Page 9 of Misted

Hawk

Hate is a small word to describe what I feel for you. The time has come for me to destroy you.

I hada few expectations for our reunion.

Her against the wall. Me on top of her. All over her.

Then she had to say she’ll make me leave.

Well, fucking think again, Hellion. That ship has sailed an eternity ago.

After avoiding my gaze for years, Mist’s harsh hazel eyes pierce through my soul. Only I don’t have one anymore.

I want to freeze that look, steal it and suffocate it somewhere out of reach.

There was a moment during the torture where I almost forgot that sharp look. I can forget my fucking self. My existence. My damn name. But I’m not allowed to forget her or the fucked up things she did.

There’s a lot of debt between us.

It’s time I collect.

My eyes rake over her long off-shoulder dress. The velvety dark green material hugs her tiny waist and flares over made-for-my-hands hips.

The twist of her flaming hair at the back of her head appears painful.

Red hair. Red nails. Red heels.

Blood.

My favourite fucking colour.

“Mist.” Ghost’s voice is firm but not harsh.

She pays him no attention and continues glaring at me. She was never this stern and uptight like a rigid cord waiting to be snapped.

I’ll do the snapping and break her in for fucking good.

“Shouldn’t you be gone to some hole in the Middle East?” she asks in a cold, no-nonsense tone.

Shadow throws her a dead stare. “Harsh, old hag. He just returned from the dead.”

“Screw you, witch,” Scar snaps, offended on my behalf.

I keep my cool and motion at Ghost with a nod since he asked me to help out. If it were a few months ago, I would’ve straight out refused. I’ve always been a lone wolf unable to play nice with the pack. After being captured by Hades and tortured to within an inch of my life, I don’t give a fuck about why I stayed away in the past.

Torture isn’t something new to me. I had my fair share and inflicted my fair share – although I never preferred close-range combat. But what I’ve been through in The Pit? That wasn’t torture. That was my gradual descent to fucking insanity.

Even now, the low whispers won’t leave the back of my head.

During those weeks and months I spent chained to the ceiling, I made a pact that if I got out, I’d finally collect my fifteen-years-old debt.

“Ghost made a mistake. You can leave.” Mist folds her arms under her chest, which pops her round, tight breasts. Her shoulder blades jut forward in a menacing gesture, but all I can focus on is the peak of her tits from the slit of her dress and how the dark green colour contrasts against her pale skin.

My cock twitches and hot rage slams in my chest. Fuck. I can’t even be turned on by her without feeling deep, gutting anger.

I rip my gaze from her and trail to Ghost. He invited me over and he needs to take care of this. He gives a slight nod then tells Mist, “With me gone and Shadow busy, we need Hawk’s help.”

“We don’t.” She flashes her temper at Ghost. “I can take care of everything myself.”