Cause Ωf Death (Femme Fatale Freakshow)

Chapter 5

I ’m not sure what I’d call today. While we had some success in our reconnaissance mission, there was one overwhelming—and recurring—blight to our day.

The. Alpha.

Steve and I managed to spend most of the morning strolling around the fourth floor of the Royal Tower complex, looking for all intents and purposes like two lovers searching for an engagement ring. In reality, however, we were making note of the emergency exits and fire stairs, elevators, how far public access extended, and—of course—the locations of the various security cameras. Funnily enough, it’s one of Steve’s abilities to “sniff out and obfuscate” cameras and video footage, although he has his limits. In such a large space as Royal Tower, Steve could only disguise one of us—and due to the nature of the job at hand, that fell to me by default.

However, after lunch our circumstances changed. The enticing scent of leather and tobacco reappeared, and several times either Steve or I caught a glimpse of the unknown alpha, standing stock still with his nose in the air, as if he was a scent-hound on the trail of his prey.

That was us. We were the prey.

Don’t ask me how I knew this, I just did. My instincts were screaming at me, but I couldn’t figure out what they were warning me against—was I supposed to avoid this man at all costs, to hide away from him? Or perhaps instead I was meant to walk up to him, blatantly perfume and purr for him before stripping myself naked and presenting for his pleasure?

Either way, he was dangerous to me and my chosen family in some way or another, and I had little inclination to test out the reasons behind this assumption. All I know is that it was enough to have Steve and I silently agreeing that it was time to leave, and that we’d resume our reconnaissance at a later date.

Steve hasn’t spoken a word since we left the outskirts of San Francisco behind us, and knowing him as I do, I sit and leave him to stew in his thoughts. He’ll tell me what’s on his mind soon enough, he’s just trying to get his thoughts straight in his head. He’s always been a little insular like that, but it’s part of what makes him such a good bounty hunter.

I let my own thoughts wander as he drives through the foothills and meanders back to Merced. Information from the Guild regarding the personnel attached to Kieran Prince is at the forefront of my mind, and it’s surreal how when I tug on one thread, even more information accumulates. It’s almost as if I have a mind-palace attached to my psyche, one similar to a server network. Each contract I accept from the Guild allows me access to particular sections that were closed to me before, and once my target is neutralized, that information is archived. It’s still there, but I have to go searching for it instead of having it pop up ready with a simple thought.

One name in particular stands out in my mind—Adam Knight. He’s not only the head of Kieran Prince’s security but is also his primary bodyguard. The man has worked for the Prince family in one way or another for most of his adult life, and has been in charge of Kieran’s safety since the princeling’s balls dropped. Well, since he turned sixteen, at least. There was some kind of kerfuffle between Kieran’s previous guard and the head of security for the entire Prince family, which resulted in the guard’s removal as the primary guard for the princeling, and the subsequent disappearance of the head of security.

I’d give my eye teeth to know the details surrounding that incident, as well as the location of the former head of security. Something tells me the dude isn’t in the realm of the living anymore, and THAT tells me all I need to know about the power, influence, and reach of the upper echelons of the Prince family. No wonder they want Kieran’s death to look natural, it’ll prevent questions.

“He was searching for you.”

Steve breaks his silence without warning, and the suddenness of it means that it takes me a moment to figure out who he’s referring to.

The alpha.

“What do you mean?” I respond, unable to follow the direction of Steve’s thoughts. “I mean, I know he kept popping up near where we were, and sniffed the air a few times, but that doesn’t mean he was searching for me .”

Steve takes his eyes off the road for a brief moment to glare at me. It only lasts a second, but the heat of it burns me to my core.

“You’re not stupid, Disa, nor are you ignorant. His appearance and interaction with you this morning was one thing. It could be chalked up to happenstance, but if that had been it, we wouldn’t have encountered him again. Even a possible crossing of paths this afternoon could be explained away as coincidence, if it was simply seeing him once as we all went about our business. But to have him pop up several times in a place we’d been only minutes earlier, and visibly sniffing the air as if he could catch our scent? No. You know what that means.”

