Page 40 of Fight or Fly

“Oh good,” Irina said. “Someone’s still using their brain, at least.”

“Chairman Nikolayev and Chairman Sloane have a very public feud,” Kam suggested. “And Leona McCready is a high-profile fugitive. Catching her seems like it would be something of a coup in PR terms.”

“Twopeople using their brains,” Irina said. “Even better! But no, that’s not it.”

“Then what?” Jax snarled. I glanced back to find him gripping the edge of the table with an intensity that might splinter the wood at any moment.

“Enoch Sloane has Rhys Beckett,” Irina said simply. “Andthatis a serious problem for everyone.”

My heart sank, even though Beckett’s capture by the Committee had always been the most likely scenario to explain his disappearance.

“Why is it a problem?” Kam asked cautiously. “Again, it seems as though it would be a cause for celebration among the Committee higher-ups.”

“You might think so,” Irina agreed, grim-faced. “But here’s the thing—Sloane isn’t running him through the usual channels. He’s keeping Beckett off the books. And now, we have reason to think Sloane has also acquired effective leverage to use against him.”

“Leverage,” I echoed, my stomach joining my heart in free fall. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means Sloane’s got Alex and Flynn as well,” Jax grated. “And he thinks he can use them to crack Beckett wide open.Fuck.”

Irina met my eyes. “Sloane wants the identity of Beckett’s mate. It’s absolutely vital that he doesn’t get it.”

A fresh jolt of disquiet tightened my shoulders at the casual way Irina had thrown that little-known fact at our feet. The idea that Beckett’s omega status was apparently common knowledge inside the Committee was bad enough. That they also knew about the existence of his secret mate seemed inconceivable.

“So Nikolayev wants the information instead?” I asked, still trying to arrange these puzzle pieces into something that made sense, when all I really wanted to do was crawl into a corner and rock mindlessly back and forth for a bit.

“Sloane will use the information like a wrecking ball, not caring what’s destroyed in the course of his jihad,” Irina replied. “Nikolayev moved to ensure that Sloane didn’t get hold of you, too. Not that it will matter in the end, if Sloane is able to achieve what he wants using the tools he already has.”

“And by tools—”

Jax grunted and cut me off. “She means Flynn and Alex.” I glanced over my shoulder in time to see him shoot Irina a look of pure hatred.

There was a faint pause, and then Kam asked, “How did Nikolayev discover the location of the safehouse where we were staying?”

It was a good point. If Sloane had tortured the information out of Beckett, that would at least have made sense. But how wouldNikolayevhave gained access to that kind of closely guarded knowledge?

“He knows all sorts of things you might not expect him to,” Irina said. “It’s kind of his thing.”

“I want to talk to him,” I said impulsively. It was half a lie—I did not, in fact, want to face the terrifying Committee chairman, especially as his prisoner.

His... strangely well-treated prisoner.

But Nikolayev was a reptile, whereas Sloane was a rabid dog. My rational mind screamed that they were equally dangerous—just in different ways. But my instincts remembered the cold-blooded concessions Nikolayev had made to me at the summit. He understood the necessity of give-and-take when larger things were at stake. He wasrational.

At least, he was rational if you ignored the stories about what he’d done to his throwback sister, and the fact that he’d allegedly enjoyed hunting omegas like animals for sport when he was younger. Gooseflesh prickled over my body, despite the fact that the cell was pleasantly warm.

“The chairman is already on his way here,” Irina said. “I’ve no doubt he’ll want to talk to you, too.”

Great.Therewas a conversation to look forward to. Be careful what you ask for...

“Tell me something, traitor,” Jax said, in a low, dangerous tone. “Since you’re still alive, what about the pups? Alex’s pups?”

Irina went very still for a moment. Her voice grew thin and distant as she said, “They’re dead and burned to ash, torn from my body... just like our mating bond.” Then she blinked free of her momentary reverie. “I will leave you now. Food and drink will arrive shortly. After that, you have my word that you will not be disturbed until morning.”

With that, she turned her back on us and left the cell. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed behind her.

* * *

The food came as promised. We ate it, because that seemed like a better decision than not eating it and being hungry. It wasn’t drugged. It wasn’t even disgusting slop. Large parts of the current situation still didn’t make sense.

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