Shadowed (Team Zero #4) by Rina Kent

He’s not a show-off like his opponent, but he has the level of confidence to know he will, without doubt, win. All of this seems like a one-man show where he’s internally mocking the fighter.

While his opponents snarls and beats his chest like an escaped Gorilla, he stands there in complete nonchalance. Seamless danger and authority seeps from him. He doesn’t even have to try to channel the entire ring’s attention.

Pity. I would’ve found him super hot – and drooled over those tattoos for like an hour – if he wasn’t so obviously an arrogant bastard.

“I told you Elle won’t come,” Liam shouts over the noise.

“She doesn’t like male fights in the first place.” My tone is absent-minded as I focus on President Joe’s rivals.

The blonde girl who came with Mist stands as soon as the fight starts and heads downstairs. To the restroom no doubt. I’ll begin working in Le Salon tomorrow, but it doesn’t hurt to form a connection now.

I stand. “I’ll go check on Elle.”

On my way out, I throw one last glance to where the fight is at its ripe. The arrogant bastard is toying with President Joe’s show-off. He ducks then kicks him in the back. The crowd’s cheers turn deafening. Something tells me he can knock him out unconscious if he wanted, but he’s elongating the show on purpose.

Not long after I round the corner, the cheers rise in volume. Maybe the arrogant bastard got bored and finished that other prick off.

I follow the blonde down the hall, trying to be as nonchalant about it as possible.

She rounds a corner. Then another. We go on successive corners for several minutes. This isn’t the way to the toilet.

Brilliant. Did she figure out I was following her?

I pause at a corner to keep a distance, wait a few seconds, then I go after her. I halt and stare at the empty hallway.

Where did she disappear to?

I run to the end of the hallway. Search left then right, but there’s no sign of her.

There isn’t even a room or something where she can disappear into.

The hell is she? A freaking ghost?

I’m still mulling the situation over when someone tackles me from behind. I fall to my knees. Hard.

“Well, well, well.” A deep, smooth voice calls from the side.

I look up and find the arrogant fighter in the flesh.

His metallic eyes shine with frightening trouble. “What do we have here?”





Chapter Three





First thought: shit.

Second thought: double shit.

Up close, the arrogant boxer is even more imposing. The hard ripples of his chest are coated with a sheen of sweat. The Chinese tiger sleeve tattoos swirl across his strong arms, snarling so frighteningly as if they’re about to be used as weapons. There’s a Chinese character tattooed along his pectoral muscle that I assume means ‘Fuck You’ in sophisticated Chinese.

His shiny blond hair falls in complete chaos, casting a shadow at the lightest grey eyes I’ve ever seen. A replica of England’s overcast sky. A calm before the storm. They appear tame — welcoming even — but a shard of darkness lurks behind them.

A darkness I invited upon myself.

A ringing starts in my ears and my body goes rigid. My breathing deepens, and the threat of a panic attack begins blurring my vision. I hate being in this position, it draws an uncontrollable tangle of emotions.

Since my parents’ death, no one brings me to my knees. No one did when Elle and I were young and practically homeless and they certainly won’t start doing it now.

I attempt to stand. The guard on my back brings me down with a harsh shove on my shoulders. My bare knees crush against the concrete.

I can take one of them — probably the one at my back — since the arrogant bastard is a boxer and I can’t beat them. Elle kicks my arse every time we spar. Besides, I’d rather not use violence when there’s an alternative. Violence is a momentary rush of adrenaline. Once that’s over, regrets are more prevalent than accomplishments.

In this situation, I need to stay calm and play whatever cards I have.

And yet, my idiotic finger is trying to twirl a strand of hair.

The arrogant fighter looks down at me with a slightly tilted head as if he’s counting his options about what to do with me.

Before he can get any wild ideas, I say in a clear — and thankfully — tremor-free voice, “I'll scream.”

A spark ignites in his previously-neutral eyes. Son of a gun. I just gained his interest. That’s never good.

He grins, and I’m transfixed by how lethally beautiful he appears. Pretty sure he can sell that smile.

“I love it when they scream.”

My lips part, and for some satanic, extremely weird reason, I imagine this man naked – which isn’t hard considering he’s shirtless. His abdominal muscles flex, those tattoos snarling and his overcast eyes hooded. He’s pounding into a woman wildly that she’d scream so loud as if he’s hurting her. And maybe he is, but the only difference is that the woman likes what he’s doing.

My cheeks heat.

I purge the weird thoughts as soon as they come in.

The hell was that all about?

His voice comes out deep and smooth like how I imagine the devil speaks when luring his victims. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

I glare up at him. “When I’m not kneeling at your feet, I’ll tell you.”