Page 76 of Fight or Fly

“He’s an acquired taste,” Beckett replied wryly, “but surprisingly handy to have around in a pinch.”

This seemed like as good a time as any to join the conversation.

“When the others said your mate was probably a higher-up in the underground, I’ll admit this wasn’t quite what I pictured,” I told him.

His expression twisted with mild, self-deprecating humor. “Yes. Quite. Though in my defense, it’s not as though any of you would have believed the truth.”

“About that,” I went on, cutting right to the chase. “There are some questions we need answered about dead and tortured alphas and omegas before we go too much further.”

“Your sister,” Alex said, addressing Nikolayev directly—alpha to alpha. “You faked her death and smuggled her away when she presented as an omega. To protect your own rise to power?”

Nikolayev raised an eyebrow. “My family has been embroiled in the alphomic resistance for generations. Many are betas, holding positions of political and religious power throughout Russia and Eastern Europe. Some, like myself, are alphas hiding in plain sight and embedding ourselves as deeply inside the beta power structure as we can manage. Others are omegas, and have a long history of forging alliances through marriage with other powerful families.”

“And the hunts?” I asked. “They weren’t real?”

“They were a good way to help fugitives disappear without too many questions being asked.” Nikolayev’s penetrating gaze pinned me, testing my resolve... seeing if I would give in to my innate omega nature and yield to him. “Dead bodies are not difficult to come by in Russia. And betas do love a good story of bloodthirsty carnage.”

“Are you saying that no alphas or omegas have died at the hands of the Euro-Soviet Committee?” Kam asked, standing straight-backed and firm-shouldered beside me. “Because with all due respect, Chairman, I find that very difficult to believe.”

“No,” Nikolayev replied. “No, I am not saying that at all. I have stood by and watched innocents fall beneath the firing squad, while sharing drinks and handshakes with the guilty. Believe me when I say, if I had the power to wave a wand and end the bloodshed within the Euro-Soviet Confederacy, I would have done so long before now.”

Beckett gave a slow clap. “A lovely speech, dearest. Maybe not themostreassuring for our guests—but a good, statesmanlike delivery, nonetheless. And it does rather bring us around to the current point,” he finished grimly.

“Which is?” I asked, frowning.

“The Nikolayev family and others like them have spent decades getting to this point without being detected.” Beckett’s eyes flicked to his mate’s for a moment, meeting and holding. “Sloane already suspects. He captured me in hopes of blowing the upper levels of the resistance wide open.”

“Did you break under interrogation?” Alex asked, with brutal directness.

A low growl rumbled up from Nikolayev’s chest, but Beckett waved him off again.

“Not to my knowledge, which is admittedly spotty at best after they started with the drugs,” Beckett replied, apparently without offense. “But in the end, it may not matter.”

“You were rescued by soldiers in helicopters identifying themselves with secure Committee codes,” Jax said slowly. “Sloane knows for sure now that there’s a rift within his organization.” He turned hard blue eyes on Nikolayev. “Does he suspect you specifically?”

The Russian’s lips twisted. “Of course he does. He has for years. Despite appearances, the man is not an idiot.”

I thought back over Sloane and Nikolayev’s history, looking at it through this new lens. “He’s been shouting from the rooftops about alphas and omegas infiltrating beta institutions since he first rose to power.” I looked to Beckett to confirm what I’d just realized.

“And he’s absolutely right about that,” Beckett said tartly. “It’s a damn good thing he comes across as a fringe lunatic most of the time, or we’d have been in worse trouble than we already are.”

“The underground resistance is not ready for all-out war,” Nikolayev stated with certainty. “However, whether we are ready or not, that war is coming. It will not be fought with bombs and bullets. At least, not exclusively. It will be fought in the hearts and minds of the people.” His eyes landed on me again. “That is why we need all the allies we can get. Especially ones with your... particular skill set.”

“Diplomacy?” I hazarded.

“Persuasion,” he replied. “That, and I need your contacts. Anyone in a position of power who you believe might harbor alphomic sympathies.”

I thought of all the people I’d met over the years in the glittering world of international politics. “I can do that. But that was always the plan, after Beckett rescued me.”

“It’s more than that now,” Beckett said kindly. “Be certain you understand what you’re signing up for before you commit.”

“Then what are you asking of me?” I asked, frowning.

The energy in the room shifted as all eyes focused on our exchange.

Nikolayev ran a speculative gaze over me. “We are asking you to return to the world stage openly, as a known omega fugitive. We are asking you to risk your life in exchange for all the lives that might be saved if the old order falls.”

My heart skipped a beat. Beside me, I heard Kam inhale sharply. I didn’t dare turn toward him, choosing instead to lock eyes with Beckett.

Nikolayev’s mate reached out and clasped my hand in his. “Leona McCready... we’re asking you to be the public figurehead for the alphomic resistance.”

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