Page 193 of Bona Fide

In fact, I’d like to leave politics altogether, but I still want to make a mark so I might take my governor seat back from the old asshole that’s sitting in it right now. There’s not as many eyes looking at me, not as many people in and out of my office, and is somewhat calmer.

Readjusting her legs and hitting the bottom of the table on purpose, I lean closer to my sit-in wife.

“Do you have ants in your fucking pants, Demi, or did you become a tweaker?” She keeps her gaze locked on the speaker, discussing how all the funds for tonight’s auction will be used.

“Don’t speak to me,” she mutters, reaching for her wine glass. “The only thing I want to hear is that you’re giving me my divorce.”

“And the only thing I want to hear is that you fell in a hole somewhere, but we all don’t get what we want, do we?” Her head snaps to me, but I don’t acknowledge her forming temper tantrum. No, if Demi wants to make a scene, I’m all ready to start my opening act a little sooner than planned.

“You’re making a grave mistake,” she replies. “You don’t know—”

“You’re the one planning and devising a huge error on your part, Demi. I’m not about to lay my cards on the table, but let’s just say, I’ve seen your cards.” I peer over my shoulder at her. “I always knew you were a bitch, just not a stupid one.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado,” the organizer of the event says into the microphone. “Please welcome to the stage, our commander in chief, President Wade Lockwood.” The crowd erupts in applause as I rise from my chair and acknowledge the room, waving with one hand and then the other to the opposite side of the room.

Making my way to the stage, Mitchell and Francis are waiting for me by the stairs as I shake a few hands that are offered to me. The moment I hit the stage, they follow, as I shake the woman’s hand who announced me.

“We’re so honored that you’re here, Mr. President,” she greets with a beaming smile. “Thank you so much.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.” Another final wave to the crowd and I wait for it to stop so I can speak.

People begin to stand and whistles begin to sound off before my right shoulder starts to incinerate like I’ve been poked with a red-hot poker. The next thing I know, my back and skull hit the wooden stage with well over two hundred pounds of dead weight on me.

Screams pierce from what feels like everywhere around me as the pain radiates through my chest and down to the pit of my stomach from Francis being on top of me.

“Francis,” I gripe tightly, struggling to shove him off when the sharp shooting pain courses through me again. “Buddy—” I give him another shake. “Francis.”

“I got it, sir.” Mitchell appears, kneeling at my side. His familiar voice is the only one I can focus on over the shouting and bustling through the hall.

I lie back, just for my eyes to catch the wetness of his black hair and the fresh, dark stain along my sleeve. Spots of pink and purple blur my vision accompanied by heavy ache in the back of my head and the burn in my shoulder.

“It’ll be just a minute, sir,” Mitchell edges, pulling at his collar to speak into his Bluetooth. My gaze stays locked on the mammoth of a man lying on top of me. I can’t breathe, but it’s not what I’m so disoriented about.

Is that blood on him and me?

“Call 911,” I falter through an abated exhale.

Mitchell wraps his hands around Francis' shoulders. “I just need to move him slowly.” He does just that, gently pulling Francis off me and resting his chest on the floor. “We need to go, sir.” I hear his deep voice, the urgency in his words, but I don’t interpret their meaning.

There is so much blood.

Francis isn’t moving.

I can’t either.

Blobs of black and colors rush and move across the back of the stage, but it’s Francis that I can’t pry my eyes from.

“We need to move him,” a male voices before his gray mustache comes within my sight, leaning over to help me.

A black coat is shoved in front of his face. “Put this on his shoulder to stop the bleeding.”

“Where is Emmy?” I hedge. My upper body is lifted, sending another piercing pain through my body, causing a loud gasp that I can't stop.

“Truck’s waiting outside,” someone else says. “We need to move fast.”

“Hospital is on standby,” quips another.

“Emmy,” I repeat. “Where is she?”

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