Shadowed (Team Zero #4) by Rina Kent

“Even if they aren’t, they didn’t do anything to stop it.” My grip tightens around the handle. If I find those fuckers, I'll slaughter them with my own hands. They’re lucky I’m not actively searching for them.

Nonna stands up and opens a drawer in her desk with a key. Then she retrieves a small wooden box. It appears old but well-taken care of. Nonna has been trying to give me the thing since we reunited.

It’s a sign to find your parents, she said.

I shake my head for the thousandth time. If I didn’t know it would hurt her feelings, I would sneak here at night and burn the thing.

A small rustle sounds behind the door. Not one of the children. Someone is trying to be discreet.

I place a forefinger in front of my mouth to give Nonna the sign to stay silent.

I tiptoe to the door, crouch, and retrieve a knife from my calf – to not startle Nonna with a gun. I yank the door open and point the tip of the knife at the newcomer’s throat.

Bright green eyes stare at me in pure horror.

Fuck.

Fear. The trigger to my dark tendencies. My drug and my aphoristic.

She should never show me fear.

One thought remains: kill.





Chapter Eight





My breathing hitches and my legs almost fail me.

There’s no emotion in his washed out eyes. They’ve turned too dark, they almost flicker to black. His face is unreadable lines of doom. I compared him to a storm and a hurricane before, but there’s none of that now. It’s the silent type of darkness that surrounds me like a suffocating, impenetrable smoke. Too silent, but also lethal.

This is the face of a killer.

It’s obvious in the steady grip on the knife he’s holding to my neck. No hesitation. No clumsiness. He’s done this before. He held his victims to the knife’s edge and probably didn’t blink when he slit their throats open.

A monster like my father.

Fear draws on my shoulder blades and causes sweat to trickle down my back.

I want to swallow the dryness in my mouth, but the risk of being cut open keeps me immobile.

Saying anything is out of the question, too. I have no doubt that he’ll kill me and not even feel it.

As I stare deeper in his overcast, robotic eyes, I don’t even see Shadow. At least, I don’t see the infuriatingly playful version. He fully unleashed that dark side that’s been lurking beneath the surface.

An old, petite woman with a pixie haircut peeks from behind Shadow. She places a frail hand on his tense bicep. His gaze snaps her way. Oh, son of a gun! He’ll hurt her.

A dose of adrenaline tightens my muscles. I lunge forward and stand between him and the old lady. My chest is heaving, and my knees barely keep me standing.

I’m scared. No, I’m terrified of this version of him. He has a power that causes me to sweat uncontrollably. But no matter how frightened I am, I won’t watch him hurt an old lady.

His dark, unfeeling gaze zeroes on my neck. He blinks, once, twice, and then, like a miracle, life shoots back to the overcast grey.

At least I can recognise this Shadow.

I release a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding and with it comes the realisation that something burns in my neck.

“Fuck.” Shadow runs a tense hand through his hair, messing the already-dishevelled blond curls.

I touch my fingers to my neck. A sticky liquid coats them. When I bring my hand in front of my face all I see is blood. The sticky liquid is blood. My heart almost stops beating. I think I’m going to faint.

“Relax, sweetheart.” The old lady guides me to a chair.

I walk on unsteady legs.

He sliced my throat.

I’m going to bleed to death.

“It’s shallow.” Her voice is soft and soothing. “Just breathe, sweetheart.”

She retrieves a cloth and wipes the blood from my neck. It isn’t much, but the thought of bleeding to death doesn’t leave me. Uncontrollable shivers break over my limbs and I taste acid.

Shadow looms over me and the old lady in a second. His eyes are dark, but not unfeeling. There’s even… remorse? Regret? Guilt?

Or perhaps I’m imagining things.

Instead of apologising like a human being, he says in a taut voice, “Don’t get in my space. Don’t pull any fucking surprise moves.”

I want to curse him. No. I want to get up and kick his face, but I’m too shocked to do anything except stare like an idiot.

The old lady swats him on the shoulder. “Get out.”

He cuts me a harsh glare, brows knitted together, but he complies. At the threshold, he stops and throws a glance at me over his shoulder. It’s short and fleeting, but the earlier guilt and regret return with full force. Only now, there’s also a sense of rage. Why the hell is he angry at me?

I continue staring at the door even after he’s out.

“He didn’t mean to,” the old lady says while she applies a plaster to my wound.

The shock gradually dissipates, and red hot anger fills my veins. I point a tense finger at my neck. “This would beg to differ. He almost killed me!”

The old lady trudges to a tea set placed neatly on a side table and retrieves saucers from the cabinet. “Not that it’s excusable, but you did move against his knife, sweetheart.”

My mouth hangs open. I can’t believe she’s defending him. “Why would he even hold a knife to my throat?”