Misted (Team Zero #5) by Rina Kent

The drape I wrapped around my bicep is soaking red and it doesn’t seem like the bleeding will stop any time soon.

Worst of all? The constant pounding in my head that nearly splits my temples open. The dry scratchiness at the inside of my mouth causes my tongue to stick to the roof. The kitchen knife in my hand almost drops to the ground.

Dehydration, withdrawal, and bleeding out. I’ve been in better situations than this.

I’m tempted to curl into a ball and take the withdrawal while lying down. If I have a seizure now, I might fall and meet my death.

I shake my head to clear my wobbly vision and continue forging through the endless trees. Branches scratch my arms and my bare legs. The scrapes burn, but again everything burns. My arms, my skin, and even my half-empty heart.

I need to reach town and call Molly so she can get me the hell out of here.

Fucking Hawk. Doesn’t he know I’m detoxing? The least he could’ve done is bring my dose.

The smell of pine fills my nostrils. Birds chirp loudly up the tall trees. Rays of sunlight hit the top of my hair – my awfully dishevelled hair because of being face-fucked. I must look like a mess with dry cum all over me and blood dripping on my thousand pounds’ dress.

I’m so damn sore that I can still feel his merciless thrusts with every step I take.

I hate how much it turns me on. I hate him for doing this after years of pretending we don’t exist for each other.

I hate myself for wanting more.

Even as I take wobbly steps, I have to remind myself that I’m doing the right thing. If I go back, if I give in, it’ll be the end of us both.

Sweat trickles down my forehead and back. Pebbles crush under my shoes, and I avoid slipping and falling down on my face a few times.

I’m panting and choking on my own breaths. The throbbing in my head becomes a constant, intensified pounding.

I let go of the cloth wrapped around my wrist and clutch a tree trunk for balance with bloodied, clammy fingers. My breaths come fast and heavy like the gurgling of the dead. Without the cloth, blood drips from my arm to the tree leaves.

The reason the blood won’t stop is probably because of Omega rather than anything else. I need my dose. I fucking need it. I don’t care that I’m still a druggie after all. Omega numbs the parts that hurt the most.

Omega snuffs out memories.

I suck in a deep breath and push off the tree. I try to walk, but I’m swaying as if I’ve been drinking all night. My vision becomes blurry and my head turns dizzy.

Footsteps sound from behind me. Gripping the knife’s hilt tighter, I spin around so fast, I almost land on my face. I’m not in the mood to be messed with and I’d fucking kill anyone who gets in my way.

Now, if only my foggy vision would cooperate. I blink once. Twice. A larger than life presence stands at my face. Those dark turquoise eyes stare down at me with complete disapproval.

Fuck him. He didn’t even kiss me.

His eyes narrow at my still bleeding arm, and he reaches for it. I point the knife at his chest, stopping him. I’m breathing harshly, my head is a mess, and I need my damn fix.

The least he can do is bring my fix.

“If you’re going to stab me, then do it.” His shoulders square back and he’s still having that murderous expression as if he wants to throttle me. “Death is the only thing that will keep me away from you.”

My hold on the knife falters, but I continue holding it. He has to let me go while he still can.

Just knowing that he breathed somewhere under the same sky kept me alive. Why can’t we go back to that?

But a part of me mourns the idea of spending a second away from him anymore.

Don’t stay alone with him.

“Leave me the hell alone, Hawk…” I try to add bite to my words, but the pain in my head paralyses my speech.

“You’re going to fucking bleed out.” He growls and snatches my arm. The knife clutters to the ground. Or I let it go. I don’t even know.

I hate how much my body leans into his warm embrace. How much I want to close my eyes even for just for a moment.

No. It’s the withdrawal messing with my emotions.

Hawk inspects my arm then curses. He yanks off his T-shirt almost ripping it open in the process. I sway, and my vision blurs, but I greedily hold on to that sight of him.

He’s always been a sight, but he rarely removed his clothes and I almost never saw him fully naked. The broad ridges of his muscles and his hawk tattoo flex with every move as he wraps his T-shirt around my arm. Small bird tattoos fly from his side to his chest, where his heart rests. These are new. I only saw the hawk tattoo when we were teenagers.

“The fuck were you thinking?” He snaps and my hazy eyes falls on him. My lids are heavy, and I can feel my vision blackening.

I clutch his strong forearm. My sweaty, bloody fingers dig into his flesh. “I need… Omega…”

“Not fucking anymore.” He grunts. Before I can make out the meaning behind his words, my world starts to darken.

I fall, and for the first time in years, I’m not scared. It has everything to do with how his strong arms surround my waist.

Black sucks me in.



Past,

“Jump!”

I look down at Hawk with a tightened stomach. He’s too far down. I’ll be jumping to my death.

“I’ll catch you.” He flashes me his rare, confident smile. “I’ll always catch you.”