Cause Ωf Death (Femme Fatale Freakshow)

Chapter 11

F uck me, I hurt .

My head pounds with such force that I almost vomit, each throb hammering at my skull in time with the beating of my heart. My eyes won’t open thanks to the pain, but I’m also pretty sure my eyelids are stuck together somehow. I can’t open my mouth, with something I’m assuming is duct tape fusing it shut, and am barely able to breathe through my nose. My arms are trapped behind and beneath me, and thanks to that I can feel that I’m lying on top of what feels like a pile of construction debris.

Taking slow, even breaths through the pain, I try to figure out where I am and who I’m with. With each repeated inhale and exhale, more of my memories emerge from the murkiness of my mind. The meeting with Dad. Adam driving the SUV with Brody riding shotgun. The cargo van hitting us. Strange hands reaching for me.

I don’t dare move until I know it’s safe to do so, and not just because of the situation I’ve found myself in. I’m no stranger to abduction attempts, and it would appear that this one has been successful so far. The suddenness of it all, while I was away from home, probably means that I have no access to my medication. While it won’t do my health any favors, I can survive without it for a couple of days. That is, as long as my immune system isn’t compromised by a virus or contagion. Me lying on a rubbish pile with probable open wounds, doesn’t inspire confidence in that scenario, though. I’ll be lucky to escape without contracting some sort of infection. With my history, it’ll turn into sepsis.

I finally manage to crack one eye open. Thankfully, it’s still light enough outside to show me what’s going on around me, but not so bright as to send my head exploding in pain from the glare. As I do, a trace of smoky vanilla teases my nose, somehow reassuring me that everything will be okay.

I mentally probe at my surroundings, counting four human energy signatures close by. Two are some distance away, a few hundred feet or so, but the other two are in my immediate vicinity. I cautiously peek around, spotting the two sigmas with their backs to me. The rankness of their scents—manure and burnt garlic—makes my stomach roil even more, but I can’t vomit. Not with my mouth taped shut like it is. Not unless I want to asphyxiate on my own puke.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I’m about to glance away when something catches my attention. A fifth presence pings on my internal radar, and I watch in amazement as a petite yet curvy fucking goddess appears out of nowhere, forming from the very air itself. A shaft of sunlight strikes her face, lighting up her profile, and my heart flip-flops.

Long, copper strands tumble around her face and over her shoulders, playing peekaboo with high cheekbones, a button nose, rounded jawline, and plump, pouty lips. While I can’t see her eyes, her skin looks smooth as silk, the creamy color littered with tiny, freckled sun-kisses.

Even her ears are perfect.

Wreathed in shadows, she moves silently over the loose rubble littering the floor, and I wonder at her light tread. That is, until I check out her feet. They’re opaque, billowing and flowing like steam from a kettle, as is one of her arms. I’m almost convinced she’s a trick of the light, or perhaps a figment of my desperate subconscious, but then she strikes.

With a movement so sudden and swift that I almost miss it, she bends down and scoops a broken bottle from the floor with her solid hand, while plunging the intangible one through the back of the nearest sigma—the one who stinks of manure. He gasps, the strangled, pained gurgle loud in the otherwise silent room. The other sigma—I’ll call him “Garlic”—turns to see why his friend has made such a noise, only to have his neck meet with the sharp edges of the bottle. Garlic’s throat parts like butter under a hot knife, the gash deep and fatal. Blood spurts and pumps from the wound, and it only takes a few seconds for the sigma to collapse to the floor, unconscious.

The still-upright sigma—who I’ve creatively nicknamed “Manure”—convulses and jerks like a puppet on the end of a string. Through his twitches and uncontrolled movements, I’m able to discern that my goddess’ previously insubstantial arm is now solid. Manure chokes and coughs, blood spitting from his lips before one last, rattling wheeze escapes from his lungs. He stills and then falls as my beautiful savior once again melts into nothing but air.

