Page 41 of Longing for Liberty

The other two girls were wrestling with a bottle of champagne, trying to get it open and laughing at one another. The penthouse elevator slid open, and three more women in side ponytails with big bangs stepped in, going straight toward the President and VP.

I couldn’t stop my questions. “Does that mean these dresses will be available in the communities soon?”

She outright laughed now. “No way, silly.” She looked at me funny. “Wait, which family are you?—”

I blurted, “Are you and your brother close?”

“Me and Fitzy?” She made a pfft sound with her mouth and waved a hand. “He’s the firstborn from the first wife. I’m from the third wife, so we didn’t grow up together. But he still keeps an eye out for me and the others.”

Oh. Oh my God. These were Order of Mercy girls. Straight from the belly of the cult. And my questions about Fitzhugh’s true ancestry were now answered, though the answers were not what I was hoping.

“That’s enough,” Amos said, just as the cork popped and the girls squealed. Amos topped off his glass and walked me out. The other three women twirled and danced behind us.

As we neared the eagle statue, a new song began to play.

“Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” by Wham! I would have never imagined that, in a land where secular music was banned, the president was playing 1980s music like my mom used to play in the kitchen when I was a kid.

Hearing it made me emotional. I missed music. Creativity. Self-expression.

We walked up on the group, and I now saw what they were doing surrounding the eagle statue. Vice President Walinger was tipping up his black cowboy hat to snort a line of coke off the eagle’s outstretched wing.

Wow.

I had no words.

He handed the rolled-up American bill to a woman beside him with winged back hair on the sides.

“Heyyy,” Walinger said to Amos, clacking his way over in heavy boots and sticking out his hand for Amos to shake. “Don’t suppose you want a hit? I kept a Benjamin for old time’s sake.” The Vice President’s eyes were wild and dark, his pupils dilated.

“No, thank you.”

Walinger chuckled and slapped Amos’s bicep before eyeing my body, then my hair, then back at Amos.

“Sam said you got yourself a piece of ass. ‘Bout time.” Walinger didn’t look me in the eye or address me in any way. A filthy sensation spread over me.

“You always have a way with words,” Amos said.

Walinger slapped his arm again. “Wanna make the people feel seen? Use their lingo.” He shot Amos with a finger gun, and I’d never seen the Secretary look more annoyed. Walinger let out a scratchy bark of a laugh, slugging him again before trotting back over to the laughing women.

“Phoebe.” Amos called his sister over. When she stood before him, he said in a low voice, “Go home to your husband.”

“But…” Her eyebrows came together as she looked over at the others. “Sammy invited me. If Sam says it’s okay, John can’t punish me.”

“Go. Now . And don’t say goodbye.” He reached out and took her drink.

Her lips pursed in a pout, and I thought she was about to throw a fit, but she turned on her shiny little heels and stomped away. Amos set her drink on a table.

My brain felt like that meme of the man with insane math equations on a loop behind him. Firstborn. Of the first wife.

Roan snorted a long line and threw his head back, yelling, “ Woo !” The girls and young men around him cheered.

I studied the guys for a moment—five of them, probably ranging from seventeen or eighteen to twenty.

I sipped my wine and leaned against Amos as Roan and Walinger taught the boys how to take a bump.

It felt so wrong. The urge to puke rose up again.

“Have you ever done it?” Amos asked me under his breath. We were far enough away that the group couldn’t hear.

“No,” I admitted.

“Neither have I. Do you want to try?”

“No,” I said quickly.

He squeezed my hand. “Good.”

Whitney Houston began playing overhead like a fever dream.

When everyone was sufficiently high, Roan opened his arms and said, “Let’s all sit! I have an important topic to discuss.”

Amos muttered something, but we headed toward the massive couches, sitting in a U formation.

Roan and Walinger sat on the same couch with girls interspersed around them.

Amos was on the end of ours, and the other girls sat beside me.

The five young men crowded onto a single couch, which I thought was funny.

Amos let go of my hand to put an arm around my shoulder.

I melded into his side, my legs crossed, one hand on his thigh, the other holding my wine.

The president scooted to the end of the couch to address the room, his eyes glazed with a sort of maniacal glee, and the women at his side watched him with adoration. He turned to Walinger and Amos.

“I asked the primary academy to send me its top five men to work under us as our protégés.” He gestured to the boys, some of whom shifted awkwardly.

“Meet the men who will likely take our places one day, boys. They’re all of our bloodlines.

” Roan introduced each of them, and though I should have been taking in their names, I was so overwhelmed that the information didn’t stick.

Maybe it was the barrage of music in my ears.

Or the strong glass of wine that I just finished, probably too quickly.

But I couldn’t believe this was happening.

I listened to the boys introduce themselves, one of them making jerking movements, I assumed from the coke.

One of them rubbing his sweaty palms down the thighs of his pants.

One of them letting out bursts of laughter and then looking surprised like he hadn’t meant to.

These were just kids meeting their heroes, being introduced to drugs, and having the weight of the world put on them.

I wanted to smack Roan and pull each of these boys out, returning them to their moms at once. Although their moms were OM, too.

