All Chapters of Alpha's Dirty Secrets: Chapter 951 - Chapter 960

"Oh my God," Delilah laughed. "You wove Harry Potter into a life and death conversation and it made sense. I am probably going to die, but I'll die knowing I have lived.""Not you too?" Maddox glared at Delilah. Rachel just shook her head. We exited the car, settled ourselves out. Rachel took point, Delilah took one flank while Pamela took the other.By happenstance, I ended up in the middle...yeah right, with Virginia covering my back."You stay here," Pamela put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "You'll need to lead the team in if someone 'pumps up the volume'." Interesting euphemism for 'when people start killing people'."What are we doing today?" Miyako 'appeared'. She'd been walking down the sidewalk toward us – the Kazak Consulate was a townhouse – but her presence hadn't registered."I require your pledge of silence on what is to transpire. No death is intended," I stated calmly to Miyako."I didn't know you were versed in ninja contracts, much less spoke Japanese?" Miyako responde

Maybe Pamela was the love-child of Batman and Cat woman. Before you think that's comic fanboy talk, recall what my life was like at that moment. Tests ensued. The staff decided that Havenstone employed a bunch of quacks and snake charmers. Two hours later, they found out they were wrong. Larger battery of tests – same results. I was the second coming of Christ – back from the dead...or a zombie living in a convincing state of denial. Some folks wouldn't let that go.Pamela had proved to be prophetic. Her pet gizmo finally provided a new picture of what my neural pathways were up to. If there is any doubt, 'I've never seen that before' is not what you want to hear one of North America's experts in the field of neuroscience say. The first educated opinion was that I suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy – that meant I was hit in the head a lot. Normally that diagnosis comes in the midst of an autopsy.I was having paralytic seizures. They had me juggle a squeeze-ball, then two

I stopped walking, torn by warring impulses. Having lost my father so recently, I was freshly acquainted with her pain and loss. Nothing I could say would change a damn thing. Instead..."Marilynn," I said in a low, steady voice, "Hayden betrayed House Ishara. I would have cut out her heart with my own hands, given half an opportunity. Grow up, or join her."That took the air out of the moment. My voicing such opinions was so unlike me, unless you were Kimberly, or Pamela. They knew me better. Marilynn snarled and leapt to the attack. Her House Guard did their jobs and held her back. My verbal smack to the face hadn't really stopped the air in its tracks. The wind was wreaking mayhem with our hair, clothes and my ritual shelter.The sky was bleaching from pink to yellow. There wasn't much time. I couldn't imagine what even one second in the Black Sands would mean for Hayden. I trembled, thinking about the spirits of all those 'Runners' we had turned our backs on. I stepped into the ro

"You mean for those sexy female sports announcers," Delilah chuckled. That earned her a 'well duh' look from all the other women."Before I consent to the strip search and inevitable follow-up anal probe, are we really going to be in a situation that requires us to fight this time?" Virginia asked."We should be perfectly safe," Rachel responded."Check - bring extra ammo," Virginia nodded."Good for you, Ms. Maddox," Pamela winked. "One day there is hope your life will have some meaning to me.""Great," Special Agent Maddox muttered, "now I have to think of what to get her for Christmas." We all laughed. Christmas was such a long way away.We packed up, rode to a private airfield near Doebridge, learned that SD was smarter than the rest of us, boarded our flight, and then finally entered US airspace from there. Around Ohio, a thought occurred to Maddox."If we were somehow forced to land and have the plane searched, how bad would it be?" she requested of Rachel."Bad enough that we h

Pamela hit the nail on the head - I was cultivating my frighteningly extensive muscle memory. My basal ganglia had gone from an unicyclist to a motocross daredevil. That might sound cool right up until you find yourself in conversation with Wiesława of House Živa while strapping on a pair of hip holstered Smith & Wesson Model 29s you can't even recall picking up in the armory."You are an American cowboy?" she asked as she gave the underside of my chin a sexy fingernail scrape."What?" I blinked. I looked down and, low and behold, I was packing two leg-irons, Joel McCrea-style. Historical shootists would never wear the kind of rig I had put on, much less real cowboys. Naomi came up."What are you doing?" she scolded me."This!" I declared. I drew and fired both guns, quick-draw/rapid-fire.Had I torn out the head, or heart, of the target it would have been a slice of sweet for the bitter aftertaste in my mouth - you know, the 'doing a task without a clue what you are doing' feeling.I