For a split second I wonder why she’s disappeared on me, but the clatter of rubble being kicked aside soon answers that. A quick check on my internal radar shows me that one of the others is approaching this space, while the fourth is still wandering about outside. The almost-familiar scent of vanilla is stronger in my nose now, blending deliciously with hints of ozone and petrichor. It’s the same scent that calmed me earlier this morning after my mother’s visit, and now I know it’s hers .

My protector. My savior.

My guardian angel .

I peer through the lashes of my single, open eye, watching the empty doorway for movement. The reek of chemical flowers precedes the sigma entering the room, covering the stench of blood, shit, piss, and death emanating from the two dead men slumped on the floor.

“Hey, guys, why aren’t you answer—” Stinky stumbles to a halt at the sight of his friends. He glances over at me, and then back to his friends in horrified bewilderment. As I’m still trussed up like a turkey several feet away from their bodies and playing possum, I simply cannot be responsible for the carnage laid out before him.

I internally smirk with satisfaction as my angel forms behind him, her hands reaching up and grasping either side of his head. Stinky startles at the unexpected touch, and it’s the last movement he makes before Angel twists his head violently, breaking his neck with a vicious and audible crack .

She guides his corpse to join the others on the floor, her head cocked as she listens for any indication that the fourth sigma is approaching. If my mouth was free I’d be able to tell her that he’s still pacing around outside somewhere, so I moan in an attempt to attract her attention.

It works.

She spins around to face me, and it’s then that I realize two things: the first is that she’s completely, one hundred percent naked; and the second is that she’s an omega, just like me. I file those discoveries away for a moment, instead concentrating on communicating my desire for freedom. She silently tiptoes over to me, her feet once again insubstantial, and I honestly can’t blame her. If it means she doesn’t have to worry about cutting her feet open on the shards of glass and sharp pieces of concrete, then I’m all for her fading parts of herself out.

I keep my gaze on her face as she kneels down beside me, not wanting to disrespect her by gawking at her bare skin. Instead, I stare into her golden eyes, a dead giveaway as to her true nature.

“Kieran, I’m gonna get rid of this tape for you, and it’s probably going to hurt. But I need you to stay silent for me, okay? There’s another goon around here somewhere but I don’t know exactly where he is. I don’t want to alert him if he’s close by.”

I don’t question how she knows my name, because she’s my guardian angel. Of course, she knows my name. I simply nod and close my eye, bracing myself for the pain.

There’s a brief tug before fresh air flows over my previously entrapped skin. It takes a second for my brain to catch up with the rest of me, and then the sting and burn of both hair and skin being ripped away floods my face. My eyes water and my nose stings, but I do my best to ignore it by focusing on taking steady breaths. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. I repeat this pattern until I’m able to blink away the tears, whispering a broken, “Thank you,” through battered lips.

While I’ve been breathing deeply to keep myself calm, my angel has shifted her focus to my hands. My arms and shoulders ache from the unnatural position they’ve been forced into, but my hands themselves are numb. She quickly but carefully strips the duct tape from my wrists, then helps me to sit upright, rubbing and chafing at my skin to help restore my circulation.

I gently tug one arm away, using my now-free hand to scratch away the dried blood gluing my eyelid shut. I also check on the position of the last sigma, and my body stills as I sense him heading back toward the desolate ruins I’m currently sitting in.

“Angel, the fourth sigma, he’s heading back this way. I don’t know what you’ve got planned, but you might want to think of something quickly. I need to get home.” Angel opens her mouth to respond, but I keep speaking over her, desperate to get the words out before she leaves me behind.

“You have no idea how grateful I am for your protection, but if you can find me a phone or something, I can contact my father to come and collect me. We have a protocol in place for these kinds of incidents. You’ll be well-rewarded, I promise.”

Her mouth snaps shut, and she glares at me, the heat of her fury burning my skin.

“Fuck you, and fuck your reward, Kieran Xavier Prince. I didn’t go out of my way to save some spoiled princeling for money . I’m going to find out who this guy answers to, and then you and me are gonna have a little chat about the people in your life.”

