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Chapter 23 Cain
Everyone waits with bated breath for William Anderson—the head of Covey’s political party and his former right-hand man—to grace us with his presence and finally a
Why it’s turned into such a dramatic song and dance is beyond me. And the fact that Governor Bexley still doesn’t know who will be ru
The air in Black Hallows Hall—the main event room where we hold public meetings—feels stuffier than usual.
I go to loosen my tie, but Margaret reaches for my hand. I fight the urge to retract it. She’s been clingier than usual since last night—when we fucked for the first time. Or rather, I fucked her while she laid limp like a dead fish on my living room couch, criticizing my every move.
Thoughts of Eden seducing me in the very same spot were the only thing that got me through the horrid experience without putting my head through the wall.
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle as the energy in the room shifts. I assume it’s because someone spotted Anderson—the tardy schmuck—but when I turn my head to the left, I see exactly what’s captured everyone’s attention.
My eyes narrow as Damien and Eden saunter up the middle row. Damien, the cocky showoff, is wearing his usual smart-ass smirk and a dark three-piece suit that cost more than most mortgages, but it’s Eden that has people talking.
There’s something different about her. Other than her sexy silk dress and red heels that have me scrambling to adjust myself.
She walks with a confident, almost regal air—oblivious to all the whispering her appearance has caused.
That’s when it dawns on me.
She’s in a room full of people. Not crumbling and hyperventilating in a corner somewhere.
Gritting my teeth, I drop Margaret’s hand and loosen my tie, eyeing them both as they take their seats on the opposite side of the room.
This isn’t good.
Not only did Eden fail to distract Damien and keep him away like I specifically instructed her to—he’s somehow managed to undo the screws I carefully bolted into place.
I didn’t loan him Eden to fix her.
I loaned her so he can see what he’s partially responsible for.
I clutch the side of the bench. Keep your eye on the prize—I remind myself.
Eden and Damien will have to wait until later. I have more important things to worry about right now.
Like the dumbass reckless enough to try to run against me.
I snort as it hits me. I’ll bet my right nut Damien made a large donation to the fool’s campaign. Which would explain why he’s here.
The motherfucker wants to gloat, but he’d be better off taking his contribution and flushing it down the toilet, where it belongs.
Unless it’s Jesus himself taking Covey’s place, the people of Black Hallows are already in agreement as to who they want their new mayor to be.
Yours truly.
Just then Anderson—the slow imbecile—makes his way to the podium. “Afternoon, everyone. I know you’re all anxious for the big a
I roll my eyes. Cut to the goddamn chase already.
The four-eyed asswipe produces a piece of paper from his pocket. “I know some of you were wondering why we chose a candidate instead of holding another primary election, so I want to clear that up. Article Fifteen of the Black Hallows town handbook states that if a candidate dies within ten days of the scheduled election, his political party may nominate a new candidate. And as long as the nominee has the majority vote from the committee, a public vote shall not be required.”
He adjusts his glasses. “The handbook also states polling day can be postponed an additional seven days or longer at the committee’s request. As you all know, the big day was slated to be this Tuesday, November sixth, but in light of the tragic events, polling day has now been rescheduled for November thirteenth.”
“That’s not so bad,” Margaret whispers. “It’s only ten days away.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s right. Ten days isn’t enough time to sway voters.
People tend to stick with what they know…who they’re comfortable with.
My gaze drifts to Eden, but it’s so crowded all I can see is the back of her head.
Anderson clears his throat. “Due to the election’s extenuating circumstances, the schedule will be a bit different. In an effort to help you get to know your new candidate, we’ve set up a few fundraising events, luncheons, meetings, and of course, a debate between the two candidates over the course of next week.” He smiles wide. “The town will also be assembling a masquerade ball the night before the election.” We all stifle groans as he adds, “In honor of the late Mr. Covey and his wife’s favorite event.”
“It’s not like he’ll be attending the damn thing,” I mutter under my breath and Margaret pokes me.
Anderson’s expression turns serious. “I was fortunate to work alongside Mr. Covey for the last ten years. I considered him one of my closest friends and one of the best things to happen to politics.” He blows out a heavy breath. “I know his death came as a shock, but I need you all to know he never wanted to give up—though his body did. And even as he grew sicker, he never stopped fighting for his town. He knew his time was coming to an end, and his last few weeks were spent searching for his perfect replacement. Luckily, God answered his prayers and he found one in the nick of time.”
He scans the crowd in a dramatic fashion before his gaze rests on a small section of people seated on the other side of the room.
“Do you think it’s Glen Dickinson?” Margaret hisses in my ear. “He’s been acting awfully strange lately. He snubbed Daddy at the funeral.”
I look at the white-haired man seated behind Damien and shrug. “He went to school with Covey. Rumor has it they were on the debate team together and stayed close friends over the years. I suppose it’s not entirely out of the question.”
Competing against Dickinson would be a cakewalk. No one likes the grump.
“I’ll admit that given his past, this man may not seem like the best contender for the job,” Anderson babbles. “But I assure you he is. Not only is he a powerful businessman with a knack for making tough decisions, but David Covey had the utmost faith in him. So much faith in fact—his very last words beseeched his political party to see to it that this man take his place in the election. We’ve chosen to honor his wishes. We kindly ask you all to do the same.”
“Glen isn’t a businessman,” Margaret whispers. “He’s an orthodontist.”
I shift in my seat to face her. “Robert Barnes is next to him. Bastard’s been kissing Covey’s ass since they were in diapers.”
She cringes. “You’re right. And technically he did open that shoe store on South Street, so I guess that makes him a bu—”
Her face twists in confusion and I hear a few audible gasps behind me.
Anderson’s next words turn my blood to ice.
“Please welcome your new candidate—Damien King.”