Page 20 of Power Play

I scowl at Shawn as Kyle takes his sweet-ass time to adjust his suit jacket and smooth down his tie. A bright fake smile, one I’ve become very familiar with the last several months, spreads up Kyle’s cheeks before he steps out onto the stage, waving.

“Why didn't you stop that?” I say, anger and confusion hardening my tone.

Shawn's smile falls. “I cannot believe someone as stupid as you took my spot on the ticket. You think I give a fuck what he does to you, Trailer? We own you from now until you lose or you're dead, and honestly, I fucking hope it’s the latter. You don't deserve to be here, breathe the same air as us. I've worked my whole damn life for this shot, and you took it from me. You will pay.”

The crowd behind the curtain roars in excitement at something Kyle said onstage. They’re none the wiser about what’s going on backstage—not that they would care or do anything to stop Shawn’s threats.

My heart plummets, stomach rolling. I seal my hand over my mouth to hold back the bile rising in my throat. I shove around him and race to the bathroom. The door barely snickers shut before I vomit into the sink. My arms tremble under my weight, the white porcelain sink cool beneath my clammy palms. His words shouldn't rock me that much; the subtle threats are nothing new. The past few months he's done nothing but taunt and torture me with his words.

They know I'm trapped.Iknow I’m trapped, their caged plaything they enjoy tormenting. Everything I was promised, everything they’ve done to this point, adds to my gilded prison, locking me into doing their daily bidding. But tonight Kyle changed the game, stepped over the invisible line they’ve toed the past several months by touching me. Not that it changes anything. I'm still bound to them until this is done, and no one would care if I spoke up about their terrible treatment. Plus, it’s not like my life didn’t prepare me for this. At least now I’m beautifully dressed, have a sweet-ass condo, and more spending money than I can imagine in exchange for the daily torment; in the past, it came free to the bully.

I scan my reflection in the nearby mirror, carefully using the image to wipe away the smeared black mascara lines striping my cheek from the earlier tears. Shawn’s threats, Kyle’s advances. I have to see this through like I've done my whole life.

Prepare, plan, and push forward. This is my checklist, what will help me survive the next few months and next four years if we win. No, not if—whenwe win. I can’t go back home now, a failure. No, I’ll put up with their shit, and we will win.

I’ve accomplished everything I've set my mind to doing, and this is no different.

Graduating on time as a teen mom at the top of the class. Check.

Get into University of Texas. Check.

Score high on the LSAT for top law schools to take notice. Check.

Convince Harvard to offer me more grants and scholarships than anyone before. Check.

This is simply another hurdle in life. Win the election, no matter the cost, so Kyle doesn't kill me and hide the body, and don't let him touch me. Oh, and watch my back for when Shawn is there, eager to plunge a knife in when I’m not looking.

This would be easier if I had someone to confide in, someone to trust. But finding that someone in this town won't happen.

I'll tackle this like every other hurdle I’ve met in my life.

All on my own.

* * *

Before the black limo’s door shuts, I toe off one black Louboutin and then the other, the shoes clattering to the floorboard. An unladylike groan pushes past my lips as I wiggle my toes in their newfound freedom. Beautiful shoes, comfortable too, until hour four of standing in them. I didn’t pick them out, or the beautiful dress I’m wearing. All my outfits and clothes are coordinated by my wardrobe consultants. Who knew that’s a real job.

I don't glance back as the car smoothly pulls from the curb, easing into the constant traffic. I’ll get an earful tomorrow from the campaign manager for leaving early, but I don’t care. The cool, soft leather seeps through the back of my dress as I lean back, inhaling deeply for the first time all night. Pressing the heels of both hands to my cheeks, I massage the ache away. Holding that wide fake smile all night burned some serious calories. Head thumping back against the headrest, I allow my eyes to close.

The edges of my lips dip as I recall the night’s events. My dress was gorgeous, shoes perfection, makeup and hair flawless—and still no one paid me any attention. Not that I wanted to fake chitchat with people I don’t know, but feeling like you have the plague isn't the best way to spend an evening either.

Blowing out a slow breath, I relax my tense muscles. It's irrational that in this limo, alone, the suffocating weight of loneliness is less than earlier in a room filled to the brim with people.

The revving of a car engine draws my attention out the window. I gasp, hands slapping the seat for support. Glass shatters as metal against metal screeches through the night. I sail through the air, my head smacking the opposite window. The world spins, my thoughts fuzzy.

Blinking through the pain radiating through my scalp and shoulder, I open my mouth to shout for help.

I don’t get the chance.

Another impact, this time from behind, rockets me forward. A scream scratches its way up my throat, but the screeching of rubber against asphalt gobbles up the sound.

Warm liquid trickles over my upper lip, building along the seam before seeping in between.

Demanding shouts call outside the destroyed limo, barely audible over the sharp ringing in my ears. I give my head a small shake, immediately regretting the movement as pain flares unbidden. My throbbing head gripped between my palms, I give it a hard press to prevent it from exploding from the building pressure.

More glass shatters, fragments scratching down my back.

The voices grow louder. Shock takes over all rational thought. Curling into the fetal position, I cover both ears to keep them from rupturing at the blaring sounds.

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