The Fulcrum, Book One: The Fulcrum, #1

By Lenaya Fallin

This is a series with cliffhanger endings.

ˈfʊlk.ɹəm: the fixed point, providing balance and power
Life can be tricky you are submissive, genetically engineered and related to spies.
She is a journalist whose biggest scoops can never be written.
The current one is a doozy.
Her brothers are MIA. No one seems to know the nature of the mission or even where it took place.
And she's stuck on a business trip when a chance meeting at the hotel's front desk puts her on a dominant's radar.
She is tired, stressed and frightened for her brothers. All she wants to do is get past Mr. Tall, Dominant and Italian without giving away her submissive nature. Then again, what would be the harm in throwing a little caution to the wind, just for one evening?
Especially once he makes it clear he won't be happy until he gets her right where he wants her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lenaya Fallin
• Release date: Feb 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393112402

Book preview

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. 

The Fulcrum

This is the second part of an ongoing story with exciting cliffhanger endings. All parts are now available here.

Copyright © 2020 Lenaya Fallin.  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the author's express written permission.  The scanning, uploading, and distributing this book via the Internet or any other means without the publisher's permission is illegal and punishable by law.  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. 

The publisher has no control over and does not assume any responsibility for the author or third-party websites or their content. 

Cover Art :

Copyright © bigstock.com/

Author’s Note

There are many people I have to thank for the existence of this book. My dear friend and first fan, author Harmony Drake, who offered to beta and ended up doing the first edit! Thank you so much for your bully—ahem—encouragement. The writing group headed by Harmony and Timothy Peterson was a huge inspiration, there is so much talent in that room every week, and they kept me writing and bringing my A game. They were also a group that believed in me more than I believed in myself.

Chapter One

‘There must be a factory someplace where politicians are mass-produced, cast from molds that are centuries-old,’ he thought, considering the clichéd good looks of his host. The silver-haired, lantern-jawed man in bespoke evening dress poured another measure of his excellent brandy into his two guests’ glasses and sat back down.

Tall, his voice had the booming vibrancy of a giant bell. Rich from birth, Senator Patrick Benton no doubt thought himself the epitome of the American Dream, occupying his rightful place in a meritocracy where the cream always rose to the top.

He crossed one leg over the other, made a minimal adjustment so the crease of the trousers fell just right, and picked up where he left off. He addressed the wiry man with steady grey eyes seated across from him.  

"It’s a problem. This isn’t a crazy conspiracy theory or supposition. My brother-in-law has business interests in the region. His sources are airtight. This guy Egorov is the tip of a very nasty spear. But I can’t get the rest of the Intel Committee to agree to investigate. 

You know what cowards those assholes are. They aren't interested unless it benefits them or their donors directly."

Years of training kept General Jonathan Staunton’s face expressionless. Benton, this pinnacle of the American Dream, was about to request a favor. Staunton’s heart did a double tap. Having a powerful man like Benton, ‘owe him one’? Not a bad position to find oneself. 

Staunton looked good in a tux. And knew it. He also knew he looked good chasing puffs on a fine Cuban cigar with sips of 100-year-old brandy. He also looked good in this oak-paneled library dominated by a desk. A family heirloom originally owned by the captain of the Mayflower. Supposedly.

He was more than worthy of a room like this. More worthy than the gentleman whose cigar he smoked and brandy he drank. For him, though, it had never been about the trappings of wealth.

What he wanted was the ability to call a meeting like this. To make a phone call and know that generals, CEO’s and senators would come to sit in his study for a private chat. He wanted enough power to issue such invitations with the certainty they’d never be ignored.

I’m just an old soldier.

The Senator scoffed. An old soldier indeed. You made the rank of two-star General, younger than any man before you. And from what I hear, that third star is on its way any day. But you’re perfectly right; there’s very little even an E-Ring General like yourself can do about this situation. In his official capacity.

Staunton’s palms started sweating. A third star, these men in his debt. Not to mention that stopping an existential threat to the country would eclipse every other achievement in his career. The prestige it brought him would also bring more power. But what Benton implied was risky in the extreme.

If you’re saying what I think you are—that’s a very tricky proposition.

Senator Benton leaned forward. You’re right, it is. And I’m saying it because it’s even riskier not to. We need to know how far these schemes go. And you’re the only man with the know-how and the resources to do the job properly.

Yeah, he was. But time to draw the Senator into making his proposition clear. If it went well, they’d all be heroes. If it went poorly, Staunton wanted to ensure that his was not the only head on the chopping block.

Senator, I’m as concerned about this threat as you. And I can appreciate the stumbling blocks in motivating people to take action. But black bag operations are expensive, and Appropriations will never push it through.

Senator Benton nodded understandingly, You’re right, of course. He shifted in his chair. You know, I wanted a rather special cognac for this evening, but it looks like it never materialized from the cellar. Let me go see what I can do about that. I think you’ll like this one, Jon. It’s rumored to be from the cellar of Josephine’s mansion in Slovenia.

The politician rose from their little circle of chairs, nodding to both of his guests, his eye lingering on the third man in evening dress who’d yet to speak.

Staunton smiled tightly as Benton walked past him and out the door.

Upon entering, he’d taken the measure of both men and knew the Senator’s brother-in-law would be the deal-maker if a deal was to be made.

While the Senator’s family background of privilege and good looks made him a perfectly pre-packaged state servant, it was an open secret that the power behind him rested with this man. Gerald Crenshaw’s tux was off-the-rack. An excellent one, but not made to order. The collar of his shirt was just that bit too tight, making his head look like it had been attached to the top of the suit as an afterthought.

The man himself was anything but. His background was in oil, but he was on the boards of at least half a dozen defense contractors. One, in particular, was on Staunton’s mind at the moment. Sunstar Electronics in California made weapons guidance systems, especially for drones.

Crenshaw’s involvement was obscured between layers of a variety of corporate structures. One had to be properly motivated to discover Crenshaw’s position as a majority stakeholder in that company. Staunton had been very motivated.

Staunton did not make the mistake some of his brethren did, viewing Crenshaw as yet another contractor with his palm in Uncle Sam’s pocket. He recognized in Crenshaw what he recognized in himself, zeal for that which cannot be bought or bullshitted. Power.

Crenshaw understood Staunton as well. Crenshaw