I do. Steve isn’t wrong in his calculations. As the saying goes: once was happenstance; twice was coincidence; but three times? That’s enemy action. Adam Knight’s behavior indicated something else was at play, and him potentially following us or seeking us out could prove problematic.

“Plus, I know that after the first time we spotted him that I could feel the cameras attention zooming in on us several times. I was able to keep you shielded, but I have no doubt that they could see me clearly,” Steve continues, and my stomach plummets to the floor.

FUCK!

“So, what does this mean for us? Do you think your cover is blown?” I whisper, dreading the inevitable answer.

Steve hums thoughtfully before sighing.

“I don’t know this person, but I know what I would do in his place. I’d be searching for any and all traces of us. He’s seen me, he knows what I look like. I’d also put money on him knowing my scent by now, as well as yours. I don’t know if he’ll have been able to get eyes on my Jeep, but it’s a safe bet that if he has someone skilled enough, he can find me.” Steve glances over at me for a moment, reluctance in his gaze.

“I think from this point onward, if you’re going to recon Royal Tower, you’ll need to do it as Wisp. Just to be on the safe side, it might be better for either Leslie or Kimberly to accompany you. After all, they weren’t the ones with you today—that was me. You can anchor to them so you don’t get lost or drift away. This way, the alpha wouldn’t suspect them, unlike me.”

I grimace at his reasoning, but knowing what I do about Adam Knight, I can’t argue with it. I don’t think I’ll be dragging Kimmy along with me, though, despite her being “local” enough for it to not arouse suspicion. She’s too close to me, and therefore at greater risk of being discovered. No, I think I’ll be enlisting Leslie’s help for the task, and not just because Steve suggested them. Leslie knows how to navigate the world in ways that Steve can’t, both due to their designation and experiences with the black-market. They’re the perfect chameleon, and sometimes I wonder how the fuck they haven’t already been recruited by one of the alphabet agencies.

“I’ll talk to Les once we get home. They may have some other information for us that could alter our plans and whatnot. Besides, I’ve been scouring the information that the Guild sent me regarding the personnel surrounding Kieran Prince, and if I’m correct, then I know who this alpha is. We’ll need to be cautious.”

Steve grimaces, a low growl of displeasure rumbling from his chest, but simply nods at my instructions.

This job has just become a whole lot trickier, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to regret agreeing to it in the first place.

Only time will tell.

By the time we arrive back at the house in Merced, I’m absolutely shattered. I’ve been riding high on adrenaline for most of the day, especially after catching the attention of Adam Knight. Neither Steve nor I spoke much after our conversation. He concentrated on driving and getting us home as quickly and discreetly as possible, and I trawled through all the mental files pertaining to Kieran Prince, especially in regards to Adam.

The outcome doesn’t look good.

Henley’s Bronco is parked in front of the house again, this time in the drive. Steve steers his Jeep onto the drive and parks behind it, before stepping down from the lifted cab and walking around to my side to help me down. I internally roll my eyes—both him and Henley are giants, so I can kind of understand their desire to drive macho, manly trucks that they can simply step into and out of. However, I have no idea why they feel the need to further lift their vehicles until it feels as though I’m climbing Mount Everest while trying to enter or exit the cab. Getting into a car shouldn’t be a full body workout for those more vertically-challenged, and while I can always dissipate and reform at will, doing so means that I’ll be freaking naked. Steve is temptation enough—put me naked in a room with Henley, and all bets are off. There’s a reason why the alpha has never spent a heat or a rut in close proximity with me. We’d end up bitten and bonded in the blink of an eye, and neither of us are ready to take that step.

Not yet, at least.

