Page 6 of Misted
After I make sure they’re all set, I storm to my office where the blonde headed to.
I swing the door open — obviously in the mood for some action today.
She sips some herbal tea while sitting on a sofa. When crossing her legs, the short tulle skirt barely reaches the middle of her bare thighs. She’s wearing white sandals, her toes painted in glittery pink. Her simple white cotton shirt has ‘I Eat People for Breakfast’ written in more glitter. Everything about her is so tiny. Her height, her nose, and all of her features.
Shadow sits opposite her drinking straight from a bottle of scotch. His stupid tall frame dwarfs the chair. Curly dark blond hair falls across his forehead adding to his nauseatingly charming exterior. The steel grey eyes are the only thing that fits his personality.
I stand by Scar’s side and cross my arms. “Why didn’t you help them?”
She continues sipping from her tea, not sparing me a glance. “How would I know they need help just because they’re crying. I don’t have a sixth sense, you know.”
“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.