Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
DAPHNE
“You don’t strike me as a stuffed-crust-pizza kind of guy.”
I’m halfway through my second slice, ready to dig into the buttery crust as amateur Guy Fawkes lets out a laugh. His arms cross again, those veins in his biceps swelling as his muscles tense beneath his t-shirt.
“Everything’s better stuffed, Princess.”
“You’re heavy on the innuendos for a guy who's too chicken to show his face.”
“And you’re cocky for a woman chained up in a basement.”
I finish off the last few bites before smearing the leftover pizza grease from my fingers onto a Pizza Hut napkin. “You said you weren’t going to kill me. Weirdly enough, I believe you.”
“You do?” His voice brightens, and his arms fall to his sides.
“We both know you have nothing to gain by killing me. I have no idea who you are, where I am, or if anyone even knows I’m gone.”
“It’s been six hours. It’s nearly midnight. I’m sure they noticed.”
“Hey, Genius. Which part of my parents hate me did you not get the first time? You were right about the no-friends bit. My so-called friends all wanted to get close to my dad.” I take another bite and chew, then swallow.
“They’ll probably pass the bill before anyone even bothers to call me.
And we both know it’ll take weeks, maybe months. ”
“I’m sure Connor McArthur will wonder why his date ghosted him.”
“Connor McArthur was more concerned about securing a tee-time with my dad.”
“Connor McArthur is a moron.”
“As are most politicians and their nepo babies.”
“Says the nepo baby.” His head tilts like he’s waiting for my reaction.
So, I roll my eyes, because that’s all he’s getting from me.
“Wow, harsh burn there, Genius. Get the first aid kit.” That’s not the first time I’ve been called that, and it probably won’t be the last—unless I’m totally wrong about the serial killer standing six feet from me.
In which case, that might be the last time anyone calls me a nepo baby to my face.
I’m sure some troll online will comment on it in my obituary, but I’ll be too dead to see it.
The public’s perception is exactly why I keep my hobbies private.
All of my book social media accounts are under the pseudonym “Maggie,” and she’s given me a chance to openly hide in public.
No one knows that I’m the First Daughter.
I’m free to have opinions and share them with the online community I’ve built over the years.
And I’m happy for my community to stay non-political.
“Why do you hate this bill so much?” The question has been nagging me like a fly that won’t buzz off.
“Because it fucks over millions of people. People with pre-existing health conditions. People like my family.”
“How?”
Guy lets out a heavy sigh and rests his head against the wall.
“For starters, anyone with a chronic or pre-existing condition can have any claim denied by their insurance company. It opens up the doors for insurance groups to raise the costs of prescriptions up to fifty times the cost they are now.”
Well, shit. I don’t have to have a pre-existing condition myself to know that’s fucked up. Is this what Dad’s pushing for, though?
“So, this is all some self-serving political ploy?” I say to keep the topic more on Guy and away from my Dad. Maybe if I learn his motivation, I’ll have some leverage.
“Self-serving? It’s a ploy to help millions, unlike your dad. President Fox cares more about his shares in Joint Cross Healthcare, his best friend, the CFO of Partnered Insurance Group, and your boss, Senator Furt, and his wife.”
“Paul Furt?” I ask. Honestly, I don’t know how that man had enough brain cells to make it in politics. His wife, on the other hand, is sharper than a razor. Behind every great man is a woman who is the entire brains of the operation.
“Let me guess. Furt’s a stand-up guy.” His sarcasm bleeds through the mask.
“No, he’s a fucking creep. Takes annual trips to Thailand for the ‘company’.” I air-quote the word to drive my point home. “You know, ‘lady-boys’ as he calls them. Particularly of the under-eighteen variety.”
There’s a long pause. Shit, I don’t like it when this guy’s quiet. He’s a talker, and as long as he’s talking, I’m safe.
“How the hell do you know that? Even I didn’t know that.” He sounds completely dumbfounded that little ole’ me could know something he doesn’t. Guy has an ego.
“I’ve worked with Furt for three years.”
“Well, what do you know? You might be useful after all.”
An idea forms at the edges of my brain. “You want tea on some politicians? If I talk, will you let me go?”
His mask sways from side to side. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, come on!” My voice snaps the air like a rubber band, making him lean back in surprise. “I haven’t done anything to you. I told you that you’re only going to help my dad if you ask for ransom. He’ll use it to garner sympathy for his re-election. Why can’t you let me leave?”
“I found out thirty seconds ago that you have dirt on people I’ve been studying for months. Things I couldn’t dig up in the darkest parts of the internet. No, Princess. You’re too valuable to let loose.”
