Chapter 9 – FELIX
Chapter
Nine
FELIX
T he gunfire erupts like a fucking orchestra of chaos, and I roll behind the massive chair with the grace of someone who's made a career out of not dying.
The velvet upholstery explodes in puffs of stuffing as bullets tear through the fabric where my head was a second ago.
Expensive craftsmanship reduced to expensive debris.
Professional work. These aren't amateurs playing dress-up.
I press my back against the chair's solid frame, calculating ammunition counts while crystal decanters shatter like expensive fireworks around me. The room fills with the scent of gunpowder and spilled whiskey.
The biggest alpha—the mountain of muscle who moves like he's got military training burned into his DNA—barks orders with the kind of authority that comes from leading men into hell and bringing most of them back. His voice cuts through the chaos.
"Suppressing fire! Keep him pinned!"
The silver-haired one—the one with "kind eyes," according to Juniper—moves like a ghost, flanking left while his companion provides cover. They work together with the kind of synchronization that takes years to develop. Not just professionals. Veterans.
This is going to be interesting.
I lean out, squeeze off three rounds at the silver-haired one, watch him dive behind an ornate side table. The wood splinters, sending antique fragments flying like shrapnel. He's fast. Faster than I expected.
But not fast enough.
The fourth alpha—the quiet one with light brown hair who's been watching everything with those shrewd eyes—circles around the other side. Classic pincer movement. They're trying to box me in, force me into a position where I can't maneuver.
Too bad I learned to fight in places where honor was a luxury and fair play got you killed.
I pull a ceramic knife from my boot, flick it at the brown-haired one. He dodges, but it buys me the seconds I need to shift position. The blade embeds itself in the wall with a satisfying thunk, and I catch a flash of surprise in his eyes.
He wasn't expecting that.
Outside the room, I can hear Juniper working her magic. The soft thud of a body too heavy to be hers hitting the floor. She's handling herself just fine. She always does.
That's my girl.
The big alpha tries to rush me while I'm distracted. Six-foot-eight of muscle and determination charging like a freight train. I sidestep at the last second, let his momentum carry him past me, then drive my elbow into his kidney.
He grunts but doesn't go down. Tough bastard.
His backhand catches me across the jaw, snapping my head to the side and filling my mouth with the taste of blood. Stars explode behind my eyelids, but I roll with the impact, use the momentum to put distance between us.
The silver-haired one appears from behind his cover, moving with that carefulness I noticed earlier. His hands are steady, his breathing controlled. This one's dangerous in a different way than the mountain. Where the big one is raw power, this one is measured violence.
He fires twice. The first bullet catches me in the right thigh, a white-hot line of agony that sends me stumbling. The second punches through my left arm, spinning me around as muscle and bone protest in languages I don't want to understand.
Fuck.
Blood runs down my leg, soaks through my expensive suit jacket. The arm's still functional, but it's going to be a problem. I can already feel the weakness creeping in, the way injured muscle tries to protect itself by shutting down.
Can't afford weakness. Not with Juniper depending on me.
I return fire, three quick shots that force the silver-haired alpha back into cover. The brown-haired one tries to flank me again, but I catch him with a wild swing that connects with his temple. He staggers, shakes his head like he's trying to clear it.
That's when Juniper comes through the door like an avenging angel in pink silk.
The brown-haired alpha turns toward the sound, and she's on him before he can react. The syringe appears in her hand like magic, slides into his neck with ease. He has just enough time to look surprised before his eyes roll back and he hits the floor like a sack of expensive meat.
Alphas always underestimate her. And usually, it costs them their lives.
"Miss me?" she asks, grinning at me over his unconscious form.
Two down, two to go.
The big alpha and the silver-haired one exchange a look, some kind of silent communication that speaks to years of partnership. They're regrouping, reassessing. Means they're taking us seriously now, which is dangerous.
"You shouldn't be involved in this," the silver-haired one says, his voice calm despite the blood running from a cut on his cheek. He's talking to Juniper, trying to play the hero without moving his aim away from me. "Any alpha who'd let his omega fight for him isn't worth protecting."
She rolls her eyes so hard my head hurts.
"Rescue yourself, knothead," Juniper replies sweetly, producing one of her ceramic knives from somewhere in that skimpy little dress. The blade gleams in the dim light, sharp enough to split an atom.
The big alpha raises his hands, like he's trying to calm a spooked animal. "We're here to help you," he growls before shooting a withering glare at me. "We know what he is, what he does to people like you."
People like her. If only he knew.
Juniper laughs, the sound bright and terrible. "Mister, you've got no idea what I am."
She lunges at him with that chaotic intensity that makes her so hard to predict. The knife flicks out, opens a line across his forearm that blooms red against his shirt. He jerks back, clearly not expecting her to actually attack him let alone with such skill.
While Juniper has the other alpha occupied and utterly bewildered, the silver-haired alpha and I circle each other like predators, each looking for an opening. He's favoring his left side since one of my shots clipped him on the right, but his gun hand is steady. Professional to the core.
"Who hired you?" he asks, voice conversational despite the circumstances. "It's clear you're not really who you say you are."
