"Do you ever think about before?" she asks suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.
It's a shock. Mom rarely talks at these things.
I mean, shetalks, if you count parroting everything Todd has told her to say, but she doesn't really speak. Not in her own voice.
Before. When we lived in a trailer that leaked when it rained. When I ran wild with my boys, coming home covered in dirt and laughter. When Mom smiled for real and danced in our tiny kitchen to 80s songs on the radio.
"No," I lie. "This is better."
She nods, accepting the fiction because what else can we do? We're trapped in this gilded cage, pretty little birds who've forgotten how to fly.
The party swirls on around us and I watch it all through a haze of anxiety medication and carefully controlled breathing. Always in fives.
A waiter passes with a tray of champagne, and I swap my empty glass for a full one. The bubbles tickle my nose, and I drink deeply, chasing the numbness. Between the pills and the alcohol, maybe I can just… float through the rest of this nightmare.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Todd's voice booms across the ballroom, and conversations halt. He stands at the microphone, looking every inch the distinguished senator. "I want to thank you all for being here tonight. Your support means the world to me and my family as we take on this election to bring back what truly matters in this state.”
Applause ripples through the crowd, and he waits for it to die down before continuing. "As many of you know, family values are the cornerstone of my campaign. I've been blessed with a beautiful wife and daughter who remind me every day why this work matters."
His eyes find us across the room, and I see the command in them. We're supposed to join him. Mom moves first, gliding across the floor with practiced grace. I follow, my steps measured. As small as they can be, even though it can only prolong the inevitable.
"My girls," Todd says as we reach him, pulling us close. The crowd coos at the display of affection. "Aren't they something?"
More applause. More smiles. More lies.
He launches into his bullshit speech about community and responsibility, about protecting family values and maintaining order. I tune it out, focusing instead on keeping my expression pleasantly neutral.
The speech ends to thunderous applause and we're released back into the party. I drift away from Mom and Todd, needing space, needing air, needing something other than this suffocating performance.
I find myself near the balcony doors, and the cool night air calls to me. But I know better than to go outside alone. Todd has rules about that. Rules about everything.
And I'll follow them. For now.
The plan has been forming for weeks, maybe months. Whispered rumors about a group that handles problems for the right price. Justice for hire, they call it. Vigilantes who make people disappear.
I've been saving money, skimming from the allowance Todd gives me and taking bills from his wallet when he leaves it on the coffee table. Not enough yet, but soon. And when I have enough, when I find the right contacts, when everything aligns...
Senator Todd Waterson is going to die.
Chapter 9
KADE
The burn scaron my left arm itches like a motherfuckertonight.
I scratch at it through my black hoodie, the raised skin pulling tight under the fabric.
Four years of healing, and the damn thing still reminds me it's there whenever I'm about to do something that matters. Like my body's keeping score of every betrayal, every lesson learned the hard way.
Some harder than others.
"Target's still inside," I mutter into the comm, adjusting the binoculars.
The glass apartment building across the street looks like every other overpriced piece of shit in this part of town. It's constructed from glass and steel, outfitted with enough security to make rich assholes feel untouchable.
"Third floor, corner unit," I add. "Lights are on."
Tank grunts beside me, his massive frame filling most of the passenger seat of the surprisinglynotstolen Honda we use when we want to keep a low profile. He's got his bandana on as always, but I don't have to see his face to know he's ready.
