Page 55 of Truth or Lie

I saw the moment he realized what a giveaway his response had been. His gaze flew to the blank-faced security guards posted around the room. A couple of them had stepped forward in alarm upon seeing their boss’s violent reaction. I had a hysterical moment to wonder if Fairbanks might try to have us arrested—or shot, for that matter—in hopes of preventing the news from leaving this room.

The reality was much less dramatic. His shoulders slumped, his head dipping as though he suddenly lacked the strength to hold it up. His eyes slid closed.

“I thought I could keep her safe,” he muttered, the words barely audible. “God help me, I thought we could keep her a secret.”

I nodded to myself, achingly aware of all the new possibilities opening up before us. “I’m sure my parents thought much the same thing,” I said. “The question is, what happens to all of the other throwback children whose parentsaren’tpowerful and well-connected?”

Fairbanks shook his head helplessly, not looking up. Around the room, I caught several of the bodyguards exchanging uncomfortable glances. I wondered how many of these men had guarded young Samantha Fairbanks as she grew from childhood into adolescence. Had any of them suspected?

“Please sit down, Prime Minister,” Nikolayev said. “It appears we do, indeed, have much to discuss.”

Fairbanks took a single, heaving breath that lifted and lowered his shoulders. Visibly dragging himself together, he reached down and righted his overturned chair before slumping into it. Elbows on the table, he dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets for a long moment before he spoke. It didn’t matter that he was the elected leader of one of the most powerful federations on the planet. In that moment, he was nothing more than a terrified father.

“I didn’t dare act openly against the Committee,” he began, letting his hands fall limply to the table, where they lay palm up. “I couldn’t risk bringing their attention down on my family.”

“How long ago did Samantha present as an omega?” I asked, keeping my tone compassionate.

He gave a mirthless laugh. “Two years ago. She was thirteen. We’ve had her on blockers and suppressors ever since.”

Thirteen. That was young for a first heat—the poor girl.

“And yet, you’ve still done your best to limit the Committee’s power inside the UFNA,” I said. “You may not realize it, but you’re a symbol of hope to alphas and omegas the world over.”

It was shameless flattery. It was also true, in a world where the best we’d been able to hope for was someone to slow the ongoing hemorrhage of our human rights.

Heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of our breathing.

Fairbanks broke it, his voice emerging as a bare rasp—so unlike his usual commanding baritone. “It’s not enough.”

“No,” Nikolayev agreed. “It really isn’t. So the question becomes, what are we going to do about it?”

Fairbanks looked like a man gazing into the mouth of hell. “Yesterday... if Jennifer hadn’t taken Sammy to the restroom before the gas was released...”

“She could have died at the hands of radical beta supremacists,” I finished for him.

He nodded, blank-faced, and then seemed to realize something. “The man who was speaking when the attack started. I recognized him. He used to work with you. Did he survive?”

“He’s recovering.” I cleared my throat and swallowed, caught off guard by the wave of choking emotion. “Ironically, if the slavers hadn’t ripped out his reproductive organs and destroyed his ability to produce omega hormones when he was a kid, he’d be dead like all the others.”

Fairbanks stared at me for a long moment. “I can’t let my daughter grow up in this twisted excuse for a world.”

Hope bloomed in my chest, but I didn’t dare trust it yet.

“What do you know of the Beta Liberation Front?” Nikolayev asked.

“I’ve received intelligence briefings,” Fairbanks said dully. “But there’s not much information about them. They’re a European splinter group, mostly involved in kidnappings and low-level assassinations... at least, until recently.”

“And what if I could tie them to Enoch Sloane and his organization?” Nikolayev asked.

Fairbanks’ expression sharpened. “What?”

“You mentioned kidnappings,” Nikolayev replied. “When she was an ambassador, Leona McCready was one of their targets, as you may recall.”

The prime minister’s gaze flashed to me, and I thought I saw guilt there. “Yes, I do,” he said.

“She and her colleagues were successfully retrieved from a stronghold in the Carpathian mountains by a small strike team,” Nikolayev continued. “Most of the terrorists were killed in the fighting, but a few got away. Ms. McCready’s status as an omega was discovered during her captivity.”

I suppressed a shudder, remembering that horrific few days.

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