Ghosted (Team Zero #3) by Rina Kent

I dart towards the back entrance. The buff blokes shouldn’t be fast, but these damn heels are slowing me down.

A large, calloused hand lands on my nape. I try to wiggle free, but he pushes me forward. My head bangs against the edge of the bar.

Shock explodes in my forehead. The space spins into a thousand stars. I close my eyes for the briefest second.

When I open them, Johnny’s reddening face hovers over me as someone yanks my arms behind my back.

“You will pay for this, you fucking bitch.”





Chapter Seven





Time to become Ghost.

I jump from the window of an abandoned building and sprint in the shadows of the alleys. My hood is zipped up, and my face is partially hidden.

The wiser option would’ve been to send one of the men to spy on Firefly and her gang. But I needed to see the meeting for myself.

I’m still contemplating dragging her out and ordering her that there will be no more spying for President Joe.

She’s most likely indebted to him. That’s the only reason why a fireball like her would accept doing this.

If she’s doing this out of necessity, then it isn’t right to use her. Only I don’t give a fuck about right or wrong now. Taking care of this whole mess means getting my team back in one piece – and hopefully one soul.

Hawk’s roars still echo in my ears. The more I delay the inevitable, the closer he will descend into madness.

I stop at the corner that leads to the pub. There’s no one around. Maybe President Joe’s people made sure to secure the area.

My eyes dart to the roofs. Behind and all around me. Nothing suspicious. There are rarely snipers in the UK in the first place, but I can’t quit the habit. They were a pain in the arse during Middle Eastern operations.

As for President Joe, he doesn’t fight when there’s no need. Even though he’s a class one arsehole who uses fourteen-year-olds to sell powder.

That rubbish is off the table in my district. The old man in prison, Owen, used the teenagers, but I kicked them out as soon as I took over.

President Joe’s biggest weakness is his insatiable greed. If he finds out there’s a new factory up and running, he would want to get his hands on it. While he’s no man of violence, he would start a war for the factory.

That’s the last thing I want.

A war means men being knifed to death in the middle of the night. A war means putting the girls’ lives in danger. I haven’t come here to harvest more lives.

What I’m looking for is option B. If President Joe couldn’t get a share of the factory, he would destroy it.

Shadow already strengthened the security around the factory so there wouldn’t be any stealing. Now, I need to provoke President Joe to take the second option.

Enter his spies.

Usually, they’re hard to find. Probably because he would rather watch from afar.

Until Elle. She reeks with Johnny’s and President Joe’s plays and she’s as suspicious as they can get.

Her bag holds a sample of the new stuff. As soon as President Joe or Johnny see it, they will want more.

Since Elle is a lot smarter than she lets on, she must’ve caught the meaning behind Mist’s words. A new factory is a new fucking apocalypse in this place.

I lean against the wall of the closed pub, casting glances around. No one. Only the late afternoon sun and the smell of waste and vomit.

All I have to do is confirm that the transaction went well.

A muffled sound causes my ears to prickle. A female groan. I tiptoe to the window, hand slipping in my waistband for my gun with a suppressor.

Two huge men hold a woman on the ground. One clutches her wrists and the other pins her ankles down. The scarred freak Johnny has his trousers unbuckled and is lowering himself towards her.

The woman thrashes, twisting and wiggling as if possessed.

Then, those bright, blue eyes that keep barging in my mind uninvited, come into view.

Firefly.

Drops of blood drip in my head. The need to kill mixes with an unfamiliar feeling and shoots through my veins. The mere thought of those fuckers putting their hands on her causes my pulse to spike with one need: kill.

The urge to kill for someone else is a first for me. Even when I was Omega’s puppet.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

For once, I don’t try to shake those drops of blood from my head. Red shrouds my vision, and it’s the right fucking colour.

I point my gun through a crack in the window when Elle twists out of one of the buff men’s hands. She rebounds and leaps into a defensive position with an athletic bend.

Blood streams down her cheeks, but she pays it no attention. Her back heel lifts slightly off the ground and she starts rolling with fluid grace. Her fists are tucked underneath her eyes, ready to pounce.

A professional stance.

It’s clear she’s done that before. Multiple times.

She blocks the arsehole I was going to shoot and goes with an uppercut, but the other man slams her face against the wall. He gets my first bullet. Straight to the back of his head. He falls on the floor as meat.

I’m supposed to feel peaceful after a kill. That’s why I kill under Omega’s influence in the first place, but right now? Rage is all what fills my veins.

Elle is on her knees, shaking her head as blood drips from her nose to the ground. Then she collapses. Johnny grabs the waist of his trousers with one hand as he and the other bastard pull out their guns. I fire another bullet in the other man’s heart, or I think I do. I missed by an inch because I’ve been watching signs of life from Elle.