Ghosted (Team Zero #3) by Rina Kent

I increase my tempo, rubbing against him and sucking on his neck.

Julian growls. His eyes turn wild with need. He grabs me by the hips and flips me on my back.

I squeal, but I’m not out of the surprise as he rips my clothes and thrusts into me in pure Julian fashion. His pounds are out of fucking control, it’s almost painful. With each punishing thrust, he hits my sweet spot. Pain and pleasure intertwine so closely, it drives me mad. I wrap my legs tightly around his sublime waist, loving how he can’t restrain himself for me. A wild scream rips from my throat as an intense orgasm hits me.

Julian curses and swallows my screams with his mouth. His tongue swirls around mine as he follows me over the edge.

I can barely open my eyes as our sleek bodies curve into each other. I fall asleep cocooned in his strong arms. That unfamiliar sense of calmness overwhelms me.

It’s strange that these arms, a killer’s arms, are the safest place to be.

I dream about blood and gunshots. Then, I open my eyes and realise it isn’t a dream.

Gunshots are all around the safe house.





Chapter Twenty-One





The sound of bullets pops in the distance. Long and continuous.

I grab my gun from under my pillow and jump to my feet. I yank on the nearest shirt and shove my legs into some trousers.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Energy rushes through my limbs. A need to protect. Only one thought remains: kill.

No idea who the assailants are, but if they think they can come for Kyle under my watch, then they have another thing coming.

Kill.

Fucking kill.

“Julian?”

My head snaps to the stunning woman lying on my bed, clutching a sheet around her torso. She kneels and reaches for my arm. The moment her fingers wrap around my bicep, my pulse calms. Or more like it dims to almost nothing.

The need to kill is still there, but this time, it isn’t because of the remnants of Omega or my killer’s instinct. This time, it’s because I need to keep this woman safe. No matter what.

“What’s going on?” Elle’s bright blue eyes are wide and her breathing is shallow, but she remains completely still. If it was anyone else, they would be freaking out.

But Firefly isn’t anyone else.

Her strength makes me unexplainably proud. That’s my woman.

I tilt her head with my fingers so I’m staring into that deep blue. “Don’t move from here.”

She nods slowly.

“I mean it, Elle. Don’t even think about repeating yesterday.”

The thought of what that bastard Johnny could’ve done if he found her boils my blood.

“I won’t,” she murmurs.

“I will place a few guards around here. If you move, it will be impossible to protect you.”

Her lips tremble, but she presses them in a stiff line. “Don’t move. Got it.”

In a foolish move that’s not fit for the situation or for whatever the hell we have, I lower my head and capture her lips in a quick passionate kiss.

This woman will cause my death one day. I can see it in the distance, but I keep moving forward nonetheless.

I break away and turn to leave, buttoning the shirt on the way out.

“Julian?”

“Yes?” I pause at the entrance and cast a glance over my shoulder at the ethereal view sitting on the bed. My bed.

Elle’s eyes fill with fear, pure and untamed. I think it’s about the attack, but her words undo me.

“Don’t get hurt.”

I smile. “I told you, Firefly. You’ll never get rid of me.”

She smiles back. Although uncertain, I take that as my fuel and storm out.

A few guards already surround the safe house. They’re here for me, but it’s not myself that I’m concerned about.

“Protect her with your lives.” I meet all their gazes, face stone cold to let the point sink in. Then I run to the front where the gunshots are coming from.

The girls’ compound. Fuck.

Gun pointed ahead, I climb through a window and into the club’s ground floor. It’s dark and dim inside, even though it’s the early morning hours. The curtains are closed. Good call. Snipers are the last thing we need.

I check the lifts. They’re all blocked. Good.

Mist or Shadow must’ve done this.

The gunshots still for a minute. Footsteps sound on the way to the stairs. To the girls’ rooms. I jump four steps at a time and hide in the corner. Two men, one bulky and the other lean appear at the base of the stairs. Better take answers from the one who would be easier to subdue. I shoot the bulky man in the forehead. He falls backwards with a thud.

The lean one shoots. I lunge forward and the shot scratches my bicep. I kick him in the diaphragm. He squeaks in pain and I take the chance to twist his wrist. The gun falls and a crack sounds in his bones.

“Who sent you?” I grit out with my gun to his head.

He tries to punch me with his other hand but stops when I dig the barrel into his temple.

“You have exactly ten seconds to tell me who sent you.”

“President Joe!” He groans, but it sounds fake. It’s too easy. Too convenient. My instinct says this is all a setup.

I tighten my hold on his broken wrist, but my tone comes out calm. “What does President Joe wear when he’s in a meeting with his men?”