Ghosted (Team Zero #3) by Rina Kent

“No.” My voice is firm. “I didn’t get this far to leave without finding Zoe.”

“Elle.” His tone is low and no-nonsense. “Zoe disappeared right after she gave us the tip about the previous factory. If there’s a new one, and you already know about it, then it means you might end up like Zoe, dammit.”

“I don’t care. She’s the only family we have, I’m not leaving without her.” My lips tremble. Or else... or else, that means she’s dead.

I refuse to even consider that possibility.

“They’re planning to hand you over to Johnny, dammit!” he snaps. “I won’t allow that. Even if I have to bring in my men and break down Le Salon to get you back, got it? I don’t give a bollocks about being fired or sued.” His harsh breaths filter through the phone before his voice softens. “After Zoe, you’re my only family, Rage Ball. I can’t lose you as well.”

My heart warms, but my mind is already made up. “I won’t let them hand me over to Johnny.”

“How will you do that?”

“Listen, I will only return to get the security footage. I found archives of surveillance cameras, so I will steal the ones that go back to Zoe’s disappearance and I’m out. Promise.”

Silence. It’s long enough that my legs start bouncing.

I need Liam on board. He can’t send his men and ruin what I came here for. Even if it’s for my protection. He worked so hard to become what he is. Law and order is his way of countering the streets. His dream. I can’t have him ruin his career for me.

After what seems like forever, he says in a calculative tone, “What if they decide to give you to Johnny right away?”

“I will escape. I won’t let them take me.”

“I’m not comfortable about this, Elle.”

“Let me do this, Liam.” I lighten my tone. “If all fails, you can bring your mates and bust Le Salon. Deal?”

He groans but makes an affirmative sound. Then his voice drifts in that clipped no-nonsense tone. “Be careful. Call if anything happens. If I suspect anything, I will raid. No negotiations.”

After he hangs up, I remain in place, catching my breath and calming myself. The night’s chill draws goosebumps on my skin. I hug my arms then release them. What the hell is this vulnerable gesture?

I jump to my feet and pace back and forth. Perhaps no one noticed I was gone from Le Salon, but to be safe, I need a suitable lie once I return.

I needed air is a good one. Because, yes, I did need air to think this whole mess through.

Drunken footsteps sound behind me. I turn around and come face to face with two men. Leather jackets cover their torsos as they lean against each other, mumbling.

They’re tall, but they aren’t big. To my advantage, they’re also so drunk, they can’t walk in a straight line.

“Hey there, babe. Wha’are ye doing ‘ere this late? Wanna shag?” One of them slurs and reaches for me.

I launch an uppercut straight to his chin. He staggers backwards, howling.

The sting of my bare knuckles against his bones hurts, but it’s a pain I welcome. I need to vent this energy at someone and these bastards were asking for it.

“You li’le whore.” His friend lunges at me, and he’s damn fast for a drunk. He clutches me by the collar of the dress, and it nearly rips under his force. I grab his shoulders to knee his crotch. He twists my dominant hand in his fist and almost crushes it.

Pain shoots through my bones.

“You fucking slut.” He snarls, almost breaking my arm. I wince and right cross his cheekbone. He staggers backwards. I take the opening, yank my arm free, and launch an uppercut and another. He’s not even protecting himself.

Pent-up energy rushes through me, and I relish in the momentum. Right cross. A hook. An uppercut. Over and over again. Until my knuckles explode with pain and adrenaline pulses through my veins.

He falls to the ground. His friend drags him away from me, and they’re soon stumbling back.

“Yeah, run away!” I yell, my fists still drawn in front of me.

The humming energy is still rushing inside me, demanding more release. It’s been so damn long since I unleashed my anger. Now, my body wants more.

I’m panting, stance wide, fists tucked under my chin, ready to punch the living daylights out of someone. Anyone. I desperately need to purge these pent-up feelings.

Because the alternative, thoughts about Zoe’s death and Julian’s betrayal are about to crush my chest.

“Bloody wankers!” I shout at the drunken men, who are disappearing out of view, and kick the pebbles away. “Come back and fight me!”

“I doubt they ever would.”

I don’t think. I whirl around and swing my fist straight at his face. Pain shreds my knuckles when I catch his jaw. I gasp and step backwards, but I keep my defensive stance.

Julian stares down at me with more relief than pain. It’s like he didn’t feel the punch that almost cracked my bones.

He didn’t duck or stop me. It’s like he wanted me to vent my anger.

Once again, he didn’t even make a sound when approaching. He’s standing a few inches away, in that agile but relaxed posture. One hand is in his trousers’ pockets and the other rests by his side, from which tattoos are peeking. He’s only in a white shirt that strains against his muscles and is tucked around his slender waist.