Cause Ωf Death (Femme Fatale Freakshow)

Chapter 3

I love my shower.

With a large, fixed rainfall shower head jutting from the wall and a smaller, adjustable setting handheld shower arm attachment, I’m spoiled for choice when it comes to my bathing needs. Tonight, I simply want to stand beneath my large rainfall shower and let the water wash over me.

I step under the steaming spray, the temperature hot enough to boil a lobster. The water burns as it drenches my hair and flows over my body, but I need it scalding hot. I need that heat, that pain, to strip away my sins and stains.

Because that’s what fucking my marks feels like.

A stain on my very soul.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude. Sex between consenting adults is perfectly acceptable, whether it’s a one-night-stand or a long-term relationship. So long as everyone involved is of legal age, on the same page when it comes to contraception, and all parties display willing and enthusiastic consent, then it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

But still. There’s something… icky … about fucking someone who I’m about to kill. Even if they do go out with a metaphorical “bang.”

It was one of the first discussions I’d held with Steve and Henley after I was inducted into the Guild. I didn’t want them to think less of me for utilizing all of my wiles and craft bestowed upon me as a member of the fairer sex. Leslie was all for me using every trick in my book to get the job done, and Kimberly was supportive of whatever decision I came to about it all. But Steve and Henley’s opinion of me mattered .

Funnily enough, it was Steve who suggested the boundaries, not Henley. Perhaps it was because I had yet to bed Henley, or maybe it was because as a soldier Henley knew how to partition parts of himself, to disassociate from the more violent or lethal aspects of his career. Steve, however, didn’t have that experience or knowledge to fall back on.

“You’re not going to go into these contracts blind, short-stack. You’ll have done your research, figured out the best method to get close to your mark and terminate them without risk of exposure or violent retaliation. If that means you’ll have to fuck them, then so be it. Just keep it distant, okay? Don’t become intimate with them, don’t get all cuddly and sweet. No kissing or hugging. Just fucking. Like that movie about the hooker who snags a rich dude and they fuck on a piano.”

If imitating Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman meant that Steve wouldn’t feel as though me fucking my targets was a betrayal, then I’d detach and pretend I was using a rather lifelike toy instead of allowing a stranger inside of me.

My mental chant helps with that.

I scrub my body with my odor-neutralizing body wash, removing all traces of Mitchell Collins and sweaty sex from my skin. Once I’m done, I contemplate putting the detachable shower head to good use, but ultimately decide against it. If I’m unwilling to rub Henley’s nose in the fact I’m having sex with others who aren’t him, I also refuse to upset Steve by declining his offer only to turn around and pleasure myself. I switch off the shower and wrap myself in the fluffy bath sheet from the towel warmer next to the shower door. I don’t tend to expose my omega nature to the outside world, but in the safety of my home, with those I trust surrounding me, I can let loose. I can revel in plush fabrics, soft textures, and enjoy mountains of blankets and cushions in a rainbow of colors.

I cuddle myself for a little while, allowing the towel to wick the moisture from my body. Once I feel as though I can breathe again, I finish drying myself and bundle my hair into another, smaller towel to dry it. I then smooth body lotion over my skin, the faint hints of honey from the Sweet Alyssum scented lotion pairing well with my natural smoky vanilla. Last of all, I pull on my bamboo cotton lounge wear, the buttery-soft fabric skimming over my skin and falling in gentle folds around me.

Finally, feeling clean and more like my real self and not my Guild persona, I head back downstairs to join the others. Henley is busy at the stove and the delicious smell of fragrant stir-fry reaches me as I settle on one of the bar stools on the other side of the island bench. Steve stands on the other side of the bench, already halfway through preparing edamame salad and garlic green beans, while Kimberly is in charge of the air-fryer. From the stacked plates beside her, she’s cooking up vegetarian spring rolls.

“So, what are we having, what do you need me to do, and where’s Les? I hope they haven’t skipped out on helping with dinner.” I ask, casting out the bait to see if anyone will take a nibble. Kimberly doesn’t disappoint.

“Dee, you know that Les will burn water, so Hen banished them to go and buy dessert. I think they’re after moon cakes and those mango sticky rice balls you like. But maybe I should call them and tell them to come back instead, if you’re gonna go and get all snarky like that.”

I bite down on my lip to hide my smirk since I don’t want to start World War III all because I pushed Kimberly’s buttons.

“Kimmy, settle yourself, she’s just fishing, and you took her bait—hook, line, and sinker. Little Wisp, you’re not in the kitchen tonight so instead of stirring the pot, how about you go and set the table and maybe get us all some drinks? I bought a couple of mini-kegs of Renegade earlier, and restocked the bar fridge with some of them. Leslie shouldn’t be long, and we’ll eat once they’re back.”

