Ghosted (Team Zero #3) by Rina Kent

“Just get your head out of your tits,” Shadow growls.

“The right line is: get your head out of your arse.”

“Same thing.” His inquisitive gaze roams over me. “You sure you’re all right.”

“Yeah.”

“Do I have your word?”

I groan. “Why does everyone keep demanding my word these days?”

“Because you’re not yourself these days, mate. Your word is the only thing I trust.”

“You have it.”

Seeming satisfied, he opens the door to Mist’s office, and we walk inside.

Mist is sitting on the sofa, for once not watching her phone. She’s in her sleeping robe. The sleeves are short, showing the cuffs’ scars on her wrists – that she always hides. Her hair is dishevelled and dark circles surround her eyes. A half-full glass of scotch is in her hand and an empty bottle rests in front of her.

Has she been drinking all night?

I thought she would snap out of it with time, but her state is turning from bad to horrible. She doesn’t even show up at the club anymore. If she’s not bothering to even change her clothes, then it’s worse than I thought.

“Hey, old hag, you’re here.” Shadow throws his weight on the sofa opposite hers and flings his arm on the back. “I didn’t recognise you with all the wrinkles.”

She sips from her drink and doesn’t even acknowledge him.

That’s a first.

“Ghost.” Her pointed gaze falls on me. There’s the slightest slur in her voice. Mist has high alcohol tolerance, so she must’ve been drinking heavily to reach this level. “President Joe asked for a meeting in three days. Either you agree to whatever he says, and somehow transfer the new factory to him without Hades’ knowledge, or we start our distribution.”

“We’re not flooding the streets with drugs and that’s final.” I sit beside Shadow. “But I’ll agree with President Joe’s conditions. Then, we will blow up the factory or inform the police as soon as he starts distribution.”

“Burn.” Flame’s ginger head peeks from behind Mist’s sofa, eyes sleepy. “You will let me burn the factory, Ghost.”

I shrug. “As you wish.”

He gives a curt nod, a satisfied gleam in his pale eyes before he disappears behind the sofa again.

Shadow rubs his bottom lip with his index finger, brows knitted in concentration. “If Hades finds out we’re transferring the factory to President Joe, then Hawk will –”

“Shut it.” Mist slams her glass on the table, and droplets splash all over her hand. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Why would Hades know? Unless a fucking rat like you tells him.”

Shadow stands slowly, shoulders squared back as if about to pounce. A dark gloom covers his features while he stalks towards Mist then looms over her. “I’m many things, but a rat isn’t one of them. Is that fucking clear?”

She sips leisurely from her glass. The droplets of spilt alcohol run down her arm. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You only care about your fucking self, so no one cares about you. Maybe that’s why you were thrown in a rubbish can.”

“Mist,” I warn, my voice curt. She’s drunk and pissy, but she has no right to say that.

Shadow’s eyes turn to steel grey. His back snaps into a rigid line. His fists clench and unclench by his side – obviously restraining himself.

Good.

If they go at it, even I won’t be able to stop them.

“Listen here, you fucking witch,” he snarls. “The only reason I’m not punching you to death is because you once saved Ghost’s life and he saved mine, so there’s that whole fucking circle going on. But don’t think I forgot, all right? If you don’t tell me where the fuck you hid Zoe, I will break that fucking neck.”

“You can try.” Mist isn’t the least bit fazed. Instead, she takes a sip from her drink. “What will you do when you find her, huh? Drag her back to your hell? Have you ever thought that she wants nothing to do with filth like you?”

Shadow staggers backwards as if he was punched in the gut.

Mist’s words resonate inside me, too.

We live in hell. Always have. But that doesn’t give us the right to drag other people into it. Innocent, pure people like Elle. She thinks she’s been toughened by the streets, but she has no idea that the underground world is a lot filthier and dangerous. She has no bloody idea what she signed up for when she snuggles against me every night.

An unhinged part of me wants to smother her here so she would never leave, but that part is an arsehole.

Shadow barks a long humourless laugh. “You think you’re any better, old hag? I might be filth, but you’re also disgusting. Even Hawk refuses to look at your face anymore.”

Mist reaches underneath her gown and pulls out a knife. The moment she pounces, Shadow pulls out his gun.

“Enough.” I stand between them, blocking the murderous expressions on their faces.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Blood droplets scatter in my brain, and once again, I’m enchanted by the killing energy in the room. The need to commit violence hypnotises me.

I shake my head. I stopped taking Omega two days ago, and I thought the blood droplets would disappear altogether. Apparently, that’s not the case. It doesn’t help with these two clashing animosities.