Misted (Team Zero #5) by Rina Kent

How can I fight him when he tore through all my defences? I just hope he won’t shatter my already half-empty heart in the process.

He lifts my head so it’s cradled in his strong hand and nudges the open bottle of water at my mouth.

I clamp my lips shut. Even though my body begs for water, I won’t fall down without a fight. Hawk won’t have his way with me or detox me.

“Drink before I make you,” he scolds as if I’m a kid refusing to eat her vegetables.

I tilt my chin up, still closing my lips.

He sighs again and shoves the bottle into my lips. Droplets of cool water spill on my face, and I’m tempted to lick them.

I don’t.

Hawk holds my nose, cutting off my air. I gasp through my mouth, and he empties half the bottle down my throat. I gurgle and splutter before my brain makes the safest decision to swallow. The cool liquid soothes my scratchy throat, but some of it leak through my nose when he lets me go. My head falls against the pillow with water sticking to my face, neck, and hair.

I cough and stare at him with pure hatred.

He smiles down at me and reaches a hand for my face. I’m tempted to blend with the pillow.

Hawk wipes his thumb along the side of my mouth. The soft gesture knocks the air out of my lungs. I want to close my eyes and soak in his touch. I want to rub against him like a pet.

Don’t stay alone with him.

He’s still smiling when he says, “Good girl.”

Then he turns and leaves. I watch the door for long seconds after he disappeared. My tongue keeps licking my lips, trying to reincarnate what just happened.

No.

I need a way out of here before I forget why I’m protecting him in the first place.





18





Mist





You consume me until I’m not sure whether or not I’m an extension of you.



“Hawk…”

“P-please, Hawk…”

“I need my fix. Don’t do this to me.”

“Fuck you! I hate you!”

“Please… Please….”

I must sound like a mentally unstable person — and I probably am. I’ve been fading in out of consciousness for what seems like weeks, but I’m sure it’s only been a few days. Or was it hours?

Time escapes me. Everything does.

The loud ringing wouldn’t leave my mind and my head is as heavy as a truck. My tongue grows too big for my mouth and I can hardly feel my limbs.

Hawk unbound me a few times for the bathroom and to feed me, but I couldn’t run even if I wanted to. I can hardly open my eyes without feeling stabbing pain. It’s like a million needles under my skin prickle me at the same time, non-stop.

I’m thankful whenever unconsciousness drifts me away. But then, the memories I’ve been running away from assault me. They hurt. That’s what memories do; they hurt so much like a deadly disease at its final stages.

If I don’t have the numbness, those memories will tear me apart.

Little touches.

Small words.

Innocent kisses. Passionate kisses.

Stolen laughs.

Tiny moments.

All-consuming hugs.

I will always catch you, Hellion.

You’re the only woman I want, Hellion.

I’ll take you to France. We’ll start anew.

Words. Empty fucking words. They hurt more than Omega’s withdrawal or my injuries or any physical torture I had to endure.

As if those aren’t enough to make me wish for death, my darkest memories plague my unconsciousness like a never-ending nightmare.

The pain. The white sheets. The blood. Lots of fucking blood. It was the first time blood scared me that much. It wasn’t only blood, it was part of my soul and the vicious destruction of my feeble little dreams.

I don’t want to fucking see your face again. You’re dead to me, Mist.

Tears spring to my eyes like they did that day. That moment he turned his back on me and left for good still draws a sucking black wound in my heart.

Since then, life lost its meaning and I lived for one purpose only.

I’m hauled to consciousness again, and even though pain shreds my nerves’ ending, I’m thankful. I’ll take the physical pain over the torturous memories any day.

It’s night, or my eyes are seeing black. My hands and ankles aren’t bound when I move them.

Not that I can run. I need more rest if I want to take someone twice my size like Hawk. For now, I’ll pretend I’m still weak.

The ringing in my head returns, and I moan at the heaviness in my body. I can’t even move my arm for a long time. I run my tongue over my cracked lips. I haven’t showered in days, or a week and I’m still in the dress from the police station. I feel so dirty and out of it.

The walls of the room spin like a merry go round on cracks. The chandelier appears like a wide-eyed monster about to fall on my head. I blink my unfocused eyes a few times, clearing the tears that gathered in my lids.

“Haaaawk…” My speech is slurred as if I’m drunk. That’s an idea. I’ll ask him for alcohol with the paracetamol pills. They help in reducing the intensity of withdrawal symptoms. I’m glad he’s at least giving me those pills.

I blink some more as I angle my head to the side, but he isn’t in the room. He usually sits opposite me or at the head of the bed and watches me like a researcher would watch their lab rat.