Misted (Team Zero #5) by Rina Kent

A tremor goes through her limbs every now and then.

It’s normal for all the withdrawal she’s been going through. No matter what I do, there’s nothing comfortable about withdrawal. It just fucking hurts.

At first, she demanded her dose every chance she got, but after a few days, she must’ve realised she won’t get it and forced herself in the fighting mode. She has seizures at night, but she bites her lips to suffocate the sound until blood comes out.

Her strength fills me with inexplicable pride.

She has always been a tough bean who fought anything dished her way.

I perch over her and untie her wrist’s bindings. My fingers massage the red skin over angry marks of faded scars.

Flame said Mist and Ghost used to cuff themselves when detoxing because they lose their memories. They preferred the cuffs over doing something they might regret.

During my time on Omega, I was always hyper-focused and eliminated targets as if they were ants. Perhaps my withdrawal is the reason why my hand is fucking useless now.

I undo her ankles next and she mumbles something I can’t make out. The soft sound is enough to strain my erection against my zipper.

She throws her hand, tossing the sheet away. Her creamy breasts topped by soft pink nipples come into view. I’m rock hard, imagining taking them in my mouth until they peak against my tongue while she’s wet and ready for me to take her as I fucking please. I wipe the side of my mouth to not drool like a bloody teenager.

The cover slips further, and it’s like someone drenched me in cold, freezing water.

The dagger and flowers tattoo and shit splays over her side atop her hip as a permanent reminder that the fucker Ink touched her. Rage grips me by the gut at the thought that she let him touch her in other places.

A part of me is tempted to set the tattoo on fire so there’s no trace of any other man on her.

I turn around before I act on the idea. I better go check the security one more time and ask Crow how he strengthens his. Even if he’s out of the scheme and settling down, he’s not a fucking idiot to lower his guard.

A soft moan snaps my attention back to Mist. Her hair falls in a silky wave down her shoulders and on the pillow. Her breathing is rapid, eyes moving behind her closed lids. Her hand trails down her flat stomach until she finds her pussy and rubs in slow, circular movements.

Fuck me.

My dick jumps to attention, itching with the need to replace her fingers.

I narrow my eyes on her face. Who the hell is she dreaming about to touch herself in her sleep?

She mumbles something as her fingers disappear between her thighs and she increases her pace. Her moans and the little needy sounds increase in volume. “P-please…”

Even though I’m still rock fucking hard, I can’t help the hot fire threatening to consume me.

Who the fuck is she dreaming about?

I reach out to shake her and stop whatever dream she’s having when she breathes in a needy moan.

“Hawk…” Her lips fall open.

Mine do, too.

“P-please… Hawk… oh...” Her fingers move harder and faster against her pussy. I’m too frozen to react. I can only watch as her face reddens and she sucks her free forefinger in her mouth as if it’s my fucking dick.

I’m about to come right there and then when her eyes snap open.

Lust covers the darkened hazel colour and she appears disoriented for a moment. Her beautiful hair splays around her, damp at the temples. Her maddening pink nipples are hard as stone while her hand still nestles between her thighs.

I sneak out of the room before her gaze falls on me.

As soon as I’m outside, I lean against the wall, my breathing harsh, and my hands balled into fists by my sides.

I need a fucking award for walking out on that without fucking her raw.

Knowing she wants me to the point of dreaming about me changes something in the great scheme of things.

I’ll take full advantage of that.





The following morning, I sit at the table in the reception area. Wires scatter in front of me as I cut them into similar lengths to continue building the siege around the house’s fence.

A half-finished cigarette dangles from my lips and I let the nicotine clear my head. The soft light coming from outside bathes the house in more sickening cosiness than needed.

It’s the first time I miss England’s gloomy days?

I’m halfway through cutting wires when Mist trudges down the stairs in silent careful steps. I almost cut my fucking finger.

She’s wearing my black T-shirt. That’s fucking it. The baggy piece of clothing falls to the middle of her thigh, and fuck me, she looks like something straight out of a fantasy.

The only wrong thing about her appearance is that she gathered her hair into a messy bun. It’s as if she’s hiding her true self behind the well-groomed, elegant woman.

Everyone knows her as the uptight madam of Le Salon, but no one has seen her as I fucking did. No one witnessed her free, talkative nature. No one knows she crosses her arms as a defence mechanism instead of just a look. It’s her way to push everyone out of her vicinity.

Now, she’s the most natural I’ve seen her in years. No makeup. No haughtiness. A smidge similar to the hellion she was before.

She stops at the base of the stairs and her hazel eyes narrow on the wires and cutters in my hand. “Are you going to use that on me?”