Page 1 of Vicious Kingdom

Chapter 1 – Annaliese

Aflowing black cotton dress wrapped around my neck and draped over my body. Cut-away keyholes at my midriff created a tantalizing ensemble. Armed in the showstopper, I stood ready to face my future. Or my doom. Either way, the plans were laid, and this time, they were better constructed. The years couldn’t banish what I wanted. As I grew as an author, so too I grew as a schemer.

I know what I want—and I’m going to take it.

I threw back my mojito. The tang of the mint melded with the rum, not disguising the sting of the alcohol. Walking the other way was possible. Avoiding the collision was probably for the best. And yet, I refused to take the coward’s path and leave.

A flicker of black across the patio sent my heart fluttering.

Showtime.

Throwing the gaggle of socialites a polite smile, I excused myself from the upper patio of the Providence Club. I threw off the shroud of indifference and peeled off that faux smile I was forced to use around them. A tremor of excitement shotthrough my limbs. It was time to redo what I failed—failed so spectacularly at—half a decade ago.

I slipped down the flagstone staircase, then quickly veered behind the tall hedges. My target was a creature of habit and was sure to wander down to the lake eventually. Slipping out of my heels, I wiggled my toes. I popped open my clutch and looked for my lip gloss.

This is going to work.

Manifesting the future I wanted was all about having confidence. I was the grand writer of my own story, and no one would compose it differently. Not even the Tormentor. No, he was an antagonist. He did not get a spotlight in the narrative of my life.

“The polls are looking good.” My father’s voice carried across the winding path that wrapped around to the front of the lodge.

I rolled my eyes. Good old Pops, talking business as usual. The man could learn a lesson or two in discretion. Someone should point out that his voice carried, even down here, strolling across the fairy-lit lawn.

“You promised I wouldn’t lose the race.” The want-to-be senator sounded peeved.

“And you won’t, Callahan,” my father assured him.

Peering out, I noted that they were moving toward the staircase.Hurry it up, gentlemen!

If they were in the vicinity, my mark might redirect his steps. There wasn’t time for me to change hedges or worse,hemight leave.

He always goes to the water.

My heartbeat quickened. After all this time, I was finally going to see him. Speak to him! Nervous energy thrummed through me. I was both excited and freaked out.

“I took care of that little leak,” Dad continued. “You need a positive thrust, something that drags out and keeps the light on that. To truly put the rumors to rest.”

Dealing with dirty politicians was a surefire way to get burned. And yet, my father spent the majority of his career with the sludge of Chicago. However, a candidate for state senator, someone who was going to the toxic battlegrounds that was Washington was the most illustrious rat yet.

“I think your office should do a city-wide clean up in the next four weeks. Make the headlines as: Callahan Voss, champion of the people,” Dad mused. “Your policies are perfect, and they appeal to the voters at large. But a lightning strike this late in the game will clinch the numbers.”

When my dad helped the mayor years ago, all they succeeded in doing was rounding up some low-level thugs in a Bulgarian crime syndicate. It hadn’t been the major take-down of the mob the mayor dreamed of, but his polls were good enough that he was easily reelected. At the end of the day, that was the only thing that mattered.

That mayor died in his bed a month after reelection, but at least he died happily.

“You’re a good man,” the politician cajoled as they climbed the stairs. “I can’t thank you enough for the help you’ve given me.”

I wanted to gag. I couldn’t have written their dialogue any cheesier if I tried.

“Your thanks means a lot to me, but don’t forget our deal.” At least my father stuck to his guns.

“As soon as I win, Alfred, I’ll find you a seat at the table.”

Oh, Dad, really?Was he trying to go into politics himself? It wouldn’t surprise me.

“I don’t want some backlog committee,” my father insisted.

“I would never do that to you.”