"Finally figured it out, Sherlock?" I taunt.
He smirks, striking out at me with a wide kick that almost lands. Martial arts training and marksmanship. A well-rounded bunch. "That doesn't answer my question."
I dodge a swing, land a blow to his ribs that makes him grunt. "Isn't it obvious?" I ask smoothly, following the strike up with an uppercut aimed at his jaw. People who are willing to pay an absurd amount of money to have you dead."
He scoffs, blocks my next attack with his forearm. "That narrows it down to about half the criminal underworld."
"Popularity's a bitch."
Behind us, Juniper has somehow gotten herself onto the chandelier, hanging from the crystal fixture like a demented gymnast. The big alpha stares up at her in bewilderment, clearly not sure how to handle an omega who fights like a feral cat.
"Who are you?" the silver-haired alpha asks, landing a punch to my injured shoulder that sends lightning down my arm.
I consider the question as we grapple, as Juniper swipes at the big alpha from above, hanging upside down from the chandelier with her knees draped around one of the lamp arms. These aren't random targets.
They work together too well, trust each other too much.
They're a team. Professionals with a cause.
"Operators," I say finally, breaking his hold and stepping back. "Just like you, minus the savior complex."
"Some people are worth saving." His blue eyes are cold as the January sky. "If you knew who you were working for, you might reconsider."
"Doubt it."
I throw everything I have into the next combination. Left hook to his liver, right cross to his jaw, knee toward his solar plexus. He blocks two out of three, but the liver shot lands clean. He doubles over, gasping.
Above us, Juniper yells "Timber!" with the kind of glee that would terrify any sane human being and more than half the animal kingdom.
The chandelier comes down like a boulder, crystal and metal and thousands of dollars of decorative excess crashing onto the big alpha. He goes down hard, trapped under the wreckage with Juniper perched on top like a conquering queen.
The silver-haired alpha tries to help his partner, but I'm already moving. I tackle him around the waist, drive him to the ground, scramble for position. He's strong, but I'm desperate. Desperation trumps training every time.
My boot finds his throat, pins him to the expensive carpet. I cock my gun, aim it at his head, watch his eyes for fear. There's none. Just resignation and something that might be disappointment.
Juniper was right. He does have kind eyes. Too bad.
"Think we've earned that vacation, haven't we, Juney?" I ask, wondering why my finger wavers slightly as it wraps around the trigger.
It's not like I feel anything as I look down at him. No satisfaction, no regret. Just the cold calculation of a job nearly finished. He's probably someone's son, someone's friend. Might even be a good man fighting for something he believes in.
Doesn't matter. He's in my way.
I start to squeeze the trigger.
"I'm afraid the trip planning will have to wait."
The voice is smooth, cultured, with that British accent that makes everything sound posh and slightly menacing. I spin, gun tracking toward the sound, and my blood turns to ice water.
The golden-haired alpha stands in the doorway, swaying slightly on his feet. The drugs are clearly affecting him—his pupils are dilated, his movements loose and uncoordinated. But he's upright, he's armed, and he's got Juniper.
His hand rests loosely around her throat, almost casual. The gun at her temple might as well be pressed against my heart. She's looking at me with wide, frightened eyes, and I can see the calculation in them. She's trying to figure out how to get free without getting shot.
My lip curls back in a snarl that feels more animal than human. "Don't hurt her."
"Put the gun down," he says, his voice dreamy but still carrying that edge of violence. The drugs haven't made him harmless. Just unpredictable.
"Felix, don't," Juniper pleads.
The big alpha gets to his feet, shaking off crystal and debris. The silver-haired one rises too, hauling his unconscious partner upright. They all draw on me, a triangle of death with me at the center.
I'm outnumbered, outgunned, and the one thing in this world that matters to me is about to get her brains splattered across expensive wallpaper.
Slowly, I lower my weapon.
The big alpha holds out his hand, stern as a disappointed father. I look at the gun in my grip, think about all the ways this could go wrong, then reluctantly pass it to him. But none of those matter if Juniper is gone.
Nothing does.
"My," the golden-haired one purrs, pressing his cheek against Juniper's like a lover, "such devotion for such a recently acquired 'asset.'"
My jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth. He's the one who called our bluff. Maybe from the beginning. "What gave it away?" I ask dryly.
"She doesn't flinch when you touch her."
Of course. The one detail I couldn't fake, couldn't plan for. Juniper's comfort with my touch, the way she melts into me instead of pulling away.
I give a bitter laugh. "That figures."
"Let her go," I say, forcing my voice to stay level. "She's an omega. She has no part in this."
The big alpha laughs, a sound like grinding stone. "I've got a few knife wounds and a broken nose that beg to differ."
"It's clearly not the first time it's been broken," Juniper grumbles, eyeing his face with professional interest.
Despite everything, the big alpha seems amused. He nods to the golden-haired psychopath, who finally lowers the gun. Juniper immediately flees to my side, and I push her behind me, putting my body between her and the weapons pointed our way.
We're surrounded. No escape routes. No backup plan.
I failed to do the one thing I always told myself I could do better than any alpha.
I failed to protect her.