The Kiss Thief(46)
“Who sent you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he shouted, kicking the air as I dragged him back, but not before prying the gun from his hand and kicking it to the side. Not ten seconds later, ten police vehicles were surrounding us from every direction, and armed and shielded, special unit officers came out, officially arresting him. I cursed under my breath. I needed a few more minutes with him. I knew, without a shadow of the doubt, that he wasn’t going to throw Arthur under the bus. But my EPAs and driver already escorted me to the other side of the building with two detectives and four officers tailing behind us.
“What you did today is a very admirable thing, Senator Keaton. School shootings are a real issue these days, and I…” the principal started.
God, woman, just shut up.
“Any injuries?” I cut her words.
“Not so far,” one of the officers said as we made our way to my vehicle. “But you will be the talk of the town for the next couple of days. That was heroic.”
“Thank you.” I hated compliments. They made you lax and unguarded.
“Zion says you’ll need to make some media appearances today,” my EPA—the one who shielded me from the bullets—stared at his phone.
“Fine.”
I took out my phone and texted Arthur’s number in an instant. The first text message I had ever sent my future father-in-law.
Thank you for the invitation. My fiancée and I gladly accept.
Tucking the phone back into the breast pocket of my jacket, I smirked.
Arthur Rossi tried to kill me.
He was about to find out that he was a pussy, and I was a cat.
With nine lives.
Two down, seven to go.
The next few days were all about talking to the media, raising awareness about school shootings, and milking every second of the incident. Nobody suspected it was an attempt to assassinate me. The kid—an Italian school alumni and a Marine on vacation who got cold feet and forgot how to aim—was in custody now, and insisted that it was video games that made him do it.
The day of the engagement party, Nem and I were to meet downstairs at seven o’clock. I took a shower and got dressed at the office but made it home in a timely manner. Leaving Francesca as prey for Arthur was no longer an option. Arthur was beginning to feel a lot like a loose cannon, and I didn’t want it anywhere near the smoothly operating machine called my life.
When I arrived on time, Francesca was waiting for me in a tight white gown that made my cock jump in a standing ovation. God, she was beautiful. And God, I was going to fuck her tonight. Even if I had to give her the foreplay she loved so much until my tongue fell off. The woman was delicious and ripe. And mine.
And mine.
And mine.
If I repeated these words in my head enough times, I could make it true.
I walked over to my bride-to-be, yanked her by the waist, and kissed her openly in front of Sterling, who was fretting with the hem of Francesca’s gown. The old woman nearly swooned when our lips touched. She’d known me my entire life, and had never seen me kiss a woman, in public or otherwise. Sterling twirled to the kitchen with a spring in her step, giving us privacy.
Francesca and I cocked our eyebrows in unison. Our bodies were mimicking one another, too.
“How are you feeling?”
She’d been asking me this a lot since the rally incident. I wished she wouldn’t. It served as a constant reminder that she was the spawn of the person responsible for it, yet she had no idea of her father’s indiscretions.
“Stop asking. The answer will always be the same—I’m fine.”
“To be honest, it’s not me who is worried at this point. Did you know Ms. Sterling eavesdrops on everything we do and say?” Nem scrunched her button-y nose.
I flicked her chin playfully. I found out about Sterling’s fascination with other people’s business the hard way. After masturbating in the room next door to Sterling at thirteen and a half, I found a box of Kleenex on my nightstand and a Practice Safe Sex brochure the next day. To Sterling’s credit, I would say I read the motherfucker twice and had never in my thirty years of miserable existence on this planet had sex without a condom.
“I wonder how she’d react when we do more than kissing,” my bride-to-be reddened, looking down between us.
Might want to reconsider that, darling. I have an erection the size of a salami and any audience be damned.
“I suggest we find out tonight.”
“How curious of you. You’d make a wonderful investigator.” She bit on a smile.
“The only mystery I intend to unfold is how deep I can bury myself inside you.”
“I can’t believe you’re a senator…” she mumbled to herself.
Me neither.
On that high note, we left, arm in arm.
The evening took a nosedive from the moment we set foot in Francesca’s parents’ manor. Not unexpected, but unsatisfactory all the same.
For one thing, as soon as we reached the Rossi estate, I’d noticed news vans swarming the neighborhood, barricading the main street, and causing a commotion of bystanders. Arthur had invited journalists and local news channels, and they, of course, came running to his doorstep.
A senator marrying the daughter of a mobster. It had more juice than a Big Gulp.