Stolen Lies (Fates of the Bound Book 2)

by Wren Weston

  Lila blinked, her mind slowly shifting from a naked Tristan to the clothed Bullstow senator before her. “Excuse me?”

  “Would you like to come with me to Senator Dubois’s party next month? It’ll be at the Masson’s winery, a jewel, as you well know.”

  Oh great, a pun on her sister’s name. That never got old.

  Lila tried not to vomit.

  She’d almost forgotten about the stupid party. Senator Dubois tried every year to tie her to one of his kin. It should have been enough that he had a claim to her younger sister, but senators could be just as ambitious as their matrons.

  “No,” Lila answered.

  The chairwoman eyed her daughter in annoyance. “What my daughter means is that Senator Dubois would rather she remain unescorted to this particular event.”

  The senator’s expression changed from confusion to acceptance immediately. “Of course. I should have guessed.” He bowed and excused himself, no doubt searching for a more receptive heir for his flirtations.

  “Really, Elizabeth? At least try to be civil.”

  “Since when does civility preclude bluntness?”

  “Since always, you heathen,” the chairwoman snapped as the auctioneer climbed down from the stage, conferring with Olivia. The slave auction would no doubt begin soon. “I have half a mind to drop you in St. Kitts for the next two weeks. Chef is right. You’re starved, and it’s making you act like a bratty teenager.”

  Lila frowned. The three highborn resorts on St. Kitts catered to a certain clientele, the sort who could appreciate their special touches: sheets made of the finest Egyptian cotton, tubes of lube on the bed pillows, and sheets of condoms in the bedside drawer. One needed an appetite, a flush bank account, and a fresh STD screening and vaccination for admission, the latter two provided on site.

  Apparently the food wasn’t bad either—not that anyone booked a room for that reason.

  “I’m not starved,” she lied, trying to shake Tristan from her mind once more.

  A naked Tristan.

  “See to your attitude, then, or you’ll choose between St. Kitts or taking a lover for the season, for all our sakes.” Her mother dragged her to the back of the ballroom, toward a man who wore the most beautifully tailored coat and breeches in the room: pure snow white, unspoiled by any family’s colors, unmarked by any coat of arms. He had the shoulders to carry it well, with the cut unable to hide the body of the athlete inside. His salt-and-pepper hair matched all the experience he had gained during his time in the New Bristol, Saxony, and Unity senates.

  Now he ruled them all as prime minister.

  “Lila, girl.” Lemaire pulled her into a bear hug. Lila had missed seeing her father over the last few weeks. He spent most of his time at Unity but governed from Bullstow during Father’s Week each month, for the bulk of his children resided in or near New Bristol. “I hated watching the news last week. I couldn’t help feeling like I’d really lost my daughter. The senators and highborn in Unity offered me their condolences for two days straight. I worked from my suite because I couldn’t listen to it anymore.”

  “I’m okay.”

  He squeezed her one more time, then reluctantly let her go. “Never do that for real.”

  “Same to you,” she said with a smile. “I heard your plane landed this morning. I knew you’d turn up early.”

  “I always do, don’t I?” He turned and smiled at the chairwoman. The smile was not the smile of romantic love but the smile of equals, the smile of soul mates, the smile of many roads traveled in the company of a friend. He kissed the chairwoman’s cheeks, lingering too long on each. “Bea, you look stunning as usual.”

  “Likewise. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen the compound. You should come back with me after the auction. We could share a bottle of wine and watch the leaves fall.”

  “Your offer is tempting. It’s so tempting that I’ll have to accept.”

  Her mother chuckled, a real chuckle for once. Lila knew the difference.

  The prime minister laughed back, pleased to hear it as well.

  “Where’s your security force?” Lila asked, thankful they had not entered the room during the failed heist. Their practiced eyes would have deemed her suspicious as soon as she’d pulled out her palm.

  “I gave them an hour off for a late lunch. The LeBeaus seemed to have everything well in hand.”

