Misted (Team Zero #5) by Rina Kent

Like a bittersweet dream.

An unreachable illusion.

Every time Shadow lands a blow on Hawk, I grip the armrest so hard, I draw blood from my palms.

The little bastard Shadow has always been an underground fighter. The ring is his kingdom and the screaming crowd are his subjects. It’s not a coincidence that everyone shouts his name.

Hawk was never one for close-range fights. He’s a sniper. His hands are his gold mines and he protects them with his life. He doesn’t do hand-to-hand combat unless he absolutely has to. Why the fuck did he agree to this public display of fighting? Only bandages wrap around their knuckles as they slam into each other.

I’ll murder Shadow and feast on his blood if he as much as injures Hawk. He knows better than to mess with a sniper’s hands. They’re even more important than a painter or a pianist’s hands. At least, those only lose their passion when injured. A sniper might lose his whole damn life.

After Hawk’s modest win in the first round — by points, the second round ends in Shadow’s favour. The crowd goes rampant as well as the announcer. Blood trickles down Shadow’s nose and his full sleeves tiger tattoos appear more ominous under the sheen of sweat and blood droplets.

Zoe lunges to him and helps in wiping his nose with a wet cloth. She doesn’t like these scenes and neither do I, but I assume we’re here for the same reason.

Watching those men.

Her growing belly strains against her denim overalls as she scowls at Shadow. He simply grins, showing bloodied teeth and captures her lips in a hungry kiss. She kisses him back, her fingers threading in his half-damp hair.

Zoe understands Shadow’s need for the adrenaline boost. Shadow is a living, breathing monster who only lives on excitement and thrill, but Hawk? He never ran after adrenaline.

He stands at the other end of the ring, rewrapping his knuckles, eyebrows drawn together. He lifts his head up and his razor-sharp eyes capture mine.

I cease breathing as a heat wave shoots up my spine and settles in my pulsating core. I cross my arms over my chest to conceal the peak of my nipples.

Hawk never needed words. His intense silence has always been my undoing. Those deep blues communicate more than words can ever do.

It’s like he wants to bend me over, fuck me senseless and blow my world to pieces all without saying a word.

A blonde-haired Barbie hops on his back, causing him to break eye contact.

Scar.

I didn’t even notice her leaving my side, but again, when Hawk is around, my senses become hyper-aware of him, I fail to notice anything else in my surrounding.

I tap my fingers on my arm as Hawk helps in lowering her down his massive body and listens to her animated speech with clear amusement. He never gives me that interest anymore. The fact that Scar has what’s been once mine stirs an ugly, hot flame from within me.

“Stop them,” I tell Flame.

He cracks one eye open and raises an eyebrow. “You think anyone can stop Scar from doing whatever the fuck she wants? Really?”

“I don’t mean that.” Although maybe a part of me did. “Stop Shadow. They’ll bleed each other to death and no one will win.”

“Just sit back and enjoy.”

“Enjoy watching him ruin his hands?” I grit out.

“Do you care about them more than he does?”

Apparently, I do because the idiot isn't stopping.

“What happened two nights ago?” I ask. For a phantom reason, Flame said he had Croft agree to buy double from us and Croft said we’ll only deal with his accountant from now on.

Not that I’m not happy that I can get rid of the sleazy, grabby bastard without breaking his arm and ruining the girls’ lives in Le Salon, but something doesn’t add up.

I trust Flame’s manipulative methods, but the fact that it collides with Hawk’s idiotic decision to fight Shadow doesn’t sit right.

Flame lights his cigarette and releases a long fog of smoke in my direction. “He has a score to settle with Shadow. Let him.”

I want to ask about what score is it, but the game resumes. Zoe and Scar stand beside each other. The pregnant woman has a permanent frown while Scar jumps up and down throwing punches in the air as if it’s her own hand-to-hand combat.

The air tastes of the crowd’s contagious excitement and the salty smell of sweat, smoke and alcohol.

Shadow jumps in place, the spark in his metal eyes gives away his thrill. He rarely gets strong opponents in these matches, so he makes Ghost box with him. Since his best friend left, he’s been on a pent-up energy mood and Hawk is the perfect target to unleash it on.

The latter circles Shadow with slow, predatory steps. Both muscular beasts measure each other as if this is a jungle and only one of them gets to become king.

Shadow pounces first, and before Hawk can duck, the tigre-sleeved arm delivers a strong punch to his jawline. A small gasp leaves me then I stop breathing altogether when Shadow prowls perfect, successive hits at Hawk’s core.

The latter attempts to use both his arms to protect himself, but Shadow continues his momentum. The spectators cheer and chant Shadow’s name over and over until it’s deafening.

My insides roar with the need to jump in there and pound Shadow to the floor.

A tremor runs down my arms. The moment Hawk falls to his knees, I stand up on shaky legs, gripping the armrest in a white-knuckled clutch.