Page 67 of Intent to Kill
“You’re still as sharp as ever!” Dan patted Paul on the back. “I really thought we were done for there.”
“Yes, here’s to you.” Mercedes hugged her childhood friend.
“So you’re a good shot, but let’s see how sharp you are in pool,” Carlos laughed and dragged Paul away for a bet on a pool game.
“Don’t bet him any money you aren’t prepared to lose,” Adam called out. Dan excused himself to the bar, eyes lingering a little too long on a leggy brunette who looked pleased with the attention.
“That was a close one,” Mercedes said.
“Too close,” Adam said. “You know, I never did like being held at gunpoint.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Mercedes said, swirling her drink.
He could easily fall with her into this abyss of flirty banter and die happily. He watched her swirl her drink where the diamond ring on her finger was creating light circles. It was certainly bigger than the one he’d had for her. But he sensed Dorian’s was too weighty anyway, holding her back in more ways than one.
“So, what do you think Blake is doing right now?” Adam settled back into the booth, resting his outstretched arms across the back of the seat. Feeling rightly smug, if he said so himself. “Crying in the corner or raging at the impossibility of being outwitted?”
“Wow, you really hate that man, don’t you?” Mercedes laughed. What planet had she been living on?
“The man who nearly murdered me, ruined my life, and stole my girlfriend?” Adam hardened. “Just a little bit.”
Mercedes chugged her beer and slammed the bottle down. “He didn’t steal me. You gave me away.” Her tone lacked any semblance of menace, holding only resignation.
The less-than-subtle indication that he had given her away tore strips into his already bleeding heart. “So you think it’s option one, too? He’s definitely crying in the corner?” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Actually.” Mercedes pointed toward the TV with a frown. “Looks like he’s about to tell you himself.”
He focused on the screen, where apparently Blake was about to speak to the media. Which didn’t make an awful lot of sense. Something in his gut tingled in nervous anticipation.
“Thank you for being here,” Blake began, speaking as camera flashes burst in his face. “It is with great regret and sadness that I must inform you of the tragic death of my opponent and colleague Diego Garcia.” He paused, like he was waiting for gasps, or fuck, probably just for psychotic dramatic affect. “While recovering in the hospital from the attempt on his life, Mayor Garcia unfortunately succumbed to his injuries.”
Adam’s eyes widened as Mercedes leaned forward.
“What fucking injuries?” Dan said, appearing back in the booth like his legs had slipped out from underneath him.
“The sudden death of Mayor Garcia has rocked us all. Taken far too young. A good man who was devoted to his wife and his children, and to the people of the city. From personal experience I can attest to the fact there was no better man than Diego Garcia. Rest assured, the culprit of this violent and vicious attack will be punished, and Diego will dearly be missed. Our thoughts are with his family, who have asked for privacy at this difficult time.”
He’d lost all sense of his surroundings, his eyes glued to the TV in disbelief. “He... He killed him anyway,” Adam said, dread wrenching his heart.
“It’s an absolute tragedy what has occurred today. It shows a demonstration of the violence that has been a cornerstone of the culture in Ridge City for many decades now. As a city and as a people, we need to send a clear message to those who would do us harm. To them, we stand up and say: your violence will not be accepted. Their destructive will cannot control the outcome of this election.”
Blake signed off with a sinister smile straight to the camera that sent Adam’s gut dropping.
After a few moments, an older looking man—who was clearly a city official from how he dressed—took the mic. It squealed as he tapped it, and then the man began his announcement, with much less charm than Blake had Adam could begrudgingly admit.
“For as long as we continue to draw out the election… is an… is an amount of time longer that we continue to place the lives of our candidates and their families in harm’s way. For that reason, I would like to announce… on behalf of my esteemed colleagues, that the election will be moved forward. In the interest of candidate safety and stopping the perpetuation of… of gang violence in Ridge City, you will now be asked to cast your vote five months early, on June 17th.”
Frozen in shock, Adam only briefly made out his friends’ panicked murmuring. He couldn’t hear them, like his internal rage and disbelief had blocked all ability to hear sound. Unable to tear his gaze away from the screen, his fingers tightened on his glass to the point of pain, until it smashed underneath his hand. And even the blood that dripped from his hand felt like it had gone cold.
* * *
“Adam? Adam?” Mercedes snapped her fingers in front of his face. Adam sat in his hotel room at the end of his bed, shoes still on. He could barely make out what she was saying. Though his name was like a prayer on her lips.
“Adam?” she snapped her fingers in front of his face again. Suddenly his eyes darted toward hers, making her jump back quickly, hand on heart.
“Where are the others?”
“Still at the bar.”
