Cause Ωf Death (Femme Fatale Freakshow)

Chapter 10

I ’m glad I decided to throw caution out the window and anchor myself to Kieran Prince for the day. Not only has it given me better insight to his life and personal interactions, I’ve also been able to study Adam Knight at my leisure. This has had an unforeseen consequence, and it’s making me worry about my omega suppressant’s efficacy.

I’m attracted to both Adam Knight and Kieran Prince.

No, actually, that’s a lie.

I’m obsessively salivating over Adam Knight and Kieran Prince.

My mind refuses to stay on track, which is unusual for me. All I want to do is to reclaim my human form, launch my naked body at the two men and then beg them both to stuff me full of their cocks, cum, and in Adam’s case, his knot.

A twinge of guilt stabs through me, both at the idea of fucking the alpha and omega who aren’t a part of my unofficial pack, and also at the fact that we’ve been gone several hours. I sort of neglected to get a message across to Leslie somehow to tell them I was leaving, as well. Unfortunately for me, staying in this form means that I can’t carry anything, or even speak, because I have no hands or a mouth. But then I recall Leslie’s instructions to me earlier this morning, and I settle somewhat. They’re right. The best laid plans of mice and men do often go awry, and if I had let this opportunity slip through my fingers, I know I would regret it later.

This proves correct over the next several minutes as first a car cuts in front of the SUV Kieran and Adam—as well as another sigma guard—are traveling in, causing Adam to brake suddenly. This occurrence is swiftly followed by a cargo van, that careens head-on into not only our lane, but the front of the SUV as well.

The violent turbulence of the collision makes me grateful for my insubstantial state, as apart from a bit of a jerking back and forth, I’m completely unharmed and undisturbed. I can’t say the same for the other passengers in the vehicle.

The sigma is pinned to his seat by the crumpled metal surrounding and piercing him, and he’s bleeding profusely from several injuries. The slow rise and fall of his chest tells me he’s still alive, but I don’t know for how much longer that will remain true. Adam is also pinned by his legs, and I internally wince at the sight. There’s so much blood. I glimpse the white glint of exposed bone, and his left arm is bent in a way that can only mean it’s broken. Thankfully he’s moving, though, and blinking blearily at the carnage.

The shriek of metal scraping against metal is painfully loud, and I dart back toward Kieran who appears to be mostly uninjured. He’s fumbling with his seat belt, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. It looks as though he’s banged his head a bit during the accident, and the resulting wound is bleeding profusely as head lacerations are wont to do.

The door nearest Kieran finally wrenches open with an excruciating squeal, and hands reach in to grab him, pulling him free with a distinct lack of concern or care for his injuries. Adam turns at the sound, still not fully cognizant, and reaches desperately for the omega. The anguish in his voice as he can’t reach him tugs at my heartstrings, but I don’t dare try and become corporeal. Something tells me that I need to stay with Kieran, and seeing how I’m still anchored to him, I follow.

Fuck me, am I ever glad I changed today’s plan.

Kieran’s SUV is at the head of a multiple-vehicle pile-up. The SUV that had been following ours looks to have tried to swerve out of the way, only to either clip or be clipped by a pickup truck and then rear-ended by the car behind them. Smoke and steam from decimated radiators and burned fan belts combine with exhaust fumes to create a smoky haze over the scene, but at least most of the people involved appear to be moving.

Sirens blare in the distance, the flashing lights of the emergency service vehicles heralding their arrival. Hopefully they get here in time to help free Adam and the other guard. I glance over to the cargo van responsible for the accident and grimace at the mess of the windshield. A spiderweb of cracks litters the surface, spreading from the bloodied point of impact. I have no idea if the driver is still alive, but from here things don’t look good.

An almost overpowering stench of raw onions mixed with the bitter scents of wormwood and yeast makes me want to gag, and yet again I’m relieved to have neither stomach nor mouth to vomit from. A sigma—the owner of said odor—hauls Kieran from the SUV and pats him down. Finding his wallet and phone, the sigma discards them both before shoving Kieran into another vehicle, this time an unmarked utility van. I tighten my hold on the now-unconscious omega, curling protectively around his throat like a sentient stole. I don’t know who these people are, or what they want, but one thing’s for certain.