Come on, Daphne. This is your chance here. Think, girl.
“Let’s negotiate. What if I help you? I can get you dirt.
I can get you into parties. Charity events.
Clubs. Hell, with me on your arm, you could waltz into the most exclusive country clubs and poison senators until your black heart’s content.
Just. Let. Me. Go.” I pause after each of those words, waiting for my offer to sink in.
With every word, I feel like I’m selling a piece of my soul in exchange for my freedom. But on the Hill, information is power—and I’m more powerful than my family realizes. More powerful than Blondie knows.
What he does with my information is on him. I might not have a clean conscience but I won’t sacrifice myself for people who would throw me under a train to get closer to my father.
“And what’s in it for you?” Guy’s question stretches out as he tries to decipher my motivations.
“Um, my freedom?” The chains scrape like a slithering snake along the floor as I raise my arm and shake it around.
“Once you’re free, how do I know you’d keep up your end of the bargain?”
He’s got a point. Once I’m free, I don’t have much leverage. He’s someone I don’t want to be associated with.
But he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. And I’ve made a few enemies over the years.
But one enemy in particular comes to mind. The first man to drug me. The only man I think the world would be truly better off without.
It’s sick, but I’ve thought of a hundred ways I’d kill him. Hiring a hitman crossed my mind. Maybe this is my chance to finally end him.
“What if there was someone… someone I want you to add to your list?” I ask cautiously.
“You want me to be your hitman?” His voice sours on the word.
“Hey, you want to use me for gossip.”
“You won’t have to get bloody holding up your end of the bargain.”
“And you won’t have to suffer small talk with politicians who have the IQ of a seagull.”
His chest rumbles as he laughs. It’s a warm laugh that doesn’t seem to match in my head. The whole round peg in a square hole thing. But something about that laugh is reassuring and shakes every molecule in the air around me, leaving my skin tingling with awareness.
He sounds like one of those narrators in my audiobooks, and fuck him for making me think about that. Seriously, hasn’t this bastard done enough to me for one evening?
“If you want this, Princess, you’ve got to tell me who I’m targeting and why.”
Unease freezes in my belly. “No. No why. I’ll tell you who, but the why is my business.”
Guy pauses for a long moment, like he’s seriously considering my offer. “Fine. Who is it?”
“Brent Sokolov. He’s a—”
“I know who he is,” Guy cuts me off with an edge of excitement in his voice, like he knows the answer to a question I didn’t ask.
“He’s a senator from Ohio. His parents are Judy and Richard Sokolov.
His mom’s an oil heiress. His dad’s a senior partner at Kushman, Kulp, and Kline.
I can’t believe the guy works for a firm with the acronym KKK. ”
To be fair, Mr. Sokolov is exactly the type of asshole I’d picture cowering beneath a white hood.
“Honestly, it’s fitting,” I say. “You know, Brent once told me he’d never date a black woman because people should be with their own kind.
He’s that brand of racist.” Guy recoils, and I can imagine the look of disgust on his face.
“His constituents would be better off without him. Actually, we all would. You kill Brent for me, and I’ll get you the inside scoop on whoever is in my network. ”
Guy pauses, his head tilting as he silently contemplates my proposal. “Deal.”
“I have one rule, though,” I rush to add.
“And what’s that?”
“I know you want to stop this bill, but no hurting my dad. He’s a prick, but he’s still my father.” Dad loves me in his warped, narcissistic way. So long as I’m useful to him, he’ll continue to love me.
And as much as I hate that his love comes with conditions, there’s always going to be that little girl inside me begging my parents for their approval—even if she’s always disappointed.
Another long pause, like Guy’s doing some mental calculations before he gives one small nod. “Agreed. Now, finish your pizza.”
He starts walking up the stairs.
“Wait, Guy,” I call out.
He cranes his neck to look at me. “Guy?”
I shrug. “Genius is going to get old. I could call you V, but you’d get an inflated ego or something.”
He chuckles from across the room. “Guy works fine, Princess.”
“Well, Guy, I might have stretched the truth about people not asking about me. I might not have a security detail, but the Secret Service patrols my block every hour to make sure everything’s alright.
If I don’t show up tonight, they’re going to send out a search party by lunch tomorrow, since I don’t have my phone to check in.
You should let me go soon. I can chalk it up to being out for a night at a hookup’s place or something, but any longer than that and I’ll have people wondering where I am. ”
“Like I said, finish your pizza. I have a plan. But you won’t like it.”