Page 25 of The Senator

“When in the fuck did you find out about this, and when were you going to tell me?” A weight had been lifted from my shoulders for an entire minute at hearing Frank Turner had his dick in a ringer, but then I remembered, if he wasn’t the bastard who outed me, then who was?

Friday morning, I woke up before daylight. I checked my messages on my work phone—which I needed to turn in soon—and my personal phone, sad to see nothing from Nash. I wondered what he was doing, and who he was doing it with. Vani hadn’t heard from him either—as far as she was telling me—and I was starting to worry.

Had a crazy biker gang kidnapped Nash, and if so, for what purpose? How in the hell did Nash even know a biker gang? Was he a member who’d left without permission?

God, would they hurt him? Did he have a tattoo of the club logo on his body somewhere, and they planned to cut it out or burn it off like I’d seen in a show on television? My mind had nothing to occupy it, so it wandered, and it wandered in dark directions.

I really, really, liked Nash Lincoln. He had sparkling eyes, brown hair that looked inviting to my fingers, and lush lips I’d longed to kiss. I cursed myself for not pressing things with him on Tuesday night when we shared a room. Something about the encounter seemed seedy, me paying him for sex. I didn’t want it to go that way. I wanted Nash to want me because of me. Was that a stupid pipe dream?

Finally, deciding I’d never go back to sleep, I went downstairs to make coffee and toast. I turned on the television in the kitchen, catching the local news station. “Breaking news this morning. In a statement released overnight, Senator Frank Turner has been hospitalized. The statement reads…” The newscaster continued, but all I could do was smile.

I didn’t think the mean old bastard would die, but I could smell a crisis diversion tactic like the next politician. Maybe I would go into the office and finish cleaning out my things. It could be fun to find out the gossip regarding recent events.

The Thanksgiving break would start on the following Monday, so why not go into the office? I’d been removed from all committees I’d sat on during my terms in office. I wanted to show them, all the naysayers, that I wasn’t down for the count. I wasn’t sure what the next chapter held from me, but I was going to face it with eyes wide open and a big fucking smile.

I called a car service to take me to the Hill that Friday morning. Vani had agreed to come meet me for lunch, and as I read the Congressional newspaper on my phone, I wasn’t surprised to see anything more than a brief statement that Frank Turner was in the hospital, not disclosing any diagnosis or possible reason for his sudden illness.

The driver let me out at the members’ entrance, and I thanked him and dropped a hundred over the seat, hurrying through the side entrance of the Hart Office Building where most of the Senate offices were located. I scanned my card, surprised when the door opened, and went through security, happy the guards greeted me kindly. I’d always tried to be respectful of them, and I was grateful they returned the sentiment when I needed it most.

I took the stairs to the seventh floor, sometimes my only exercise for the day, and when I came out of the stairwell, I was surprised to see Mario standing with Mitch Flora, both seeming to wait for me.

“What?”

“The guard called like usual. You forget we have protocols for these things, Senator. Here’s your schedule.” Mitch handed me the familiar typed index card. I glanced down the list, surprised to see so many people wanting to speak with me.

“Why are there so many meetings?”

Mario placed a hand on my shoulder and ushered me into the office, which erupted in shouts and applause upon my entrance. The cheer was shocking. There were still loyal people on my staff, and I was grateful for them. “I took the liberty of telling the staff today would be your last day in the office. They wanted to have a party, but I told them not until after three. Make the rounds and then meet me in your office.” I nodded to my chief of staff and handed him my briefcase.

Once I was safely tucked into my office with coffee and the morning’s news blurbs on my desk, I looked to Mario for information and was relieved when he smiled and sat in his regular spot.

“Okay, so all the meetings?”

“Seems Sean Fitzpatrick has leaked that he wants to hire you as soon as your cooling-off period expires in six months. These people want to get in your good graces before you leave. You didn’t mention you’d discussed anything of the sort with Fitzpatrick.” Mario seemed a little put out, which reminded me of something Fitzpatrick had said recently.

“Yes, well, you didn’t tell me you were cruising Cock of the Walk and ran into him, telling him I was in Antigua with Blaire, now, did you?”

I saw the blood drain from his face, but I kept my mouth shut. “I’m sorry, Spence. I was hurting, and Sean seemed like a nice guy. He asked where you were, and I just blurted it out. I called him the next day, and he promised he wouldn’t mention it to anyone. Do you think he told someone who isn’t a friend?” He appeared to be terrified.

I chuckled and put my feet on the desk, loafers and all. “Why do you think I went to his birthday party? He invited me so I could confront you. What’s going on with you?” God help me, I was skeptical of his involvement in the scandal. Maybe he vented to someone he trusted, and they betrayed him?

“This has been difficult for me as well, Spence. Everything isn’t about you.” Mario stood and stormed out, slamming the door.

Clearly, something was going on with him, though I had no idea if I’d figure him out. Besides, I had other worries on my mind. Where the fuck was Nash Lincoln, and why wasn’t he returning my texts? I’d sent several, basically begging to hear from him, but I’d received no responses. It was driving me insane.

CHAPTER 12

NASH

After I told Denver and the three other Volunteers what I knew about the pictures of Spencer and Blaire on vacation in Antigua and the circumstances under which they were taken, Pacman—a guy I’d never met before but could guess was the geek—began rapidly typing into his keyboards. Yes, he had two laptops and a desktop with two screens, and he was going to town like his life depended on it.

Stan Harry—the Heretic, as I remembered he was called—laughed. “Don’t worry about Pacman. He’s got it. So, little brother, tell us what you’ve been up to.” Stan was the club treasurer, and a protective sort, or at least that’s how I remembered him.

I glanced at Denver, seeing a smile and a nod. “Well, I live in DC. I work as a, uh, a walker for wealthy widows who attend fancy parties, and I tend bar for parties now and then.”

Blue—Blue Moon, as in he told the truth once in a blue moon—laughed. “I like that title, walker. I used to walk right up to whores and give them cash to blow me. You do that?”

The tension in the room escalated but I wasn’t offended. It was what it was. “Hey, when you get paid five bills an hour for your company and your cock, you get a little less particular about who wants what.”

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