“We’ll teach you the ways,” Roan promised them.

“Starting with helping us make a big decision.” He raised his eyebrows at Walinger and Amos before looking back at the boys.

“Our current population is 60% women and 40% men. A lot of males were lost during the restructuring. Right now, those extra women are living in female housing and working at factories in C2 and C3, but I don’t find that to be the best use for them, so I’ve come up with two options.

First, we can allow certain men to take a second wife if their first wife is infertile or has a low birth rate, or if the man is an exceptional worker. Like motivation.”

He winked at the girls, who giggled. “The second option is to start a new business.” Roan stopped to share a grin with Walinger.

“A business where the women continue to live together, but they…service men who need a little extra attention. Namely State Force, but higher-up men would be eligible for these services, as well. Maybe even an exceptional worker. Or a lottery prize. What do you think?” He grinned and leaned his elbows on his knees, looking at the group of boys.

I felt as if I were made out of stone as the young men looked around at each other with various expressions. I wanted to look at Amos, but I honestly couldn’t move, and neither did he.

“Well, Mr. President,” said one of the boys. “What about the matter of birth rate? If you allowed the…female services, would they be allowed to reproduce?”

Roan chuckled and snapped his fingers, pointing at the boy. “I’ve thought of that! Of course there would be no birth control. When those women have babies, they’ll be given to the aforementioned families with infertile or low birth rates.” He gave a big, proud smile.

I felt myself starting to sweat. I uncrossed my legs.

“What about you, Liberty? What do you think?”

My head snapped up, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Me?”

Roan grinned, his eyes boring into mine, almost threateningly. Amos’s arm tightened around me, and I knew he was uncomfortable with the attention on me. I had to think fast.

“Well, sir, I try not to think if I can avoid it.” I smiled, my heart racing, and Walinger let out a scratchy barrel laugh, slapping his leg. Some of the girls giggled. Roan didn’t laugh, though. He continued to watch me with an unbending smile that I couldn’t read.

Had he seen me make a face?

“You can’t go wrong with either choice,” Walinger said. “Both make use of the extra women while raising the birth rate. Win-win. But I’m sure State Force would be appreciative of the second option.” That laugh again. My shoulders pinched, and my neck began to throb with a tension headache.

Smile, Liberty.

Laugh.

“Come now, Liberty,” Roan said, not letting it go. “Surely you have an opinion. As a woman, which option would you choose? You’re infertile, correct?”

One of the women gasped, and the whole room stared at me with horror and pity. I was thankful for the wine partially dulling my senses, and the fact that I was sitting, not standing, or I might have passed out.

“I am. Sadly. And to answer your question, any woman would be honored to do whatever you choose,” I said softly, but I felt the tremor in my voice.

“And if you could be the one to choose,” he said. “Would you add another woman to your household to fuck your husband? Or would you prefer to take on children from women fucked by a train of State Force?”

Amos shifted. “That’s enough?—”

I blurted over him, “Either way, I’d get to be in a home with children. So either option is a win, like the Vice President said.”

Roan’s eyes narrowed, and I realized with distinction that he didn’t trust me. Maybe I said too much. I dropped my eyes, heart racing, wine creeping up my esophagus mixed with stomach acid. I swallowed hard.

I hated them. I hated the sickening words that had left my mouth. I didn’t think this administration could get more disgusting, but I’d underestimated them. I wanted to leave, to sprint to the elevator. I wanted my phoenix to sprout its wings and take me far from here.

“Well,” said Roan, clapping his hands. “We’ll figure out the details later. For now, let’s party. Girls, show these future possible presidents a good time. Nobody is leaving here a virgin tonight!” He snagged the blond beside him. “But not you. You’ll be taking care of me.”

My stomach turned hard as I watched him lie back and begin to unbuckle his trousers.

The music suddenly got louder, and the girls jumped up to dance in front of the boys, one pulling them up to stand, the other climbing onto someone’s lap to kiss them.

And, oh, God, Roan’s dick was out now, in the blonde’s hand, and for a second I accidentally stared, like I was passing a gnarled car accident…

until he caught my eye and grinned. He was longer than Jeremy and thicker than Amos, and I don’t think I’d ever been so shocked by a man.

I looked away, desperately trying to gather my senses.

No wonder Amos made his sister leave! Would Roan have expected Phoebe to give him and these boys sexual favors? Had she done it before? Nobody here seemed shocked by what was happening, except maybe the younger men.

Amos pulled me up, taking my empty glass and setting it on a table. “That’s my cue to go.”

“What a surprise,” Walinger said, his hand moving up the girl’s skirt on his lap.

“Good night.” Amos turned us toward the elevator, and I was so grateful.

But before we could get to the elevator to push the button, the door slid open, revealing three older men in suits.

Amos stopped abruptly, his arm jerking back as he dropped my hand like it was searing coal.

A strange sound came from him, and I looked up to see sheer terror on his face. I swung my gaze back to the men.

Standing in the middle was the man who led the U.S. horribly before Roan, President Wright.