Page 49 of Misted
Present,
Tears rim my eyes as they crack open.
I thought I was done dreaming about those memories. Why did they come back to haunt me? But again, maybe I deserve being tortured.
The scent of jasmine floats all around my dizzy head. If I were in Le Salon, it’d smell of strong perfumes, smoke, and alcohol. The prison cell only has a mouldy smell.
I’m still in my dress from the police station while a bandage covers my arm. My tongue feels too big for my mouth as if I’m about to drool. The ridges of my mouth taste raw and sticky. Was I drugged?
My head doesn’t hurt as much as it did the last time I remember, but I’m not sure if it’s due to Omega or something else.
Dim light comes from between thick curtains. Cradling my head, I sit up on a large bed in front of an antique fireplace. The wooden flooring is covered by a traditional Midetarrenean carpet. The sound of crashing waves filters from the other side of the closed door.
I spring to my feet, tension crowding in my shoulders. Where the hell am I?
That crazy lieutenant better not have done something to make me talk. He’s stubborn and obviously holds a grudge, but he wouldn’t ruin his career by kidnapping me, would he?
Male voices drift from the ajar door. My heart lodges in my throat as I make out that low, familiar rumble. Hawk.
Is this a cruel dream?
I tiptoe to the door, trying and failing, to subdue my thumping heart. We’re in the second storey of a small, cosy house with beautiful flowery wallpapers. The tight hallway lodges two more rooms with a wooden staircase that leads to an attic. I freeze in front of a large window that overlooks… the sea.
It is the sea. Bright, sparkling blue with azure hues like those eyes that keep barging in my dreams. Seems that the house is built near the top of a hill that overlooks the rocky part of the sea. A small village with red rooftops sits in the distance.
This is… the Mediterranean sea, right?
Not that I’ve been looking at pictures of it or anything.
It’s so much more breathtaking in reality.
“Welcome to fucking France, redhead!”
I whirl around and nearly trip over my own feet. Crow stands at the top of the stairs, his size crowds the small entrance. He’s just as I remember him. Large, in a black leather jacket, and grinning. He’s the more tolerable version of Shadow.
His golden blond hair is shorter at his nape now. His blue eyes seem serene and at peace. There’s no hollowness or anything.
I refused to believe Ghost when he said Crow is the only Zero who’s living the good life, but apparently, I was wrong.
“France?” I ask, incredulous. What the hell am I doing in France?
“South of France, to be more specific. Not bad, eh?” He motions around. “I could’ve found a better place, but Hawk didn’t give me much notice. Can you believe that little shit? He called me but didn’t even say ‘a hello, Crow. How you doing, mate?’ He just ordered me to find a house and then the line went fucking dead. ”
“Hawk?” I caress my arm, and like sin, he appears beside Crow.
If I thought Crow dwarfed the entrance, Hawk feels like he’ll break the wood. He’s wearing simple black trousers and a loose grey T-shirt that still fails to conceal his honed muscles. He half leans against the wall, hair dishevelled and begging for my fingers to run through the thick strands.
I clear my throat. “Why am I in France?”
“Because I said so.” His turquoise eyes are harsh, dominant, as if he’s challenging me to retort.
“Good seeing you well, Crow.” I storm past them. “But I’m going back.”
A merciless hand clutches my wrist and pulls me back. I have to plant both arms on his chest for balance.
“Did I say you can?” he growls close to my face.
Goddamn him and this controlling side of his. I want to drag my nails through his face while kissing him.