Cause Ωf Death (Femme Fatale Freakshow)

Chapter 9

T he visit with my father has been enlightening, to say the least. He’s always been the one to push the envelope when it comes to my health and treatment, and while there have been times when my mother has put her foot down to veto particular options, for the majority of my life Dad has been the one in charge. I think he figured out fairly early on that my mother is not the most nurturing of people, not even to her own offspring, so he picked up the slack.

One of the treatments that my mother vetoed when I was a child—much to my disgust when I learned about it at a later age—was stem-cell therapy. She’d argued there was no guarantee that it would work, and that she hadn’t kept my placenta or umbilical cord after my birth. She’d also decreed that it would put too much stress and pain on my already fragile body, as I had only just recovered from a serious bout of pneumonia at the time. I think Dad only agreed because he had exhausted himself by staying by my bedside as I struggled to breathe, and that the timing was wrong. However, I’ve always regretted that he hadn’t pushed more, because it established a precedence for my mother’s interference. It wasn’t until I reached adulthood that I finally nixed her involvement in anything other than surface interest, despite her tantrums and petty vengeance.

Traffic is slowly building as we head back from the appointment. I’m relaxing in the back of the armored SUV, with Adam in the driver’s seat and Brody riding shotgun. Another armored SUV with more of my security team follows close behind, and I thank all and any gods available that there are enough rich bitches living in SoCal that our cars don’t attract much attention.

My mind wanders as I think back on the meeting Dad set up this morning with a gene therapist. He’s determined to find a cure for me, and if that’s not possible then to at least uncover a long-term, effective treatment plan that will enable me to live a reasonably normal life.

“You okay back there?” Brody calls over his shoulder, and I glance up at him to nod. My eyes widen and I freeze as Adam suddenly swears, swerving to avoid some idiot in a car who merged into our lane without warning and cutting us off.

“Fuck! Kieran, brace yourself,” Adam yells back to me moments before the windshield is filled with the sight of a cargo van barreling toward us. I don’t even have the chance to scream before the two vehicles collide. The force of the collision sends the rear of our SUV bucking into the air, and I’m pummeled as the impact sets off our airbags, the rapid inflation knocking the air from my chest. The violent and deafening percussive wave makes my ears ring, and I blink groggily, completely disoriented by the accident.

I struggle to escape my seat belt, temporarily blinded by the blood running into my eyes. The ringing in my ears muffles all other sounds, and I’m dazed and confused as hands wrench open the back door and reach in for me, hauling me unceremoniously out of the car and into another vehicle.

Darkness encroaches at the edges of my vision, and my nose is filled with the bitter and pungent odors of wormwood, onion, and yeast.

I don’t recognize these scents , I blearily muse to myself before weakly calling out for Adam. But I don’t know if he hears me, or is even still alive, because that’s the moment when everything turns dark.