Ghosted (Team Zero #3) by Rina Kent

He appears surprised for a second. “... what?”

“President Joe wears something very specific when he meets his men. If you don’t know it, then how can you be one of his men?”

“It’s the red bowtie.”

“Wrong answer. He always wears the bowtie. How the fuck would I know what he wears when I’m not one of his men?” My fingers move up his arm, then I twist. He screams in pain as I say with a neutral tone. “Now, tell me.” I tighten my hold until a bone pops. “Who fucking sent you?”

“All right!” He cries, face reddening. “It’s – ”

A shot wheezes by my ear and straight to the man’s forehead. His eyes widen and turn to nothingness as he turns limp.

I release him and whirl around. A shadow runs out of sight up the stairs. I jump behind him, adrenaline kicking in my limbs.

As soon as I reach the second floor, the cries and whimpers of the girls filter through the walls.

No sight of any shadow.

In front of the office, Mist has a dead man’s head locked under her arm, knees on his back. Her face is stone cold and she’s wearing a sleeping robe, but she still manages to say in a calm, soothing tone, “Don’t worry, girls. Everything will be fine.”

A man appears right behind her. I shoot him in the fucking head. Another shot lodges through his chest. I look to my side. Shadow stands in the doorway, wearing only shorts. His eyes flicker between robotic and rage-filled.

Still, there’s no sign of the one who shot the man I questioned.

“This floor is clear.” Mist kicks the dead man in her hand. He falls to his face with a thud. She wipes her bloodied hands in the dead man’s T-shirt and heads to the source of the crying. She must’ve gathered them in one room. “I need to stay with the girls.”

“Anyone checked on Kyle?” I ask, already moving towards the stairs.

“Been there.” Shadow scratches his temple with the barrel of his gun. “He’s still in slumber like Sleeping fucking Beauty.”

A breath leaves me. The door to Mist’s office clicks open. I point my gun.

Flame saunters outside, his dark ginger hair and beard are dishevelled. His expression is detached as he yawns. He fumbles in his pocket and sticks a cigarette in his mouth. “Can’t anyone get some sleep in this place?”

My gaze looms over him as I finger the trigger. He’s been getting on my nerves lately. No idea why. He just does.

“Look for anyone we can question in case –” I’m cut off by a commotion coming from the stairs that lead to the third floor. Where Kyle stays.

I sprint forward and so does Shadow. Even Flame follows, a gun in hand, the cigarette still hanging from his mouth.

A man is screaming. The sound is so guttural and tortured. But he’s not Kyle. A tall man, brawny with no muscles, stumbles down the stairs. Scar is on his back with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and arm around his collarbone.

The reason of his screams is because she’s stabbing his back with a knife over and over again.

His hands fling back, trying to shake her off. Well, good fucking luck with that. She’s like a parasite when killing.

She raises her knife to stab his neck.

I lunge towards them. “Scar, don’t!”

She does. Blood splashes from his neck like a fountain and splatters all over her face and clothes.

The red smudges my shirt, too. Droplets of hot liquid mar my face.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

I shake my head. Not the time to get caught in Omega’s effect.

Scar releases the man and jumps backwards. He falls down the stairs. His shaking hands go to his neck, but it’s too late. He won’t live.

I run and crouch in front of his face. “Who sent you?”

His lips move, but he says nothing.

“Who?” I shout.

“Fuck... you...” he croaks in a thick Russian accent before his body goes limp.

Bloody hell. I didn’t get anything from him.

Something nags at me about the whole thing. He’s Russian. Not that it should mean anything, but I don’t like it.

Kyle and I had a few hits for the Russian mafia in the US – probably why people here believe Ghost is a Russian spy – but I don’t think they would send anyone after my business.

I brought Vladimir over. If anything, we’re collaborating with them.

But again, I could be reading too much into this. Just because the dead scum sounded Russian doesn’t mean he has ties with the mafia.

“The fuck, Scar? I’ve got blood all over me.” Flame’s eyes fill with annoyance as he glares at the top of Scar’s hair and throws his bloodied cigarette away. The blonde strands are now dyed red with blood. She’s so short in front of Flame, but there’s a whole lot of crazy in that tiny body.

“Oops.” She grins, and it looks monstrous with the blood forming rivulets on her face and soaking her shirt and shorts. Today it reads, ‘Fuck Doll.’

Flame shakes his head and heads to the office. “Stop being so noisy.”

“We could’ve questioned him.” It’s my turn to glare at Scar.

“Who told him to come into my room and ruin my meditation time?” She huffs then narrows her eyes on a gash in her shirt. “I’m injured.”

“You want a medal for that?” Shadow rolls his eyes. Due to Scar’s gruesome kill, his entire chest is shining with blood, but unlike Flame – or me – he doesn’t give two fucks about it. I doubt he’s even noticed it.