“C’mon, short-stack. Let’s get you inside and share our intel with the others. Then you can shatter all our expectations and plans with this new information about the alpha.” Steve reaches up and grasps me around the waist, his hands are so large that they encircle and enclose my waist. He quickly lifts me from my perch and settles me on the ground, slinging an arm around my shoulder as he locks up the car and we walk to the front door.

Voices raised in heated discussion reach our ears as we push open the wooden barricade, but it doesn’t sound like an argument. No, the sounds filtering through the house are more on par with an excited Kimberly or Leslie bubbling over with enthusiasm at whatever it is that they’ve discovered. Steve and I kick off our shoes as I lock the door behind us before making our way back to the kitchen and living areas. These rooms seem to have become our de facto meeting space. We easily find Henley, Kimberly, and Leslie standing around the island bench, papers strewn over the surface, while Leslie eagerly babbles away and jabs their finger down at individual sheets.

“I knew it, I just knew there was something dodgy going on inside that family. Nobody—and I mean nobody —is that squeaky clean, not with that much wealth and power at their disposal! They tried to hide this information, but they didn’t do a good enough job of covering their tracks.” Leslie’s triumphant boast rings out as Steve and I look down at where Leslie’s pointing.

I have no clue what I’m looking at.

“What are we supposed to be looking at, Les? I figure these are bank statements or something, but I have no clue whose they are or what they represent.” I ask, frowning as I also don’t recognize the logo of the financial institution in the top left corner of the page. In fact, I’m not sure it is a financial institution. Then again, I’m not like Leslie or Kimberly, I don’t always know the ins and outs of the various corporations and their subsidiaries, not unless it’s essential for my job. There’s a reason that they both play major roles in my support team, and it’s so I don’t have to remember all the nitty gritty bullshit that is otherwise irrelevant to me.

“This,” Leslie explains, waving their hands in a credible Vanna White imitation, “is the smoking gun when it comes to the Prince family, Disa. They’ve made fucking billions on the basis that they’re a company based on family values, that they’ve invested millions in numerous children's and family charities, and that they abhor any sort of corruption and cruelty when it comes to the vulnerable.”

I take a closer look at the sheets before me, but still can’t make neither head nor tail of it all.

“Sorry, Les. I’m still stumped. You might need to explain this to me like I’m a child or something.”

Leslie huffs out an exasperated sigh at my ignorance, but they usher me closer as they explain their illicit discovery.

“I spoke to Greg, one of my contacts earlier today. He’s an alpha, and pretty deeply entrenched in the dark web, especially in a particular despicable corner of it. He monitors red rooms; you know, the ones where degenerates can and do pay to watch people be brutalized, tortured, and executed for their entertainment and enjoyment. There have been murmurings in particular circles for the past twenty years or so that someone—or several someones—fairly high up in the Prince family are heavily involved in some of the more… specialized … scenes. Not the murder part, but the assault and brutalization of children and young women, with a particular fixation on young boys and pregnant teens. This rumor has become even more prevalent in recent years, with whispered talk about someone new coming in to head it all up. There’s never been any proof, of course,” Leslie scoffs, flicking their fingers derisively at the thought, “but there are enough breadcrumbs scattered about to leave smudges on the otherwise pristine Prince reputation, if you know where to look.”

Leslie draws my attention back to the sheets of financial information.

“These records that Greg’s unearthed are payments, both incoming and outgoing, for a particular viewer subscription. They date back decades, and on first glance, are completely separate and unrelated. That’s until you take a closer look.” Leslie beckons me to lean in, pointing at several highlighted transactions over multiple pages.

I glance over them, unsure of what I’m looking for at first, and then it hits me. The dates all differ, as do the accounts. However, two things are always the same: the dollar amount, and the last eight digits noted in the reference line. I ignore the currency for the moment, instead staring blindly at the mix of three letters and five numbers. KXP31297. Kieran Xavier Prince, and his date of birth.

