Page 3 of The President's Passion

She whimpers helplessly, yanking at her hands for me to let her go but I’m not doing that and I rise to my full height, my chest swelling with might.

It is as they say...absolute power corrupts and power has never felt this good.

2.

Jacqueline

Whoa...so this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to get this...attached. I’m meant to be on my way to jail now for my failed attempt at killing the head of this country but instead I’m being protected by the president as if I’m the number one VIP. His big hand is clasped around my arm and we’re walking in a strange way, as if somehow joined by the hip and he steamrolls everything in our way.

Apparently he has only one goal in mind: to make me come with him.

Anxiousness stirs in me as he leads me down the hallway while the mortified agents run after us like headless chickens. They’re probably just as confused as I am. The whole country has to be confused and there seems to be a riot going on outside.

It takes forever for us to leave the theater. The president is barking orders left and right while dragging me like a ragdoll. This is so beneath me and I flood with humiliation because I’m supposed to be tough, kick-ass, a boss babe but next to him...

I’m just a girl.

I blame him for that because how can anyone keep their power in his presence. He overpowers everything, his voice so strong I wouldn’t be surprised if he can command mountains to move, his shoulders so big he makes other men look like pygmies and his grey eyes are a window to another world.

A world that we mortals can’t reach, one where he sits on his throne and looks down on us, deciding who gets to live and who gets to die. I shiver as I feel his might seep through my pores and I’m struck by the strangest impulse to lean into his thick bicep or at least drag my fingers down his coat.

He’s notorious for wearing a modernized Civil War uniform, the dark green fabric clashing against his black hair, the belt around his waist showcasing just how strong he is and the buttons are made out of pure gold. Some even say the uniform helped him win his campaign, while others say his ruthlessness is what set the deal.

The country was crying out for a real world leader, a masculine man’s man. And they got him.

We race past the lobby, past the sliding doors and then we’re outside in the crisp evening air. Cameras flash left and right, people screaming and sirens brutalize my eardrums. The tumult makes my head spin and I’m reminded that I only had an apple earlier. I was too nervous about what I was about to do...because who knows what could’ve happened.

I could’ve been shot by the agents and not live another day.

The president squeezes my palm, glancing at me from the corner of his eye and he mutters under his breath, “Brace yourself.”

Do I have another choice? He pulls me past the crowd of agents and the cops. People are shouting, screaming at me and in the distance I hear the chant of the Dead Roses. They’re here too and they know I’ve failed.

I gasp when one of the agents says the FBI’s here to deal with my arrest but the president brushes him off, causing the agent to fall on his ass. He’s hitting left and right at anyone trying to stop us and I drop my shoe in the chaos.

“Pick up her shoe,” the president growls at an agent as if he doesn’t have better things to do. “Pick up her shoe!” he bellows and my eyes flare when I notice we’re heading straight toward The Beast. The black Cadillac is waiting for us, the doors opening and I’m shoved into the car with the president landing right between my legs.

My cheeks heat when he smirks and he yanks my shoe back, putting it on and for a moment he allows his fingers to brush across my ankle. I twitch, pulling my leg back. With a sneer, he gets in and slams the door.

Putting my hands under my chin, I remind myself to take deep breaths because this feels madly surreal.

“Where to?” the driver asks.

Prison. Alcatraz...Sing Sing...

“Home,” the president barks and I feel my face pale.

The White House.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” I cry and tug at my white gown. It’s ruined by the way, because the president caused one hundred rips while manhandling me on the floor. He was even worse than the agents...maybe because one president is the equivalent of five agents.

He could’ve probably been his own Secret Service if he wanted to.

Turning to me, he clasps my wrist and my eyes flare. “You need to learn how to say please and thank you. I’ve just saved your life. Do you know the punishment for trying to kill the head of the state?”

“I don’t care!”

He lets out an agonized growl. “Why don’t you? You must, you have to care! Your life’s valuable and if you ever try pulling a stunt like that again, you’ll go down in history as the woman who made the president declare war on every single country, island and ocean. I’ll even declare war on fucking space if you ever put yourself in danger like that.”

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