Sufficiently chastened, Kimberly turns back to her spring rolls and I follow Henley’s instruction, ignoring Steve’s soft, mock-disappointment tongue clicks. By the time I’m done, Henley is plating up the chili garlic noodles and ginger cashew chicken stir-fry, Kimberly has a platter laden with spring rolls and bowls of hoisin and sweet chili dipping sauces, and Steve has two large bowls full of edamame salad and crisp garlic green beans.

I’m pouring out the last glasses of the Renegade Brewski Peach Lager when Leslie bustles back inside, a whirlwind of pinks and purples and—most importantly—carrying desserts. Their flurry of movement only stops once they’re seated at the table with the rest of us, all conversation stalling as we devour the Asian feast.

When we finally start to talk, it’s only regarding inconsequential things. Subjects such as Steve’s last bounty, the epic technologically illiterate customers that Kimberly encounters as IT support on a daily basis, and even some of my newest creations at the patisserie. Nothing too heavy, no topics that can be considered controversial or unsuitable for dinner conversation. Just idle chit-chat.

By the time dinner is over and done with, we’re ready to get to work researching Kieran Prince. Kimmy and Leslie go off to delve into their own little hubs full of informants, rumors, hacked systems, and emails. Steve sits down with me at the table, scattering several pens alongside two empty notebooks to help us jot down the information now clogging the pathways of my brain.

“How about we start with the basics, yeah? Tell me everything that the Guild dumped into your head regarding Kieran, and then we can move on from there—his activities, security, and even any standing routines or appointments on his schedule. If your ‘Wispy’ senses are tingling, then there’s something about this guy that’s easily overlooked, but is probably gonna end up being important. So, no matter how insignificant you think it might be, write it down and we can come back to it later.”

Steve’s words make sense, so I nod and get to work.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that, eyes blurred and burning, Steve and I gave up for the night. Kimmy had already headed off to bed, Leslie close behind her. It was always a toss-up with those two whether they’d fall into bed just to snuggle, or tear each other’s clothes off and ravish each other, but by the heavy footsteps leading up to Kimberly’s room, my guess for last night was the former.

Henley has already left by the time I stumble downstairs, relieved that—yet again—I have today off. The clock on the microwave is showing that it’s a little after half past seven, so I’m not even up that late. There’s no sign of Kimmy yet—not that I’m surprised—although Leslie is already up, albeit barely conscious themselves. Steve, the delicious hunk of sigma protector that he is, is hovering over the waffle iron resting on the bench next to the stove, while a pan of what smells like bacon sizzles away on the stove top.

Mmmm. Waffles.

insert drooling noises

I cross over to the coffee machine and press a few buttons, grinning happily as the mug already sitting underneath fills with the steaming fluid. I add my preferred creamer and a spoonful of sugar before sipping the drink slowly, savoring the bitter brew as it wakes up my neurons. Honestly, I will never regret making this purchase with my very first paycheck from the Guild, and I know that both Leslie and Kimberly are also eminently grateful for my decision.

I wonder if this coffee machine is part of the reason why Leslie has been coming and staying over more frequently since I joined the ranks of the Femme Fatale Freakshow.

“Here you go, waffles with bacon and melted chocolate, just how you like them.” Steve sets an overflowing plate in front of me, delivering the required cutlery at the same time. I don’t hesitate to dig in, moaning my appreciation over his culinary skills with the first mouthful. Steve simply winks at me before adjusting himself and heads back to the waffle iron.

The saltiness of the crispy bacon perfectly offsets the sweetness of the chocolate, and when paired together with the fluffy buttery flavor of the waffles, my taste buds are in paroxysms of ecstasy. In my world, the only thing better than bacon or chocolate is the two of them combined. EVERYTHING is better with bacon and chocolate.

Don’t even get me started on cheese.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today? I know Kimmy has work, the poor darling. I swear, people seem to grow dumber and dumber with each passing day. Some of these ‘customers’ she has to deal with would be better off just unplugging their machines, moving to Pennsylvania, and joining the Amish. I have no doubt that the Amish are more technologically inclined than some of these morons she has to deal with.”

Leslie’s complaints aren’t anything that the rest of us haven’t thought or said aloud ourselves at one point or another. Luckily for us, the stupidity of some people, especially those higher up in some of the bigger corporations, has made our corporate espionage jobs so much easier in the past. In fact, I hope that there’s an ID-10-T or PEBCAK—Problem Exists Between Chair And Keyboard—somewhere on the Prince family’s payroll, because it’ll cut down Kimmy’s workload by a decent percentage if she can get into their security and systems without too much issue.

