Page 57 of Truth or Lie

TWENTY-FIVE

Leona

WATCHING THE televisedperp-walk as Enoch Sloane was led away from his Alabama compound in handcuffs ranked as one of the top three most satisfying experiences of my life. It fell only slightly behind the moment I’d first felt Kam’s presence in my mind during the heat when Jax and Flynn had mated us, as well as the moment Alex had finally joined our bond.

Slightly more than six months had passed since we’d met Levi Fairbanks in a hotel conference room and uncovered his most closely guarded secret. He’d been good to his word—risking his tenuous parliamentary coalition by going public with his daughter’s omega status... not to mention his intention to lead the world toward a better future where all people received equal rights and protection under the law.

The legislation had been an uphill battle, to put it mildly. There was strong backlash at first, not least from Sloane himself. I’d been utterly convinced that the UFNA progressive coalition would crumble beneath the strain, ushering in something far worse during the next round of elections.

Fortunately for everyone involved, Beckett’s deep dive into the financial ties between Enoch Sloane and the Beta Liberation Front had finally hit pay dirt. Confronted with proof that the co-chairman of the Committee was directly responsible for a chemical weapons attack on a gathering of global high-ranking officials, the tide of public opinion turned at a critical moment during the legislative process. Under pressure from voters, the tide of political opinion turned not long after.

Betas had died in that gas attack. Several had been fatally trampled during the mad dash for the exits. A couple more perished of medical complications after the fact—an elderly woman succumbed to a heart attack, and a man died of a burst aortal aneurysm. It was sickening that the deaths of alphas and omegas alone wasn’t enough to foster outrage, but there was no denying that the beta casualties had roused public opinion in our favor. Today, we were about to reap the harvest from the seeds of change that we’d sown.

Kam poked his head into the bedroom. “Are you ready, Leo? It’s almost time to leave.”

We’d been staying in the Russian embassy in Montreal, where Nikolayev’s name was enough to secure us a safe haven while the legislative machine ground slowly into motion.

I stopped fussing with my hair and gave myself a final once-over in the mirror. “Yes. Sorry. Just nerves,” I said. “Am I holding things up?”

He came in and put his hands on my shoulders from behind. “Not really. I’m just here to give you a five-minute warning.”

Clad in a sharp navy suit with a patterned burgundy tie, he looked every inch the suave diplomatic professional. I met his deep brown eyes in the mirror and gave him a tremulous smile.

“This is really happening, huh?” I asked.

He tucked a wayward red curl into place on the back of my head and adjusted a hairpin to keep it there. “Apparently. Though if it’s a shared hallucination, at least it’s a nice one. Shall we go and join the others?”

“Yes, let’s,” I said, and took his offered hand.

Tonight, we would witness the presentation of the Alphomic Civil Rights Act to the UFNA Governor General for final approval. If I were more prone to paranoia, I might have become gun-shy about important public functions where large numbers of politicians would be gathering. However, the last six months since the gas attack had seen two vital changes in the world.

First, the Beta Liberation Front’s largest source of funding had been cut off, and many of its leaders had been captured or killed. Second, governments had gotten alotmore serious about security precautions. Gone were the days when Kam and I had wandered in and out of office parties in the Foreign Affairs building with only a single, bored guard keeping watch at the front door. The Parliament Building—and pretty much every other government installation—had been locked down tight ever since Prime Minister Fairbanks’ close call in Luxembourg.

The House of Commons had room for about five hundred spectators in the various viewing galleries above the legislative floor, and it was a fair bet the place would be packed solid. Jax, Flynn, Alex, Kam, and I were attending as Fairbanks’ personal guests in the Speaker’s Gallery. Beckett and Nikolayev—safely back in Russia with their baby daughter—had declined to travel here and appear in person. They would doubtless be watching the worldwide broadcast on television, despite the seven-hour difference in time zones.

Kam and I exited the bedroom to find the others ready and waiting for us. I’d been prepared for Flynn and Jax in suits, since suits were standard fare in their familiar long-standing roles as bodyguards. I hadnotbeen prepared for Alex in an evening dress. In fact, I was unprepared enough for Alex in an evening dress that I stopped cold, frozen in place.

She frowned at me. “What?”

I blinked, and then turned my head very deliberately to look at Kam. “You might have warned me about this,” I said.

He shrugged, a smile twitching at one corner of his full lips. “I wanted to see your reaction.”

Alex was resplendent in a sleeveless, square-neck white satin sheath gown, with her dark hair scraped back in a severe bun. She didn’t need makeup to be completely stunning, but I thought I detected a hint of eye shadow, and she was definitely wearing lipstick.

“White suits you,” I managed. “And also, Kam and I are going to peel that dress off of you later, so fair warning.”

“With our teeth,” Kam added helpfully.

Flynn eyed Alex skeptically. “Can you fight in that thing?”

“Probably not without ripping a seam somewhere.” Alex didn’t look pleased about the admission.

“Maybe we can get through this one official event without imminent danger to life and limb,” Jax suggested.

Flynn shrugged. “Maybe. Anyway, we’ll be seated in a balcony, so if anyone comes at us, we can just toss ’em over the railing, right?”

“That seems like the simplest strategy,” Alex agreed.

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