Misted (Team Zero #5) by Rina Kent

She says nothing. Even her expressive eyes aren’t talking to me or acknowledging me. Lost. Out of this place. Far.

“Hellion,” I grab the back of her head tighter. “No one will hurt you as long as I’m here.”

She places a small, delicate hand on my chest and pushes hard. It might be because I’m injured or she finally took my advice for the arm-strengthening exercises, but she manages to make me step back.

“It’s over.”

My eye twitches. “What?”

“I got rid of it.” Her voice drifts in a cold, levelled tone. “It’s done.”

“Hellion?”

A blow hits the back of my head and I fall, my knees crushing against the tile. I try to get up, but we’re surrounded by guards.

I need to protect her. I need to —

“Goodbye, Hawk.” Mist looks down at me with a hollow expression as another blow smashes my nape then another and another.

I’m too stunned to react. Too caught up in her cold, unfeeling hazel eyes that I once considered my home.

She stands like a non-breathing, non-feeling statue, watching as they beat me and then Hades’ words from earlier return like a horned monster.

Mist told us your location. She’s the reason you’re shot.

I didn’t believe him because he’s nothing and she’s everything.

But now as the darkness shrouds my vision, she turns and fucking leaves.

I got rid of it.

It’s the last thought I have before a roar claws from my lips and black sucks me into its clutches.





2





Mist





You were a soft breeze that transformed into a deadly hurricane.



Fifteen years later,

Someone is watching me.

The air thickens with unwanted interest. I don’t need to scan my surroundings to feel their eyes on me.

You know what will happen if you disobey.

This morning’s text still sends zaps of discomfort down my spine.

They’re here and there’s nothing I can do about it with the girls around.

My steps remain composed. The clack of my Louboutin’s heels echo in the stairs as I waltz down towards Le Salon’s main club area. The sound of my shoes dims as soft music thumps from the speakers.

Le Salon’s lounge area resembles a hotel’s reception hall. Elegant, rich men sit on the sofas with the girls, drinking and laughing. Despite the dim lighting, I scan each of them. One man has his hand up Shelly’s thigh under her dress and she giggles, pressing into him. I leave her be.

They’re only escorts and sex isn’t expected of them, but some girls do it the entire time. If they’re consenting, then it’s not my place to tell them otherwise.

Le Salon’s entertainment parlour is our façade to the underground business. We need these high corrupt politicians to keep it afloat, but there’s no way in hell a girl under my wing would be forced to do anything.

I might have become the reluctant madam of this place, but after several months of supervising, I can’t help feeling responsible for these girls. Just hearing about how the previous owner abused them causes my blood to boil.

“Mist!” A frightened voice calls from behind me.

I whirl around as Sarah comes to a screeching halt. Her dishevelled brown hair points in all directions like she’s had an electricity static. Her dark eyes are widened in horror and lipstick smudges all over her cheek and chin. Both her hands are crossed over her chest, hiding the gash of torn clothes.

“Who did that?” My voice is calm, to not alarm her, but the need to kill and maim boils through my veins like acid.

“He…” She pants and bites her lip before continuing. “Jessica! He has Jessie. She couldn’t escape.”

Sarah starts trembling, her fingers spasming. The shock is wearing out and she’ll break down about now. I clutch her arm, shake her and say in a loud, clear voice. “Which room?”

“I…” Tears well in her eyes as she opens her mouth, but says nothing.

Dammit. If she starts crying, I won’t get to Jessica in time.

I can check the security feed, but that will take time I don’t have.

“Sarah.” I grab both her shoulders and force her to face me. I’m told I’m scary when serious, and while I want to comfort Sarah, Jessica is a priority. “Breathe. I need you to tell me where Jessica is so I can help her.”

“Thir… teen.” She chokes out in a sob, her tears fall loose like the oozing of blood. The sight of her crying tightens my chest, but I force myself to leave her behind.

I punch the lift’s button. It doesn’t come down. I bunch my high couture dress to above my knees and storm to the stairs, taking two at a time. My breathing remains steady when I arrive at the top.

This is nothing compared to the lethal training we went through since we were kids.

I swipe my complete-access card and barge through the door. Jessica’s pained cries and muffled whimpers into the pillow reach me first.

A bulky man twice her size pins her down with his body from behind. He has greasy, dark grey hair, bushy eyebrows and a belly fit for a swine. His fat fingers reach underneath her torn gown while his other hand immobilises her head in place.

Memories shoot through me like an unstoppable storm. Wreaking. Destructive. Real.