Chapter Twenty-Two. Holden
TWENTY-TWO
Holden
Do these people know what a con artist that little prick is?
Rhett stands on stage with a smug expression and flippant arrogance. Like this whole campaign rally is more than a publicity stunt when anyone with half a brain knows better.
The even bigger question is, Why the fuck are you here, Knight?
Because you’re pussy-whipped.
I look over to the right of the stage at the source of that whipping. She’s in a pale pink dress that’s belted at the waist with shoes the same color as the belt. Her blond hair falls in pale waves down her shoulders and those lips of hers are painted to match the dress.
And her newest accessory is by her side—fucking Chadwick the dick. I’m just grateful he’s so busy clapping for his buddy who’s prattling on at the podium that I don’t have to worry about his hands being on her.
I pull out my phone and type a text.
Me: You have them all fooled with that prim and proper dress.
I see her glance down at her phone and within seconds, her eyes flash up and search the crowd. A smile crawls on her lips as her eyes meet mine.
Rowan: Underneath is anything but prim and proper.
Me: Leather? Lace? Garters?
Rowan: Nothing.
It’s my turn to whip my head up and meet her grin.
Me: Don’t grin at me like that. It makes me want to fuck that mouth even more.
Rowan: Pretty. Please.
Me: Grrr.
Rowan: Later?
Me: Is there any doubt?
Fucking Rowan Rothschild. She occupies more of my thoughts than not these days. And then when I’m not thinking about her, we’re finding creative ways to fuck, which makes her own my thoughts even more.
It’s been two weeks since we reconciled, and in that time it’s been a never-ending cycle of sneak around, pretend we’re not together, think about her all the time, repeat, and I’m not complaining one fucking bit.
I’m just about to type another text about how creative I want to get with her when Rhett’s comments break through the libidinous haze being near her creates.
“So with that, I promise to maximize what we have at our disposal to elevate our life and lifestyle here in Westmore.
And by that, I mean cleaning up neighboring towns.
The types of towns that hinder our security, allow deadbeat families to live in dilapidated complexes, are rife with gangs and drugs and crime, and who may one day try to creep across the river and into our everyday lives.
“Let’s take Fairmont, for example. The past few weeks we’ve seen crime run rampant in that city. Murders. Crime. Lack of civilization. No one wants to leave that place and if they did, we don’t want them here.
“Fairmont and cities like it are a toilet bowl. A circular cycle of self-imposed misery. If its citizens wanted to leave, they would. It’s just that easy.”
My blood boils at his ignorant, callous comments. At the fearmongering he’s stoking and the privileged, paid-for pedestal he speaks from.
“But they don’t want to. And if they don’t want to, then it’s our job to help them out.
” The crowd rustles uncomfortably at the mere suggestion of using their tax dollars for the good of someone else.
“And by help them out, I mean raze the neighborhoods and move our captains of industry there. We can use all that cheap land to build and benefit the companies that have called Westmore home for decades upon decades. We can profit off of their lack of desire to better themselves.”
The crowd around me erupts into applause as I grow more than sick to my stomach. I look up and am relieved to see the appalled look on Rowan’s face.
“I already have plans upon plans drawn up for what we can do with this land. It’s scorched and dying and we can make it fertile.
When I win this seat, on day one we will hit the ground running.
I aim to create a Westmore where we can look across the river and not cringe or worry about how much Fairmont’s proximity will bring our property values down or if the crime will permeate our city limits.
I will take tremendous pride in being the one known to have helped clean it up.
To have made something out of the nothing that is currently there. ”
I can’t believe I’m actually fucking here listening to this blowhard spew absolute bullshit.
What about the people who live there?
What about the families you’ll make homeless with your razing?
What will happen to their jobs there when you take away their community?
I have to get out of here before I shout out my questions. Before I show my cards and risk the chance of someone remembering me after they look even closer than I know they already have.
I can hide data online. I can erase my past and create a bio for myself that can get past even the closest scrutiny.
But I can’t change my face or what I look like.
Thank God the scrawny teenager I was with sandy-blond hair and a dimple in his chin grew about a foot in height and filled out his frame before his hair turned dark and that dimple disappeared.
Oh, and he took his real last name back when everyone else knew him to be Holden Simpson. Or just Simpson. Better yet? Most at the Westmore Country Club just called me Hey, you and in hindsight, that was probably for the best.
There’s a reason my uncle in California used to tease me and ask if my mom had adopted me. It bugged me when we first moved there but has since served me well.
But Rhett’s words bring me back to that teenager I was, to the one Leo currently is, and to my roots in a community that might seem unworthy to those here, but that made every single part of me who I currently am.
And they fire my fury and my protective nature in a way I haven’t felt in what seems like years.
I need to get out of here. Fast.
With some luck, I push through the crowd without much resistance and with only a few muted greetings as to not interrupt the fucker still spewing his bullshit at the microphone.
When I get to the back I’m surprised to see Rowan there, making a beeline for the parking lot as well. Our eyes meet and we both pause momentarily.
“I can’t listen to any more of his bullshit,” she says quietly, conscious of anyone hearing her.
“Neither can I.”
She throws her hands up as if she just remembered. “I don’t have my car here. I—”
“Go for a drive?” I ask her, not ready to leave her behind, despite desperately needing to be alone in this moment.