This does not look good for Kieran.

I.

Am.

Fucking.

PISSED!

The moment Kieran had cleared the doors of the utility van, they’d slammed shut, and in less than a minute we accelerated away from the accident and into the unknown.

Besides an unconscious Kieran and the getaway driver, there are another three assholes in the van. All of them are dressed in nondescript clothing including baseball caps and sunglasses to help disguise their identities, but their clothes can’t hide their scents. Every one of them are betas of some sort, and every single one of them reeks . I’m sure there are those out there who would smell them differently, perhaps be attracted to the aroma of freshly baked bread instead of yeast, of tilled earth instead of manure, of an Italian restaurant instead of burnt garlic, or a country garden instead of chemically floral air spray. But I find nothing attractive or intriguing about their stench; to my intangible nose, they are disgusting.

Even worse is their behavior.

The two in the back of the van swiftly yanked Kieran’s hands behind him, binding them together with duct tape. They show absolutely no consideration for his injuries, instead appearing to take malicious glee in reopening the wounds, causing more blood to spill. The final insult is when they slap a piece of tape over his mouth, their haphazard movements almost closing his nostrils as well. Luckily, they seem to need him alive for the time being, and so one of them makes sure he retains the ability to breathe.

When they finally stop the van, I realize I’ve lost track of time. It could have been thirty minutes, or it could have been three hours, but it feels like an eternity. I’m hoping it was the former, as Kieran is still unconscious, and I’m desperately trying not to panic. The last thing we need is for him to be suffering with a concussion.

Twin thumps echo through the interior as the two betas—both sigmas—exit the front of the van, and moments later the rear doors squeak open. I silently growl with fury as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum—the names I’ve given those particular two—reach inside and grab Kieran’s ankles, dragging him across the gritty, scuffed metal floor of the van. Despite there being two of them pulling him around, Kieran gets snagged on something, jerking to a halt. With some grumbling, Hekyll—a sigma from the back of the van—tucks his hands in Kieran’s armpits and lifts him so he’s no longer caught. The three of them maneuver the unconscious omega out of the van, while Jekyll—the last member of the problematic quartet, and another sigma, making it four for four—slams the doors shut behind us.

I take a moment to confirm my anchor is still firmly attached to Kieran before I rise up in the air and take in our new location.

The first thing I notice is the sun sitting low in the sky, which tells me that we’ve been driving for longer than I’d hoped. I can see hills and mountains in the distance, but there’s no trace of the city or the ocean.

The van is parked in the lee of an abandoned multi-story building, the walls are covered in graffiti, and there’s no glass in any of the gaping windows or doorways. It’s quiet, too quiet to be close to a major town or city, with the occasional low of a cow breaking up the intermittent birdsong on the wind.

“Get him inside and then hide the van better. I’m going to scout out the area and call the boss. The neighbors here keep an eye out for trespassers, and we don’t need any extra baggage for this job.” Tweedle Dum—the sigma who stinks of onion and yeast—growls to Jekyll, the one with the stench of chemical flowers. Hekyll—manure—and Tweedle Dee—burnt garlic—heft Kieran between them and carry him into the abandoned ruin, while Jekyll heads back to the van.

I observe my surroundings with grim satisfaction. My ability, while perfect for infiltration and assassination, does come with a particular drawback that I have transformed into an advantage. Seeing how I can’t carry any tools or weapons with me when I fulfill my contracts, I have to make do with what is at hand. The amount of rubble, broken bottles and glass littering the ground, and exposed steel bars sprouting from the crumbling concrete walls will make dealing with these goons that much easier. If they also happen to be armed, so much the better. Once I’ve finished with them, I’ll use Tweedle Dum’s phone to call for reinforcements.

My updated “plan” now firm in my mind, I untether myself from Kieran and prepare to strike. I’ll need to be fast, and not just because I won’t have long before the others join us inside.

No, I’ll need to be fast because they’ve just dumped Kieran on the floor, and the sickening thump of his head meeting the ground doesn’t bode well for his future.