She spins away, dissipating into nothing between steps, and I mentally flagellate myself over my clumsy speech. She didn’t have to help me, and I haven’t heard of my father employing extra security for me, especially one who’s an omega. So, it seems like she was in the right place at the right time to render assistance, and I’ve just reduced her and her actions to nothing more than a mercenary transaction.

Fuck.

I’m an idiot.

I resolve to grovel and beg for forgiveness once she returns, determined to show her I’m more than “some spoiled princeling.” I was honest when I told her how grateful I am, but I probably could have communicated my needs better.

I’m going to blame it on the multiple concussions I’m sure I’ve suffered, if the incessant throbbing of my skull is to be believed.

I roll over onto my hands and knees and crawl my way over to the pile of cooling bodies. I pay no heed to the cuts and bruising I’m inflicting on my hands and knees thanks to the broken glass and concrete scattered across the floor. Instead, I concentrate on patting down the bodies, removing their wallets, phones, and any form of weaponry they may have stashed away on themselves. Garlic has a switchblade, while Stinky has a taser and a set of car keys. Manure has a roll of duct tape and baggie of cable ties.

In the back of my mind, I follow the progress of the last sigma, and chuckle darkly to myself when he’s suddenly joined by another presence. I’d love to be a fly on the wall and watch her dispatch him, but when his signature doesn’t fade away, a twinge of concern bites at my core.

I quiet my movements and close my eyes, shutting out the rest of the world while I focus on them both. Neither moves for a moment or two, and I hold my breath in nervous anticipation. The breath whooshes out of me when the two of them slowly head back this way, and I quickly stuff my loot into the pockets of my jeans and hoodie before arming myself with the taser. I might not be the most intimidating of people, but like fuck will I go down without a fight.

I wait as quietly as I can, but my breathing is so loud in the silence that it takes me a moment to hear the scuffing scrape of something being dragged across the ground. I scramble to my feet, a wave of dizziness overtaking me, but I fight against the blackness, refusing to succumb to it no matter how enticing it is.

The moment I spot Angel dragging the body of the—surprisingly—still living sigma, I scramble to help her. I bend down to grab his feet, swaying once more as my consciousness wavers, but through sheer force of will I straighten and take my share of his weight in my hands.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, but I only dip my chin in response. She shouldn’t be thanking me for such a minor action on my part, especially not after everything she’s already done to keep me safe and whole.

I wait until she lowers the sigma’s shoulders to the ground before I release his ankles. This one smells like raw onion and yeast, and I recognize his scent as the one belonging to the man who hauled me from the SUV. I glare down at him, my fingers clenched around the hand grip of the taser, itching to pull the trigger. I don’t, though. It’s not my call to make, at least, not yet.

“Why is this guy still alive?” I grit out, my curiosity mingling with my fury. “Why didn’t you kill him like you did the others?”

Angel glares at me and rolls her eyes, fisting her hands on her hips belligerently. I belatedly realize that the chill of the evening is beginning to lace the air, and she remains stark naked.

My coordination is still shot to shit as I struggle to remove my oversize hoodie, offering it to her with an outstretched hand. She blinks at me, as though surprised by the consideration, and then mutters another soft, “Thank you,” as she takes it from me and pulls it on.

If it was oversize on me, then on her it looks like one of those fleecy snuggies, drowning her smaller frame until it falls to her knees. The front pocket bulges with the cable ties and duct tape, which she pulls out as she smooths the material over her body. A wicked smirk crosses her face as she darts a glance over to me, then tilts her head in invitation.

“I’ve kept Tweedle Dum here alive because I have questions that need answering, and I suspect he’s my best bet of obtaining them. Help me strip him down and bind him up, and then I can get to work.”

I nod and step forward, an eager and willing accomplice. While I’m sure that my dad is probably having kittens right about now, Angel is right. For the moment we seem to be safe, and I doubt that a few extra minutes will make much difference in the grand scheme of things. Once “Tweedle Dum,” as she calls him, is secure, I can see if I can reach out to Dad. Until then, though, I need to follow her lead.

After all, if it wasn’t for her, I’d likely be dead.

I just hope that Adam and Brody made it out okay.