Page 20 of Truth or Lie

TEN

Alex

SIX WEEKS LATER wewere on Nikolayev’s private jet, descending toward a small airport on the outskirts of Minsk. I’d already been proven wrong about one thing. Months ago, when I’d helped Beckett retrieve a broken, red-haired omega from Montreal police custody, I had assumed that Ambassador Leona McCready was gone forever.

While it was true she’d been stripped of her official title the moment she’d been arrested as a fugitive omega, the self-assured, put-together diplomat was back with a vengeance, with her trusty attaché at her side. And god help me, I could hardly seem to look away.

Nikolayev’s bottomless pockets had provided a new wardrobe and personal stylists for the pair. Leona was dressed to kill from the top of her stylish chignon to the razor-sharp points of her four-inch stilettos. Kameron’s carefully cultivated anchor-style fringe of beard was shaped and edged with precision. His understated but perfectly tailored suit was chosen to complement Leona’s attention-grabbing beauty, but not compete with it. Both of them looked like greyhounds eyeing the mechanical hare at the starting gate, ready to spring.

Even so, their intensity covered a hint of melancholy. I knew why. Jax had ensured I knew about what had happened during their mating. He hadn’t delivered the report with the kind of cruelty I probably deserved—instead framing it both as pack business and information relevant to our ongoing security.

Kam had been able to form a bond within the heat nest, only to have it slip away when Leona’s pheromone production declined. I hoped with all sincerity the pain of feeling that bond evaporate had been mitigated by the knowledge that the others were still safe and physically nearby.

I hadn’t been brave enough to ask him. Perhaps I didn’t feel as though I had the right.

Leona’s bonds with the others had remained intact, of course—but I got the impression she would never be fully happy unless Kam was also part of that connection. At least Jax had probably been correct that Kam’s connection would reappear whenever Leona was in heat. We just had to keep everybody alive that long.

Minsk was supposed to be a test run. Outside of Nikolayev’s stomping grounds near St. Petersburg, the Eastern Bloc was likely to be the closest thing to friendly territory that we’d find. The underground had a network of sympathizers already embedded in the power structure in this part of the world. Additionally, many of those in power who weren’t already sympathizers might be persuaded to join our cause with the lure of gaining prestige and prominence in a new post-Committee world order.

The trick would be extending our network of sympathizers into Western Europe, and eventually, the UFNA. If those two global superpowers turned our way, the rest of the world would follow. The Committee was a relatively weak presence in Africa, South America, and Australia to start with. Meanwhile, Asia’s policy was usually heavily tied to its trading partners’.

The jet touched down in a jolt of squealing tires, the engines whining as they labored to slow the plane. A couple of turnings onto smaller taxiways, and the aircraft rolled to a stop next to a collection of sleek black vehicles that including a stretch limo. I’d have bet money that the cars were heavily armored and the glass bulletproof.

“Come. Commissariat Polonsky has arranged for our security escort to the hotel,” Nikolayev said, leading the way as we deplaned and entered the limo.

Rhys Beckett had nearly burst an aneurysm when he found out that we’d be relying on outside security during this conference. I’d thought for a minute that we’d be scraping Nikolayev’s innards off the ceiling of the sick room. Beckett wasn’t someone whose bad side I’d ever wanted to get on, but an angry Beckett during late-term pregnancy was fucking terrifying.

The fact that he was stuck on bed rest and unable to accompany us had led to a closed-door argument with Nikolayev—one that had risen to a truly impressive volume of yelling.

The interior of the limo was dark and elegant. Frankly I would have been more comfortable riding with the armed guards at the front of the convoy than sitting across from this pair of glittering omegas who’d practically begged me to make them mine. No one said much as the vehicles rolled out, heading for central Minsk. Flynn and Jax were in guard-dog mode. Nikolayev spent the journey looking out of the window as the convoy entered the city. Leona and Kam appeared completely absorbed in a folder of handwritten notes.

The Hotel Europa was old, expensive, and an intriguing mix of classical and modern. It had completely escaped the brutalist and constructivist architectural crazes that had struck this part of the world in the middle of the century. We stopped there only long enough to drop off our luggage—not even bothering to sweep for bugs yet, since we wouldn’t be in the rooms for the next several hours anyway.

If the staff had any issues with extending service to two omegas and their alpha mates sharing one massive suite, they kept it to themselves. I placed my single suitcase in my single room, and tried to ignore the burn of acid in my throat at the knowledge that I could be in there with them. It would only take a handful of words.

Please, I want in.

I don’t want to be alone.

Words I must never speak. Someone in this pack needed a clear head, because things were about to get dangerous. That someone was me. Despite the odds against us, I was determined that the others would never know what it felt like to lose a mate forever.

In no time at all, we reconvened in the hotel hallway and returned to the cars, heading for Independence Square, located a few blocks away. After some discussion, the decision had been made to hold this informal conference inside the so-called Government House, seat of the Belarusian unicameral parliament. We could have gone smaller—rented someplace private, or even used the nearby university—but Nikolayev didn’t want ‘small.’ Nikolayev wanted the world’s eyeballs on us.

The massive administrative building sat behind a twenty-foot-tall statue of Vladimir Lenin. It was composed of acres of elegant white stone, glass, and sharp right angles that reached unapologetically for the sky. Its aggressive modernity squared off with the classical architecture of the church and government buildings on the opposite side of the huge plaza. Everything here was designed to overwhelm the individual with its sheer scale.

The state is bigger than you, it said.You don’t stand a chance, little citizen.

There was press waiting for us—unusual in this part of the world, to say the least. I sensed Nikolayev’s hand in their presence, or possibly Polonsky’s. Immediately, my instincts were on edge. More people meant more potential aggressors. Camera equipment and microphones meant it would be harder to spot hidden weapons. I sensed Jax and Flynn tensing as well.

All three if us were armed—heavily so. But we couldn’t exactly open fire in a crowd full of journalists.

Across from me, Leona McCready straightened her shoulders and donned an aura of cool professionalism like a cloak. Kam’s face was an unreadable mask; the same mask that had kept him from being discovered as an unregistered omega for nearly two decades spent in public life.

Unlike Leona, he might still pass as beta. The physical build. The beard. Both were thanks to testosterone injections, which he’d apparently continued during the months spent under Nikolayev’s protection. But anyone with a nose would be able to tell that Leona was an omega. She’d been off pheromone suppressors since Cuba, presumably as a way to further torture me.

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