Page 16 of Cause Of Death

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 doesnotlook good for Kieran.

I.

Am.

Fucking.

PISSED!

The moment Kieranhad 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 themreeks. 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 timebeing, 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 itfeelslike 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 goonsthatmuch 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 sickeningthumpof his head meeting the ground doesn’t bode well for his future.

Fuck me, Ihurt.

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 toabduction 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 curvyfucking goddessappears 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 seeher eyes, her skin looks smooth as silk, the creamy color littered with tiny, freckled sun-kisses.

Even her ears are perfect.

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