Shadowed (Team Zero #4) by Rina Kent

No, and fucking no.

I’m from the first generation, Hades trial and error generation, which he so fittingly named Team Zero. No shit. He’s that rubbish with names. He kidnapped fifty of us from the streets when we were children or early teens. He chose those of us who are orphaned, street urchins, and absolute nobodies that no one will miss.

One would think it’s over with the whole kidnapping, but fucking nope. See, Hades and his partners are fucked up. He had this ingenious idea of building an army of killers to serve under his command. He injected us with the drug Omega so we’d become his loyal servants.

That drug is the fucking devil. Not only do we barely have any memories from the years before our kidnapping, but it also erased our bloody humanity. Scratch. None. We were only designed to kill.

We only know blood. Its absence confuses us.

To Hades’ bloody doom, things didn’t go well. Out of fifty subjects, only twelve survived. Since then, we do Hades’ bidding because Omega’s withdrawal is a fucking bitch. No shit. It’s the worse bitch anyone can come across. Imagine having a few naked, green, disgusting bitches who appear like some elf terrorists hitting your brain with an axe over and fucking over again.

That’s how bad it is when on withdrawal. At least for me.

No Team Zero member would want to go through that torture.

Only, well, fuck Hades. One of our mates, Diablo died from that poison a month or so ago because Omega eventually destroyed his organs like bloody stage five cancer with no symptoms.

I don’t know about everyone else, but that won’t be my end.

So when Ghost suggested we start detoxing. I was all for it. Only, well, Ghost doesn’t need to find out about this, but I’m not so diligent about detoxing as he is.

Green, naked, disgusting elf bitches, remember? Those things hit so bloody hard, it feels like slow, agonising death. I have to take a dose now and again to not descend to insanity.

It’s all under control, though.

Hades dispatched five of Team Zero to run this mafia business on behalf of one of his partners who’s rotting in prison for tax fraud. And by a partner, it means a shareholder of The Pit, as in one of the rich, international fuckers who made us what we are.

We have to remain on Hades non-suspicious side until we completely detox because if he catches a breath of what we’re doing, we’re royally fucked. Like chained to a basement in The Pit and tortured, kind of fucked.

Lachlan stays to supervise the production while I saunter to the back to my office.

It’s a white room with a desk, a sofa; and a few scattered chairs. The overly white décor brings back flashbacks from The Pit where we used to be trained and injected with Omega.

Many of Team Zero view The Pit as our hell, I see it as a transition point.

My life in The Pit turned me from the weakling I was in the streets – beaten and stomped upon – to someone whom people think twice before even talking to.

Omega is fucking nasty, but if it makes everyone scared of me, then we’re cool.

Ghost and Mist sit on the sofa, each of them drinking alcohol from a short glass. Ghost is about my build, but he’s all dark hair and features. His sense of fashion takes the form of a sloppy suit that he thinks makes him more approachable. It doesn’t. He’s so serious and no-nonsense and everyone at Le Salon bows their heads upon seeing him.

The old hag Mist is crossing one leg over the other. Her posture is straight and pristine. Her dark red hair always sits in some twisted knot at the back of her head. Her nails are always red as if she needs the sight of blood close. Her appearance fits some snob high-class lady instead of a fucking killer.

“What are you doing here, old hag?” I throw my weight on the chair. “Shouldn’t you take care of your wrinkles?”

She cuts me with a dirty look. Her hazel eyes about to shoot fire the colour of her hair.

I grin. Getting on her nerves is my favourite hobby.

Mist, Ghost, and I go back from before The Pit, since we were street urchins. I don’t remember my age, but we’re probably in our mid-thirties. Mist is younger, but I like to spite her by calling her old.

“Shut it, filth,” she hisses.

There. Good sport.

“Will you ever stop being at each other’s throats?” Ghost stares at each of us like an old man scolding his children. He’s the middle line between us. We would’ve killed each other a long time ago if it weren’t for him.

“No.” Mist and I say at the same time.

He shakes his head, like every time. It’s a mystery why he bothers anymore.

I guess he wants us as a unit like we were in the streets — starved children ganging up together. We were abandoned each in our own way.

At least I remember I was.

Can you believe they threw him in a rubbish can?

“How’s the production?” Ghost asks.

“We’re good.” I grab the bottle of scotch on the table, don’t bother with a glass, and drink straight from it. “We’ll meet Hades’ revenue rate, but we need to sabotage this. We can’t keep filling the streets with drugs.”

“Not now.” Mist slams her glass on the table. “He has the rest of Team Zero.”

Yeah. Did I mention that Hades is a fucking bastard? He holds the remaining of Team Zero’s members hostage to keep us ‘motivated’. His words, not mine.