“You’ve said these payments go back decades, right? Les, is that correct?” I ask, a trill of urgency threading through my voice. Leslie simply nods in response.

“The three letters could mean anything, as could the five numbers,” I point out, but I don’t stop there.

“However, when paired with these particular five numbers, I believe they combine to refer to Kieran Xavier Prince, my target. The numbers are his official date of birth, and not the one bandied about by celebrity gossip mills and social media. He was born on March twelfth, that’s true enough, but the year is the key. Everyone believes that he’s twenty-six, not twenty-seven. He was born in ninety-seven, not ninety-eight.”

Kieran Prince is not your usual celebrity or nepo baby. He’s extremely reclusive, with most paparazzi shots of him either blurred, or unable to display much other than dark glasses, a baseball cap, oversize hoodie, and the occasional face mask. His family—primarily his devoted mother—have curated the public’s perception of him, only releasing “approved” family photographs and images of him during special occasions—school and college graduations (not that he truly attended any in person), Christmas and other holiday family portraits, and his major birthdays. It helps their narrative to have him appear a year younger than his real age, as they can tweak and adjust his image as they see fit.

They’ve excused his reclusive behavior by explaining that Kieran is a very shy and humble young man who would prefer his deeds to speak for him, rather than his appearance, although even they have been few and far between. Rumors abound as to why he’s so secluded, ranging from him being a raging narcissist and psychopath who can’t be let out in public, to having crippling social anxiety and agoraphobia. Nobody knows for sure, and that uncertainty only gives credence to his mystique.

“But if that’s the case,” Kimberly interjects, “then it can’t be Kieran who’s responsible for all these transactions. These date back to when he was still a child, a small child at that, even going by the altered birth dates. Unless he is some kind of genius, I can’t picture him setting up this kind of operation. Taking over it? Yes. Setting it up? No.”

Leslie hums in agreement. “I concur. As I said before, there’s something rotten in the House of Prince, and not even a Royal decree can erase the stench. We know the supposed reasons behind why the Guild has issued a contract on the princeling, and at a surface glance, there’s enough circumstantial evidence to bury him without hesitation. However, the Guild knows that our Wisp would never stop there. They know she’ll dig and dig until she’s satisfied that she has all the pertinent information, and then act accordingly. Our Wisp likes to match her cause of death to the sins of her target, even if they’re not the most obvious of the lot.” They turn and give me a rather salacious grin.

“I’m betting that the Guild knows that there’s something off in that family. Perhaps they’ve been tasked with identifying and dealing with the corruption on the down-low. The very fact that they’ve assigned him to Disa knowing how she operates? Well… that tells me that Kieran Prince is either a red-herring, or he is our target. But if that’s the case, I don’t believe it’s in the way that we originally considered.”

We all look up to Henley, awaiting his thoughts on the subject. His brow is furrowed with a frown so heavy that his eyebrows are touching, and I can hear the sound of his teeth grinding together in fury as he connects the dots.

“From the looks of this, Kieran Prince is being set up as a figurehead for a pedophile and trafficking ring on the dark web. If we took that information at face value, he’d be dead by the end of the week. However, thanks to Leslie’s informant, we know that this information is likely false. But it’s been set up in such a way, over such an extended period of time, that it’s possible that he is involved somehow.” Henley glances up at us, and the look in his eyes sends chills down my spine.

“Leslie, I need you to dig further into this ring. I need you to find everything on them—when they first appeared, what types of subject matter they showed interest in, any data they may have downloaded or even provided themselves. If my gut is correct—and I fucking pray it’s not—then I think that Kieran Prince may be at the very heart of this. He could be the very reason this particular ring formed in the first place.”

I’m not the only one who gags as Henley’s implications hit home. Unfortunately, I have no reason to doubt Henley’s gut instincts, especially seeing as his particular ability involves precognition. It comes in handy when he’s deployed, and it hasn’t steered him wrong yet.

Holy fuck. What have I signed us up for?