something that relies too much on emotions, and therefore, it’s pointless. I refuse to stoop that low.

Team Zero doesn’t share my philosophy about revenge, though. If they find out that Doctor fucking Johnson’s offspring exists, they’d torture her for months, maybe years, before granting her the courtesy of death.

My chest twists at the image.

The thought of that beautiful skin marred doesn’t sit well with me.

Someone like her isn’t made to be tortured.

I’m fucking hard just recalling her soft curves trapped in my arms and under my mercy. So delicate, but also a bloody fireball. There was a foreign look in those bright green eyes. Not numbness or indifference. No. It was anything but that. It was a burning mixture of want and confusion and... excitement.

At that moment, every inch of her came alive. And fuck me if that didn’t turn me on.

It took everything in me not to rip that nightgown and take her right there and then. Deepen that look. Fuck the numbness out of her until she screamed my name.

As much as the temptation to reincarnate that look plagued me, I miraculously managed to stay away.

Eloise is a distraction and distractions aren’t good for completing missions.

Besides, I don’t do attachments. I might belong to the pack of Team Zero, but I’m a lone wolf. I always work alone. Survive alone. Live alone. Meaning: no fucking attachment whatsoever.

I have a feeling that’s exactly what will happen if I take things any further with Eloise.

She’s not the type of woman I’ll be able to fuck out of my system and then bid her goodbye.

My instinct says that Eloise would be my damnation. And my instinct is always fucking right.

I need to keep my distance until I’m out of here. It’s as simple as that.

The engine revs further as I approach the town. My phone vibrates. A text from Storm. “Dosage in 30.” There’s an address attached. The town’s bookstore.

I check my watch. Almost closing time for bookstores. Good thing I came down or I would’ve been late. Hades doesn’t like anyone being late for their Omega dosage.

Instead of heading to the slums, I change direction to the heart of the town. Meeting in crowded places is usually the safest. Nothing better than hiding in plain sight. As long as I don’t draw attention, I’ll be out of the police’s reach.

I arrive early and go to the bathroom to check my eyes. I’ve been using drops, but there’s still some puffiness after yesterday’s withdrawal seizures, not to mention the dark circles beneath my lids. No idea who Hades is sending to give me the dosage, but hopefully, it’s someone who’d think I look awful because of being shot, not due to withdrawal.

I can’t even wear sunglasses because it’s night. After freshening up, I use more drops and settle in the ‘Crime Fiction’ wing at the back of the library. I browse through a dull collection of translated books.

The French.

Not long after I internally mock some titles, a breeze skips past me with that signature strong pine scent that he only wears when he wants to draw attention.

Which isn’t most of the time.

Ghost.

He saunters down the aisle with a cool, nonchalant expression, carrying a leather bag. Strands of his dark hair are slicked back. His black suit is pressed to perfection. Even his brown, leather shoes are shining under the lights.

For a ghost, he’s certainly doing his best to be noticeable. The last time we met, some mates in Team Zero mentioned he’s trying to shed the Ghost image and appear normal. No idea why. And I’m not curious enough to ask.

Besides, I have no chance to ask him when he’s high. While on Omega, Ghost literally blacks out. Unlike me and several others, he has no recollection whatsoever on what he did after the drug kicks in. That’s why he has a few disciples from the second generation who tell him the facts later.

Ghost and I stand with our backs to each other, browsing the books and pretending not to know one another.

“Heard you weren’t dead yet.” He places a leather bag on the floor. Omega.

“Yet.” I pick up the bag and aim for an exit before he notices my eyes.

“Try Paracetamol,” he says, still checking the books. “It helps with the symptoms.”

I screech to a halt, fist clenching around the handle of the bag.

He knows.

Ghost knows.

Which means Hades will also know, and I’ll be hunted down like the Rhodes then killed and thrown in a similar dumpster where Diablo is.

A hand lands on my shoulder. I jerk back and reach for my gun under the leather jacket. Fuck public and its risks. I won’t die without a fight.

While I think of the possible ways Ghost can kill me, Eloise’s face barges into my mind. Keeping my distance from her was fucking useless. If I knew it’d come to this, I might as well have indulged in my desire.

“Chill, mate.” Ghost chuckles, putting his hands up. “Do you really think you can take me while you’re injured? The symptoms and the seizures hurt like a bitch even without the gunshot.”

I relax my hold around the gun and leave it hidden under my jacket. “You’re also...?”

“Started way before your lazy arse got to the action.”

Bloody hell. Is that the reason he’s decided to shed his Ghost image?

He comes closer to murmur, “If your reason is something similar to ‘I don’t want to drop dead like Diablo’ then give me a call. We’re not the only two who think that.”