Crowed (Team Zero #2) by Rina Kent

But Celeste and Ghost are both elusive as fuck. No one knows what’s going on in their brains.

Theories bang through my head, and I have no definite proof about who might be after my life. I retrieve a lighter, burn the files, and let them sink in the water of the marina.

Whoever they are, let them come after me. I’m ready to rip their heads off of their shoulders and show them what it’s like to fuck with me.



*****



When I go back to the house, it’s well after sunrise. Since Ghost is not answering his phone, I’ve been roaming around, trying to get his attention. Either he’s doing well at hiding or I’m rubbish at drawing underground attention.

Either way, this isn’t over. Team Zero’s members never go against each other -- for a good reason. Our skill level is basically on par and we all don’t give two fucks about death. That fearlessness caused by Omega makes us deadlier than the second generation. Most of them kept some of their humanity.

We didn’t.

If Ghost and I clash, one of us will die. If it’s me, I’ll make sure to cripple him so he won’t be able to move without remembering me.

I open the front door of the house and stand rooted in place. A sweet smell of jasmine wafts in the clean and tidy reception area. The curtains are pushed back, allowing sunrays inside. No dust blurs the tall windows. Early hours’ sun shines through them.

Someone has been cleaning.

I smile. This means Eloise is taking staying alive seriously, right?

The last thing I wanted to do after tasting those divine lips was leave, but the report about Paul threw me in a fucking loop. I’ve been agitated and on the edge since.

Barks greet me at the threshold. Cheerio’s tail is wiggling back and forth, seeming happy to see me. I glare at her. The dog must have a plan, like wanting to bite my hand off. And yet, when she keeps moving her head, demanding to be patted, I sigh and lift her in my arms.

“You’re not going to be a bitch today?”

She woofs, angling her head so I would scratch her under the chin.

I’m about to put Cheerio down when a cool lilac scent twitches my nose. Abandoning Omega has made me more aware of my surroundings, but with Eloise, it’s a lot more powerful. I feel like I can sense her even if she’s countries and continents away.

Which is so fucking soppy.

Still carrying Cheerio, I follow the scent like a bloody dog. Eloise is around the corner outside, painting the lower part of the patched wall in white.

Concentrated lines settle on her forehead as she drags the paint roller up and down. My hand twitches to push those rebel strands of hair off her forehead. She’s wearing another pair of jean shorts. The dark blue colour accentuates her skin tone. The cloth hugs those enticing hips and highlights her toned legs. My body leaps to attention.

Fucking traitor.

Cheerio wiggles free from my hold, leaps to the ground, and nudges Eloise’s leg.

Fucking traitor number two.

“Hey.” Eloise stops mid-rolling, her eyes gleaming with a thousand questions.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” I ask to prevent her from asking anything.

“I don’t sleep.” She goes back to painting. “I mean I do, for maybe one hour or two but then, I just keep tossing and turning.”

Huh. It’s like the effect Omega forced upon us. We were like a superhuman who barely needed any rest. Messing up the biological clock must be one of the main reasons why the drug ends up destroying our bodies from within.

“I don’t sleep much either.” I frown. Why the hell had I told her that? It so screwed up how much I always find myself searching for any type of connection with her.

Eloise smiles as she continues painting with slower strokes.

I catch sight of the words written on her light blue T-shirt.

C’est la vie, pas le paradis.

This is life, not heaven.

God, I’m so proud of her. And I don’t even know why the fuck I would be proud of her. I’m just glad she’s not throwing her life away. She’s trying to change and do something.

I remove my leather jacket and hang it on a wooden chair on the side. “Let me help.”

Eloise’s head whips my way, but she doesn’t hand over the paint roller. “I can do it on my own.”

“I know you can, but I want to help.”

“But—”

I snatch the roller from her hand. Otherwise, this stubborn woman will keep arguing until infinity and fucking beyond.

“You can be gentle, you know.” She folds her arms, outlining the curve of her breasts.

It takes all my will to rip my gaze from her and focus on mixing the paint. “Gentle isn’t one of my qualities.”

She huffs. “Obviously.”

My lips quirk. “Unless you beg.”

Her cheeks turn a deep crimson as she swallows audibly.

Fuck me.

There’s such an adorable innocence about her that makes me want to devour her. Fully. Thoroughly.

The more she keeps drawing me in, the less I want to let her go.

Now that I experienced how fucking addictive she tastes or how right she feels in my arms, it’s becoming bloody torture to stop contemplating the countless ways I can tarnish her innocence.

I chase those thoughts and try to focus on the wall – which is turning into blurry lines.

“I-I will go get something to drink.” She heads towards the house, Cheerio in tow.