  “I doubt that sincerely.”

  Her father let the comment slide. “Bea, I see that you’ve put up Oskar Kruger for auction.”

  The chairwoman inclined her head.

  “Unity wants him.”

  “Everyone wants him. Does Unity want him enough to pay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Enough to pay what the others won’t?”

  Lemaire eyed the chairwoman. “The government cannot compete with the whims of the matrons. You know I’ll not be able to outbid anyone in this room.”

  “Then have this conversation with the winning matron. Perhaps she’ll gift him to you.”

  “I could push something through Unity. Some bit of legislation favorable to your interests?”

  “You do that for me already. It was one of the perks of pushing through Lila and Shiloh.”

  The prime minister sipped his wine. “Let me explain the big picture, Bea. Oskar Kruger has the potential to mend fences between the Allied Lands and the Holy Roman Empire. Perhaps he might even stop this war for a century or two. If I get him for Head Councilman Abbot, then the Allied Lands will have quite the bargaining chip with the emperor. As an ancillary benefit, America would rise above the rest of the commonwealth. I could trade that child for more independence for us all, and the boy could return to his father. Everyone wins.”

  “You rise. You win. It seems you aim to rule the Allied Lands one day.”

  “Abbot will step down soon. Why shouldn’t I try for the council? I hear Paris is nice this time of year.”

  “You want to pave your way to the council by helping Peter Kruger? The man’s a terrorist, Henri, and he tried to kill your daughter. Do you really want to help him and his spawn have a happily ever after?”

  “Alleged terrorist,” Lila offered before shrinking under the combined weight of her parents’ stares. She looked away, her eyes following a pale member of the militia who squelched toward the ballroom’s entrance. Olivia crinkled her nose at his drenched uniform and muddy boots. She barely listened, then waved him away with a firm shake of the head.

  Unless Lila was very much mistaken, Olivia had disagreed with the man’s plea to double the militia’s presence.

  How very sloppy.

  “That’s none of my concern.” Her mother shrugged as Lila turned back to her parents’ conversation. “There’s nothing you can offer me at the moment, Henri. Besides, a senator’s role is to smooth the paths of the matrons, not dictate them. Prime minister or not, your role is the same. Don’t be crass.”

  “Don’t be petulant just because I asked for a favor. I didn’t know Wolf Industries needed the capital from Oskar’s sale.”

  “I don’t, but I’m not going to give the government something for nothing. Tell it to me straight. What’s your best offer?”

  Lemaire’s mouth twitched. “One million.”

  “One? The boy could one day take the German throne one day and play emperor, and yet you offer one million?”

  “I had to try money first.” He shrugged.

  “What’s second?”

  “The Ashburys have decided to close Unity Memorial and their associated clinics. The hospital’s become too unwieldy to make a profit with the demands I set in their contract. I’ll soon solicit proposals for another family to take over what they leave behind. Imagine Randolph General on a wider scale and in the nation’s capital.”

  The chairwoman gauged Lemaire’s face. “I’d need a lot of land to
make it work, Henri.”

  “Give me Oskar, and I’ll get you the land and the contract.”

  Lila stared openly at her parents. Her father could lose his position and his mark for making such an offer. On the other hand, taking over a hospital in Unity could launch the Randolphs onto the national stage, offering a foothold into the other three American states. The Randolphs wouldn’t just be a powerhouse in Saxony, they might become one of the top families in the country. Her mother had always dreamed of sitting on Unity’s High Council of Judges. She’d worked diligently over the last ten years to get there.

  “You insult me as a woman, a judge, and a CEO with those words.”

  The prime minister caught her wrist before she could turn away. “I’m sorry, Bea. I’m desperate.”

  “Desperate enough to display a shocking disregard for the law? And in front of our daughter, no less? I don’t need for you to cheat for me, Henri. I can win that contract and procure the land on my own merits. Or do you think I’m incapable?”

  “You’re more than capable.”