“Today, the short-stack and I are going to venture forth and do some recon at Royal Tower in downtown San Fran. It’s listed as the primary residence for Kieran Prince, and we’re in luck. It’s a monstrosity of a high-rise, and the lower half-dozen or so levels are open to the public as a high-end mall, and then the floors between the mall and the residential accommodation are all offices. We’re gonna go in, have a look-see, and hopefully come back with enough intel that Kimmy will be able to make a start on getting inside their security.”

Steve and I had come up with the plan last night before Henley had headed up to bed. There was still something niggling away at my brain, some instinct that told me not to just sneak in and kill the guy. While I don’t have an actual deadline for the job, I also don’t want to dilly-dally and possibly invoke the ire of both the client and the Guild. Taking the slow, cautious approach is not only smart, but will enable me to pinpoint the most opportune moment to enact the contract, and to find the perfect method to execute it.

“Is Hen coming back tonight?” I ask as I finish my plate of chocolate-covered ambrosia, then gulp down the cooling remnants of my coffee. “I know he’s heading back to Kentucky in a couple of days, but do we know where he’s gone today? Should we expect him back in time for dinner?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting up with him around lunchtime. He’s just got a few personal errands to run, and then we’ll join up and pay a visit to one of my contacts who’s currently in town. Greg has his fingers in a lot of different pies, and quite a few of them have a more… distasteful … brand of filling. I’d guess that there are going to be a number of new contracts issued by the Guild by the time Greg and I are done with this.” Leslie’s glower is telling. While many of their associates deal with the murky underbelly of society, some of their black-market contacts are darker than the rest. I don’t know how they manage to sleep at night, not with what they’ve seen or been involved in, but I guess they’re like undercover agents in a way. They’re getting their hands dirty in order to clean up those whose souls are truly corrupt and stained.

“Okay, well, once this one’s ready, we’ll be off. It’s gonna be a long day for us both, and I’d rather not spend most of it stuck in traffic.”

I snort at Steve’s whining, but take the hint. It won’t take me long to get ready for the day, but seeing as Steve has been up long enough to make breakfast for us all, I know that out of the both of us, I’m the one who’ll be holding us up if I don’t get a move on.

The imposing glass edifice of Royal Tower looms over us as Steve and I walk through the rotating glass doors. Our journey to this point has been uneventful, but that can always change in an instant. We saunter nonchalantly through the doorway and immediately head for the interactive display screen stationed in the middle of the expansive thoroughfare. As Steve mentioned earlier, the lower half-dozen floors of Royal Tower are open to the public. That’s because it’s home to almost every single Royal brand outlet, as well as a number of other, high-end brands. It’s like a mall, but for the elite. Even the coffee shops and kiosks are boutique and bougie, with nary a fast-food outlet or franchise in sight.

Steve’s arm is slung over my shoulder, tucking me into his side protectively, the two of us posing as a couple ready to take the next step in their relationship. I tap the name of one of the Royal jewelry brands into the search bar, humming happily when it gives me detailed instructions on where the store is located, its opening hours, the best ways to navigate to the store from where we’re currently standing, and then prints out those same details when I select that option. Spying a rather enticing-looking café off to one side, I tug on Steve’s hand and lead him toward the shop, following the tantalizing smells that are making my mouth water.

As we pass by one of the elevator banks, a subtle note of leather and tobacco teases my nose. I pause for a moment, confused as to why that particular fragrance has caught my attention. A deep voice swears softly from behind us, and I’m jostled slightly as a man—no, scratch that, an alpha —brushes against me as he weaves his way through the other shoppers and pedestrians. Steve bristles beside me but I pat his chest, soothing the soft growl of displeasure rumbling there.

“Easy there, big guy. It’s not his fault. I stopped suddenly, and he obviously has somewhere to be. Now, how about we go and get a coffee and something to nibble on while we gird our loins for battling salespeople who’ll want us to pick out rings today so they can hit their targets, hmmm?” I soothe, and Steve eases off with the macho theatrics. Only some of it is an act, I know that, because while I might be an omega, I’ve gone to great lengths to disguise that from the rest of the world. Outside of the orphanage where we all grew up, there are very few people who know my true designation and identity. Discounting the Femme Fatale Freakshow researchers and higher-ups, that number can be counted on one hand with a finger to spare. While we aren’t officially a pack, with nothing to signify our bonds to each other, I know that the moment I’m ready to register as an omega, that Henley, Steve, Leslie, and Kimberly will be there beside me, registering as my alpha and betas, and solidifying our bonds as more than just family.

But until that day comes around, my designation will remain hidden, and I’ll continue to take suppressants that both disguise my perfume and also ease my heats.