Crowed (Team Zero #2) - Rina Kent Page 0,5

is the only sound in the room. The brightness will be uncomfortable for the patient once he regains consciousness, but it’s a necessity for the machines and our job.

Bandages wrap around the man’s massive chest from the middle to his shoulders, but that doesn’t hide his cut muscles. I inch closer like a curious kitten. I was so caught up in the surgery earlier, I didn’t notice them, but there are deep scars spread all over his torso and arms, covered by tattoos. Not intricate or one of those skull tattoos. No. They’re little birds. Countless birds weave from his torso to his thick biceps and forearms. They appear sporadic, but something tells me they’re not.

Oh la la. This man could really be a gangster.

I wonder what brought him to our peaceful town and who gave him such a nasty shot.

His face is strong; sharp lines cut into the finest details. His skin is a little pale but not in an alarming way. Mid-length blond hair splays on the white pillow. As I stand by his head, I notice a fading scar below his right ear. I wouldn’t have caught it had I not been gawking at him since I came in.

We don’t get many — if any — mysterious patients like him in our hospital. That’s all.

I turn towards my cart, pull out the digital thermometer from its case, and decontaminate it with ethanol.

Before I can return to the patient, a strong arm encircles my waist from behind. My back flushes against a hard chest.

I gasp. I didn’t even hear him wake up. With that amount of anaesthesia, he should’ve taken at least another hour to regain consciousness.

All the confusion evaporates when sharp metal is placed to my neck. A scalpel.

A raspy voice fills my ears and booms straight to my quivering legs in a broken French. “Not a word or I’ll slit your throat.”

Crow

I know a few things about pain. I suffered from a fair share. Inflicted a fair share. I’ve grown so accustomed to the sensation, it doesn’t faze me anymore.

But being shot is always a bitch.

A fog surrounds my head. I shake it once, twice, but it doesn’t go away. If anything, the fog thickens and dizziness assaults me.

I yank out the IV from my arm. It flops to the floor, a puddle forms around it. The hospital walls blur into a mismatched halo.

Fuck.

I have to escape from here before I lose consciousness again.

The nurse at my weapon’s end remains as still as a board. No movements. No sounds. Not even shaking. If anything, she’s slightly leaning into me.

Strange.

Even if my threat was somehow convincing – which is miraculous considering the circumstances — how come she’s not scared? She’s supposed to be trembling in fear.

My gaze narrows on the top of her brown hair tied into a neat bun. Nope. Not a bloody move whatsoever.

I don’t know if I should be amazed or irritated that she offers no reaction.

Pain shoots through my upper shoulder. I hiss, grinding my teeth. My throat is sour. Cold sends a shudder down my body despite the sweat coating my skin.

I need out of here. But first, “Morphine,” I grit out, keeping a somewhat steady hold on whatever sharp object I picked up from the cart.

The nurse continues her statue pose as if she didn’t hear me.

Another wave of dizziness almost knocks me down. The pain pulsing in my torso makes unconsciousness seem so near, I can sense the blackness shrouding my vision.

I push the weapon further into the nurse’s neck until I feel her swallow against the metal.

Finally. A reaction. I was starting to wonder if I’m hallucinating and ended up kidnapping a fucking statue.

“I said morphine.”

As if I’m not holding a sharp object to her neck, the nurse turns around to face me so abruptly, I almost slice her throat by accident.

I curse my injury and lack of reflex for not forcing her in her place.

A trickle of blood travels down the translucent pale skin of her neck and soaks the hem of her blouse’s collar, but not an ounce of fear crosses her petite features. If anything, her strikingly huge green eyes look at me with a sense of... acceptance? Numb acceptance. No matter how big her doe eyes are, they show no sign of life. I’m not even sure if she’s seeing me or past me.

What in the bloody hell is this nurse?

The wheels in my mind spring to life despite the haziness. Was she sent to