  The chairwoman looked down at her wrist.

  Lemaire dropped his hold.

  Lila looked away in embarrassment. She’d never seen her father engage in any sort of impropriety before, save the work he and Shaw brought her. Now this? Would her father offer a similar deal to the winning matron?

  Had he tried already?

  Most matrons would consider turning him into the senate disciplinary committee for such a transgression. A few might take the deal, though.

  Others might blackmail him for it.

  Lila scanned the crowd for such matrons as Oskar appeared at a side door flanked by two LeBeau militia. Everyone else watched the boy’s progress toward the stage, but Lila watched the highborn and the foreign proxies, sent to bid on their master’s behalf.

  If Lila hadn’t been worried over who else her father might have approached, she might not have noticed the man forty paces away, standing near Olivia LeBeau. She might not have noticed his crooked nose and small pot belly, which clashed with the beautiful, fit senators and highborn men in the room. She might not have noticed his breeches, his poorly tied cravat, and his ill-fitting jacket, all of which were too threadbare to belong to any highborn, and cut two years out of fashion. She might not have noticed his boots, which were well worn and unpolished.

  Made for working. Made for running.

  Lila’s gaze swept up to the man’s eyes. They were a little too intent on the raw-eyed Oskar and the LeBeau blackcoats who escorted him onstage.

  Lila had already started running by the time he shoved his hand in his jacket pocket. She ran even harder when he withdrew an ivory-handled revolver, a model not used in the Allied Lands because it didn’t accept tranqs.

  She reached into her clutch and drew her Colt, dropping the purse as she wove around an oblivious heir.

  She sprinted even faster as the man raised his trembling gun toward the stage.

  Chapter 3

  Lila aimed, shooting three times in quick succession, three little puffs of air that barely made a noise over the still-chattering crowd.

  Her first dart skewed wide, but the second hit the gunman’s chin, startling him and frustrating his aim. Simultaneously, a sharp blast from his revolver echoed throughout the room.

  Her third tranq hit his neck perfectly.

  The man flicked it off and did not fall down.

  The distraction allowed her to get closer, though. She didn’t have time to wonder why the tranq hadn’t worked or if anyone had been hit. Dropping her Colt, she sprinted closer, leaping into the air as he aimed again.

  Another shot rang out as she barreled into the man’s hips.

  The pair collided. The gun shot rang far too loudly in her ears.

  His weapon skittered across the floor.

  Lila rolled onto the gunman’s chest, unable to remember the complicated grappling moves from hand-to-hand training. Instead, she sprawled out on top of him and punched at his face, hoping her weight and fist would do the trick.

  Predictably, it didn’t. He shoved her off like an unruly child and crawled toward Senator Langston. In a brave moment, the politician had chosen to guard the man’s gun, keeping it locked between his boots as if he were a hen roosting on a rotten egg. When he saw the would-be assassin heading toward him, he yipped and froze.

  “Take it to the militia!” Lila shouted as she clasped her arms around the gunman’s ankle. She yanked the man back, her stitches pulling, her palm screaming out with a dull ache. The gunman slid on the wooden floor, his hands whacking against it as he tried to stop the pull.

  All at once, he sat up on his hands and knees, kicking back hard with his ensnared boot. It caught Lila in the stomach.

  “Oof!” The champagne she’d drunk struggled at her throat, but Lila refused to let go.

  In a panic, her fumbling mind landed on a move that would certainly have an effect.

  Rolling on her ass, she kicked out, nailing the shooter in the balls.

  “Ugh,” the man cried out.

  Lila winced. She’d hit his balls, all right, but her heel had also struck, stabbing him in the thigh. She nearly gagged as she pulled her foot back, her heel almost refusing to dislodge from his leg.

  The gunman didn’t seem all that concerned about the trickle of blood, running down his thigh. His boot grew heavy in her arms, and he finally flopped onto his stomach.

  Finally, the tranqs had kicked in.

