Misted (Team Zero #5) by Rina Kent

“What if I am?”

She jerks up and jumps me in one graceful leap. With her hands on my shoulders, she wrestles me to the bed and I let her. I lie on my back, wincing at the wound, but pain is nothing compared to having her straddling my lap with her body all over mine.

A murderous shadow covers her features. “Don’t fuck with me, Hawk.”

My grip tightens around her hip until she hisses a breath. I forget how delicate she can be.

I’m so wound up with her, I want her to feel me with every touch. “How about Ink?”

Seeming taken aback, she blinks. “We’re only friends — as close to a friend as Ink can have.”

“So you never fucked him?”

“No.” She peeks at me through her eyelashes, cheeks tinting in crimson. “You ruined me for other men.”

The streak of possessiveness that hits me is too overpowering to let it slide away.

Until the end of my days, no other fucking man will ever put their hands on what’s mine.

“That’s not the point.” She hits my chest with a closed fist. “Are you fucking that psycho?”

“Scar is like a sister to me. The crazy kind.” I flip her over, ripping a squeal from her when I’m the one straddling her. “You’re the only woman I ever fucking wanted.”

The only woman who owned my heart and my soul.

I show her that through action instead of words. With every kiss and thrust and orgasm, I bring her to the madness that’s been brewing inside me for fifteen years.

I show her that no matter what she did in the past, I’m still the same fool who’s so entangled in her, it’s impossible for me to ever get out.

And she shows me, too.

The way her body moulds into mine. The way she screams my name like she waited years to do it. The way she wraps her body around me to sleep, murmuring ‘Hug?’ in her half-asleep state.

When her eyes flutter closed, I watch her, not bothering to fall asleep.

Her hair in my face smells like lilac and fucking heaven. Her legs entwine around mine as she half-lies atop of me.

It’s like we’re back to being kids, sleeping around in the motel room and counting minutes before we had to return to The Pit. There are no guards to watch over us here, but as long as Hades breathes, neither of us is really safe.

Somewhere near dawn, her phone beeps on the nightstand beside me.

I throw a glance, intending to ignore it when I see the text on the screen.

Bring it, Mist. Do you think you can take me?

I snatch her phone and don’t even need to play with the passcode for long. She set it to the date we lost each other.

With my arm still around her, I read one text after the other. One after the other. Years of texts roll before my eyes like knives.

I must’ve been grabbing her too tight because Mist mumbles something and cracks open her sleepy eyes.

Demons crowd my space as I thrust the phone in her face. “What the fuck is this?”





33





Mist





I choose you. Even in my death, I’ll always choose you.



Past,

My eyes keep going back and forth. It’s black. Black. And more black.

I’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for what seems like days. My head throbs. My mouth is dry and scratchy. I can hardly breathe against the stabbing pain in my skull.

Something wet and warm runs between my thighs and down my open legs.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The events from the ally crush back. Blood.

Lots of blood.

Hawk!

I jerk up, but tight straps imprison me in place. I crack my eyes open and wince when a strong white light blinds my vision.

It’s The Pit. I’m in one of the white rooms.

Brown leather straps chain me to an Ob/Gyn exam table. My legs are wide open and blood continues dripping to a bucket below.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound echoes off the empty walls and slashes straight to my heart.

The rush of life that used to beat underneath my skin isn’t there anymore. I don’t feel the connection. I don’t feel anything.

No, no, no…

A guttural scream bubbles its way out of my dry throat and reverberates around me and all inside me.

“My baby!” I thrash sideways, but the straps hold me in place. “M-my baby!”

I shout and kick. Blood smears all over the white sheets, my thighs, and the papery gown covering me.

Please no.

My eyes close, sticky with tears as I pray and beg for all of this to be a nightmare.

Not my baby, please.

The door swings open and so do my eyes.

Clicks of shoes bounce on the floor before someone stands on my side. Dr Sloane.

She’s petite with pixie-cut blonde hair and malicious dark eyes covered by huge glasses.

She stares at the pad in her hand without paying me attention. I continue trying to squirm free from the straps. They dig into my arms, cutting them, but the burn doesn’t hurt.

The only thing that hurts right now is dripping down a bucket.

“My baby…” I sob, staring at her impassioned face. “Please… my baby… please… I beg you...”

“Oh, that.” She glances at me from beneath her glasses. “Gone.”

The world spins into a thousand colours before they all fade to black. Nausea fills the back of my throat as I cease to breathe. I think I’ll throw up or faint. Or both.