Page 32 of Sinner's Salvation

A lost cause. That’s what I am.

I race into the shower and scrub myself clean.

I am sick.

Unsalvageable.

Doomed to a state of mere existence.

Today is when I publicly take down one of my enemies. I’ll make him regret ever thinking he can go up against me.

A woman powders my nose as I sit inside a small room at a local TV station. I close my eyes and try to exorcise this constant headache. When I open them, Bloom’s leaning against the door frame, a smug expression on his face. Oh, how I will enjoy wiping that look off his face during the live debate.

A smirk teases the corners of my mouth. “Hope you brought some tissues with you.”

“Won’t be necessary.”

I wish I could see him as a challenge, but nah. That would be beneath me.

“So, ready to step down before things get ugly?”

Laughter rumbles low in my throat. “Do your worst.”

“Remember, you asked for it.”

In the studio, I am focused like always when the light turns red on the large camera. I have dominated stages, my opponents, and the polls for years. This is just routine.

Bloom answers dutifully. This snob thinks that’s all it takes. No, it takes more. You have to look the part and play a little dirty. We’re not having tea. The people want to see two men shredding each other for the winner to emerge.

“I can’t deny the progress Mr. McNamara has brought to this city, but how he did it violates what every American stands for. He doesn’t rule because the people want him to. He rules because powerful people back him.”

Fucking imbecile. One point for bravado though. No one ever got this far, making implications about the people I associate with.

I gesture for him to go on, and the asshole’s face reddens. I let him go through his memorized speech. Interrupting him would make it appear as if he’s getting to me.

“Do you know Mr. McNamara dedicates his time not only to serving the people of this city but also to conducting rather questionable business?”

He didn’t, did he?

“Mr. McNamara, do you have anything to say about Mr. Bloom’s comment?” the moderator asks with rapt attention.

It’s Bloom’s turn to smirk. He’s plain ridiculous in his unfounded arrogance.

“I have worked hard to be where I am. Everything I am and do is a matter of public record and for the well-being of this city. Mr. Bloom should check the facts before trying to win by smearing my campaign. The voters of Massachusetts value the truth.”

“That’s not true. I have proof,” he stammers, so easily riled up.

“Like the fact that no one knows why you left your hometown. I’ll bet it’s because you had—how should we call it?—a brief affair with the pastor’s wife.”

A photo of them in his car, kissing, appears on a screen behind me. I want this fucking prick and everyone who’s backing him up to see how far my reach is.

Everything goes silent.

Color drains from his face and mouth, opening and closing like a gutted fish on its last breath. You can’t hide from the Syndicate. Nothing stays buried.

I look straight into the camera. Surely, all my enemies are watching.

I will finish you one by one.

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