  Lila let go of his foot and crawled toward his shoulder, ready to flip him over and check his breathing.

  The gunman’s elbow smashed into her jaw, stunning her.

  Gods, she was horrible at hand-to-hand.

  Lunging again, Lila grasped at the man’s wrist and jerked, finally recalling at least one hold she’d learned in training. She quickly curled herself into an arm lock, twisting her legs on either side of his arm, pushing her ass into his neck and folding her ankles across his opposite shoulder.

  The intruder flailed, pumping his torso off the ground, trying to break free. Seams ripped in her dress, but the lock held.

  So did Lila.

  She turned a frantic eye around the ballroom, waiting for someone to charge across the room and help her hold down the stranger. It wouldn’t be Olivia LeBeau, for it appeared that Lila’s first misfire had struck the woman. One little black dart had lodged itself between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows.

  The heirs and senators weren’t much help, either. Several hundred heads had jerked at the first shot, their eyes latching on to the struggling pair. Some watched with detached interest, assuming Lila would deal with the man, just as blackcoats and workborn always dealt with anything unpleasant in their lives. Others had frozen, refusing to flee out of shock or fear they’d be captured on film looking like an idiot. A quarter of the crowd had no such qualms. They’d run screaming to the exits, shoving one another out of the way in a bid to escape first.

  The rest of their peers held up their palms, filming the panic for leverage.

  Then there was Oskar Kruger. He trembled on stage, two holes buried in the wood beside his boots. He did nothing at all. He’d been left alone and unregarded when the auctioneer dove off the stage. Oskar hadn’t even hidden behind the useless podium. He’d merely closed his eyes while the shots rang out, ready or willing or hoping to die.

  Perhaps all three.

  The two blackcoats guarding him wouldn’t help, either. They’d changed priorities at the first shot and rushed to the prime minister’s side, dragging him toward an exit. Her father fought against the pair, his arms sweeping against the blackcoats. “That’s my daughter,” he shouted, his voice booming amid the high-pitched screams. “Let me go!”

  Only her mother had walked toward her. She looked down and calmly pointed at Lila’s chest. “Your left breast is hanging out of your
dress, Elizabeth.”

  “Thanks.” Lila panted as the intruder continued to flail underneath her. “Could you at least be useful and sit on him?”

  “It would be undignified. Fix your dress. There are cameras.”

  “Fuck my boob and fuck the cameras. No one can publish the damn photos anyway.”

  “Fix your—”

  “Damn it, Mother, I’m a little busy!”

  “Watch your language.” Her mother’s gaze slipped from her breast to her legs. “You are wearing something underneath that dress, aren’t you?”

  The intruder’s muscles finally went limp. Lila swiveled on the wooden floor, twisting the man’s arm in another lock, just to be safe.

  “Elizabeth, your breast is still—”

  “Shut up, Mother.”

  The gunman tried to bat Lila away as she flipped him on his back and patted down his coat. Finding nothing, she turned out his trouser pockets.

  “Is that supposed to happen?” her mother asked, pointing at the man’s face.

  White foam trickled from his mouth. The small river turned into a flood, little bubbles spewing out onto the floor. A tremor passed over the man, and he began to twitch and shake.

  “No, it’s not.” Lila slid away from the growing puddle, unsure whether it was safe. Adjusting her bodice at last, she turned toward the blackcoats who still struggled against her father. “Fetch a doctor.”

  One of the blackcoats reluctantly let go of the prime minister and reached for the radio perched on her shoulder.

  The other couldn’t hold Lemaire back. He sprinted toward his daughter, his boots clomping loudly in the quiet room.

  By the time he arrived, the shooter no longer moved.

  Everyone else in the room did, though. Now that the prime minister had gotten involved, the heirs considered the matter dealt with. The buzz started up again.

  Lila turned back to the gunman and crouched over him. She smacked his cheek, jerking back when foam flew from his mouth and landed on her skin. Wiping it off quickly with her hem, she checked the man’s pulse.