response, flashing him a glare. He always tries, and I never give him an inch. I’m in court-mandated anger management because he had to fuck my mom in our kitchen.
Mrs. Kennedy is to blame, too. That snooping busybody is the one who called the cops as a concerned citizen looking out for the neighborhood. The one thing Mom and I agree on is Mrs. Kennedy’s position on both our shit lists. Without her, I wouldn’t have been arrested and Mom wouldn’t have bribed everyone involved to land me with therapy instead of juvie.
The faint scar at the corner of Damien’s eye sends a sickening surge of pleasure into my stomach. I hit him so hard I fractured his brow bone. Mom’s frantic screams still echo in my ears.
“How was school?” Mom asks, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth.
The laugh I bark out is jagged and loud.
“Let’s not pretend you’ve ever been mom of the year. Cool? Cool.” I wave a hand at the pair of them. “Go back to playing house with everyone who isn’t part of this dysfunctional family.”
Mom sighs.
Maybe I’d care if she ever acted like a decent parent.
This lovey-dovey scene can fuck all the way off. I have no intention of lingering around them, hell-bent on escaping to my room.
“Connor.” Mom’s clipped tone stops me in my tracks. Huffing, I half-turn back to her. She gestures to a manila folder sitting on the edge of the island, waiting in the spotlight cast by the pendant lights dangling above it. “Have a look through this. I’ve been wanting to talk with you about this matter for a while. It’s important we go over it before the campaign benefit for the children’s hospital.”
My stomach churns with an uneasy ripple. She has her politician voice on, the false-sweetness belying the snake waiting in the grass to bite your ankle. Keeping an eye on Mom and Damien, I swipe the folder and flip it open, thinking I’m about to have some accusation thrown in my face. I’ve been expecting it with the bruise on my face and my knuckles still healing.
What’s inside is so much worse than Mom being pissy over undeniable proof of me at an illegal fight ring.
The bafflement grows as I flip through pages of girls’ photos followed by resumes, their entire lives profiled to the tits like they’re security threats and it’s necessary to know every minute detail about them. I suppose anything can be turned into a threat to a politician. My mom is the one I learned the lesson of knowledge is power from, after all.
“What is this?”
“Remember when I said we need to put on a united family front? Well, I also need you to have a girlfriend,” Mom explains, distracted by Damien offering her a taste of the meal they’re cooking. “A nice girl who will fit into the image we’re cultivating. Polls are showing a positive rise in my numbers for voters wanting to see a legacy continuing on the horizon. Commitment is something they value and respect. I’ve taken the trouble of having these options prepared for you to choose from. They’re already pre-approved and vetted.”
The horizon. The problem with Mom is she doesn’t just want to be re-elected to her office. She has a long-term plan. The endgame for her is the big one—the White House.
Controlling my expression to keep it blank is hard as disgust rolls through me, fighting back the urge to curl my lip. The entire folder is full of jersey chasing Coyote Girls. Not a single nice girl in the bunch at all, but all of them come from the crème de la crème families in Ridgeview. One elite name after another glares at me from the folder—daughters of old money like granddad’s, real estate moguls, and Fortune 500 CEOs. Daughters of the people in Ridgeview that hold positions of power and influence.
Half of them have hooked up with me. Hell, all of them want me to make them my queen. They recognize the power I hold at SLHS without adding in Mom’s political clout.
But I don’t date. Never have. Every one of the girls who come onto me are only interested in my name or my family’s money.
“You can have your pick from any of the selections.” Mom gives me a shark’s smile. “Isn’t that nice of me? It’ll be the perfect boost for our family image.”
How can she say that when she’s standing in front of me with him, making a goddamn meal