Crowed (Team Zero #2) by Rina Kent

“Do what you’re told and I’ll leave you in peace,” I hiss. “Or would you rather die?”

Her previously apathetic eyes sparkle with something similar to anticipation, but not quite. Excitement? Thrill?

Fuck me.

Even the craziest killers I had the pleasure to end clung to life when a gun was placed to their heads. Even if they try to hide it, survival instinct always kicked in.

Not Nurse Betty here. She’s completely unfazed by the possibility of death.

What the hell is wrong with this woman’s head?

And why the fuck does the surge of life in those previously-dull eyes transfix me?

She never averts her attention from me. When she does, it’s only to concentrate on the scalpel’s edge. Like maybe if she stares at me hard enough, I’ll fulfil her wish.

I have no time to fulfil anyone’s wish. With the pain shredding my shoulder, I have to make an effort to even breathe. My entire body is drenched in excruciating heat and the taste of nausea is acid to my throat.

Fuck this.

I pull her by the arm until my face is inches away from hers.

She gasps, bright eyes widening, and a slight tremor registers under my stiff, sweaty fingers.

“Give me the fucking meds,” I rasp in my harshest tone, fingers digging into her arm. Nurse Betty here needs to know who she’s dealing with. I hate to threaten innocent people, but this is an emergency and I need to get the fuck out of here.

Something shifts in her expression. Instead of the familiar fear I expected, those eyes fill with pure disappointment. They used to be bright green but turned into the dullest, mossy colour like the colour of a forest after a storm. As if she put all her hopes in me and I let her down.

She points at her cart. “It’s in there.”

“Fetch them.” I release her and narrow my eyes on the outline of her tiny back. Nurse Betty’s movements are automatic. She doesn’t even try to hide her bored expression.

A commotion outside rips my gaze from her. I catch muffled words about why the nurse is late and if they should check. Police. Just what I bloody needed.

I snatch the bag of meds from her hands.

“You have to eat first.” Nurse Betty doesn’t pay attention to the conversation filtering through the door. Either she doesn’t hear them or she doesn’t care.

Considering how fucking weird she is, my bet is on the second.

I half jog to the window and look at the ground below. I can jump to the next floor and climb down from there.

Nurse Betty’s voice filters from behind me. “It’s the third storey.”

Didn’t stop me before. At least this time, it’s a bad shoulder, not an injured leg.

The commotion gets near. Dizziness threatens me again. I shake my head and yank the hospital sheet then use it to strap the meds to my middle. I swing my leg over the edge and hold onto the window’s frame with my hands. I grit my teeth when my entire weight is pulled by my arms. Pain rips through my hurt side and the bandages soak in red. A rush of blood to my head almost blacks me out.

A bitch. Gunshots are always a bitch.

Nurse Betty’s tiny face peeks from the window. A slight spookiness mars what used to be impassive features. Her rosy lips part in a perfect O. She’s so fucking beautiful – which is a weird thought to have while clinging on the edge of death.

But I live for weird.

“You’ll fall,” she whispers as if a louder voice will actually cause my descent to hell.

“Not the first time, Nurse Betty.”

Her nose scrunches as if she smelled something foul. The change in those soft features is the last sight before I swing my legs and kick the second storey’s window. The glass crashes, shattering all around me.

Broken glass slashes into my shins and back as I roll onto the room’s floor.

That fucking hurts.

But not as much as the gutting pain in my shoulder. Blood is dripping down my wrist and arm from the soaked bandage.

Gasps and cries fill the room of patients as I dash through the door and into the fire escape. I use all the energy I have left to boot myself out of the hospital before the police find me.

I need to collapse somewhere. Give my injury a little time to heal. Then, I’m going after the fucking traitor who almost got me killed.



*****



A little time to heal is an understatement.

Three days later and the burn in my wound won’t go the fuck away. As if the bullet is still lodged inside.

The injury reduced me to a bloody cripple, unable to go far.

I lie on my back in the old motel that I managed to drag myself into. I sneaked back here late at night because I already rented the room before my mission.

The dusty fan buzzes in the ceiling. Its crooked blades resemble a dying bug’s wings.

My gaze drifts to the nightstand. The meds are almost done. I only have one more shot of morphine. I’m saving it for desperate times.

As much as I want more morphine, it’s impossible to go anywhere.

A description of me is plastered in the local newspapers that I managed to steal from the tenant next door. Which means I’m tied to this town until I’m smuggled back to England.

I can’t even stay in this motel for long. Besides the filth that I’m sure is making my injury worse, someone is bound to notice and report me to the police. Issues of small towns and a foreign man with a funny French accent.