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“We seem to have a problem, you and I.”

The room temperature water slides down my parched throat as I gulp the remnants in the bottle.

“The fact that someone tried to kill me tonight?”

His grip around the ankle tenses, signaling his annoyance. A creepy, sinister smile spreads across his lips. I press up to my elbows, putting my back against the headboard.

“That is unfortunate, but I did warn you this would be dangerous.”

“I thought people would make fun of me for using the wrong fork or some shit like that, not try to kill me!”

“Well, now you know. Now, the issue I left my date tied to the bed for.”

The soft skin of my palm smacks against my lips in a desperate attempt to keep my stomach contents down.

“TMI, Kyle,” my fingers muffling the words.

“Just wait. You'll love it.”

“You're sick,” I spit back.

“And you're mine, bought and paid for, so it's a moot point. The issue is with your mother.”

All annoyance and fear of the predator in the room vanish, leaving a weight of lead in my belly. “My mom? What's wrong with my mom?”

“I got an interesting call tonight from the chief of police in your shit-ass hometown.”

The hand still at my mouth mutes my groan.

“Why did they call you? She’smymom, dammit. If something’s wrong—”

“I pay a lot of hush money to that town to keep shit hidden we don't want public. You'd think you'd be more grateful.” Right. Hell, he's so delusional. And this loon is about to be the president. Yay…. Sorry, America. “He didn't charge her. She's waiting in holding for you to come sort her shit out.”

“What was it for?” I whisper in disbelief. Which is stupid of me. Of course she's fallen off the wagon even after I paid for those two weeks in rehab.

“Tested positive for meth plus possession, driving while intoxicated, and indecent exposure.”

“Nice of her to wrap all that up in one arrest,” I say on a fake laugh. “Meth? Never a dull day with that mom of mine.”

“Go handle it. Tomorrow. Take the jet, but for fuck’s sake, keep it out of the fucking press.”

“Okay, go home, sort out Mom, come back. We need to solidify a plan for the next couple months.” Mapping out the cities we want to hit in between the debates and other required appearances during the campaign is crucial to gain the votes we’ll need to win.

Kyle's returning smirk sparks a warning as bright as a firework finale. “You do that, Walmart. Just handle your shit.”

Wisely, I don't move an inch or even breathe too loud as he stands from the bed. After adjusting his jacket and buttoning the top button, he steps for the door. Not wanting to draw attention, I keep my unfocused gaze on the spot he vacated, ignoring his demanding stare. My skin crawls with the awareness of being watched.

“Maybe when you get back, you need a reminder of who's in power here. Because I can guaran—fucking—tee it isn't you, Walmart. Remember that, and maybe you'll survive the next four years.”

* * *

Texas Rangers ball cap pulled low and chin tucked tight to my chest, I focus on my ratty Converses slapping on top of the black tarmac. Two sets of men’s shoes match my steps on either side as we approach the jet. Thankfully the stairs are already down when we approach, allowing me to take the steps two at a time the moment we near the plane. Inside, I inhale deeply, scanning the partially filled cabin.

Laptop bag snug against my side, I shuffle down the aisle toward a grouping of empty seats. The seat belt clicks shut, and I tug the loose end to tighten it around my lap. Disregarding the final agents filing onboard, I adjust in the seat to stare out the window.

Outside a light fall wind blows through the trees’ brightly covered leaves, loosening some with each pass and scattering them to the ground. I tug the edges of my lightweight jacket tighter. It’s not cold outside by most northerner’s standards, but for this Texas girl, if it’s below eighty, a jacket and scarf are needed to survive.

Not that I'll need either where we're headed.