Misted (Team Zero #5) by Rina Kent

“Crying is a basic human reaction when someone is in pain.” I point out.

“I thought so, too, but some weirdos cry when they’re happy. How am I supposed to figure it out?” She offers a dramatic — and fake — sigh. “You already played superhero of the day. Why are you being so pissy about?”

The urge to ruin those doll-like features overwhelm me. Even if she knew for certain that the girls are in danger, she probably wouldn’t have bothered. It’s not only because of her inability to discern human emotions, but also because she’s a selfish sick monster under the porcelain doll appearance.

Not that I’m any different, but I at least never pretended to be anything I’m not.

“If something happens to the girls when you could’ve prevented it, I’ll make you pay, Scar,” I warn in my coolest tone.

Her plump pink lips curve into a cunning smile. “Don’t whine from your grave when I’m done with you, witch.”

“Ooh, girl fight. When can I watch?” Shadow grins in a mischievous, sadistic way that fits the snarling tiger tattoos falling from his bicep down to his forearm.

“I don’t know whose side to pick, though.” His gaze roams from me to Scar in that inquisitive way he measures his opponents with before an underground boxing match. “Scar is too tiny.”

“Shut up, arsehole.” She throws him a glare.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, psycho doll. I’m just stating facts” He directs his gaze to me. “And Mist is… well, an old hag. Age matters in stamina and fitness.”

I eyeball him in a helpless try to burn him on the spot. “Shut it, filth.”

He always makes me feel old when I’m sure he’s older. I’m probably thirty-one or thirty-two. I can’t tell for sure because our memories were wiped clean when we were kidnapped into the assassination organisation, The Pit.

I settle on a chair separate from both of them, place an elbow on the armrest and lean my head against my fist.

A drink would be nice, but a distant throb starts at the back of my head due to withdrawal. Alcohol could make it worse.

“Where’s Ghost, anyway?” Scar grumbles. “I have things to do.”

She was never one for meetings and didn’t attend them ever since the five of us have been dispatched to rule this place. Scar prefers to be an undercover escort and mingles with the girls. Not that she stands up for them in any way. Scar is her own person and that’s it.

Shadow checks the vintage clock on the wall. “He’ll be here. Ghost is punctual.”

Scar huffs. “Unlike you.”

“Hold your shit, psycho doll.”

“Pretty sure it’s hold your horses.” She shoots back.

They go on endless bickering and I pray for Ghost to arrive faster.

Although it’s not official, Ghost is the leader of our little group and the voice of reason. I would’ve murdered Shadow and Scar years ago if it weren’t for his pacifying methods.

Prior to The Pit, Ghost, Shadow and I were street urchins and had each other’s backs until we were kidnapped and taken into The Pit. I was maybe nine or ten at the time.

The three of us and forty-seven other children formed Team Zero and morphed into Omega addicts. And that drug? It’s a damn nightmare. Not only did it fog and erase our memories, but it also made us robots made for one purpose: kill.

As if that isn’t enough, Omega’s side effects killed most of Team Zero since they were children. Only thirteen of us survived. Then, decades later, one of ours died.

Apparently, Omega’s side effects never left, they were only muted. Diablo’s sudden death was a wake-up call to those of us who remained. Detoxing, leaving Hades and his pit isn’t a luxury now, it’s our only way to survive.

The detoxing process is slow as hell. We still need small doses that only Hades provides. Besides, he dispatched just five of us to run one of his partners’ mafia business. The others remain hostages in his hell until we complete his dirty work.

The door opens and Ghost strolls inside with a hand in his suit trousers’ pocket. Thank God. One more minute alone with Scar and Shadow and I’ll start punching a wall.

Ghost is about the same height and built as Shadow. His deep brown eyes hold an edge of wisdom and calm that most of us lack, but there’s also the deadly energy that hints at how merciless he can be. His dark hair is swiped back but appears dishevelled as if someone has been running their fingers through it.

I don’t know why I have this sense of envy towards Ghost and the arsehole Shadow. Especially Shadow. How can a heartless monster like him get happiness?

Not that I care.

The leather squeaks as Ghost sits on Shadow’s chair armrest. He coolly takes Shadow’s bottle, ignoring his grumbles, and pours the amber liquid into a square glass.

Ghost sips from his drink and returns the bottle to Shadow. “I’m leaving.”

I stiffen, perking up into a straight position. Clicks and clacks fill the air as Shadow and Scar abandon their drinks on the small coffee table. Even Flame, who’s always sleeping on the sofa at the back, peeks his ginger head, appearing wide awake.

“Haha. Funny.” Shadow mocks.

Ghost shakes his head. My back turns rigid and dread trickles down my spine because I know Ghost isn’t the joking type.