There’s hope for me yet—this odd period in my life is only a phase. My late-night habits that play to my darker impulses are temporary. If I keep making an effort, I can return to before. I can be a normal, emotionally healthy woman again.
Best of all, creeps like NorthamNeptune123 will have no choice but to leave me the hell alone.
“You’ve gota real knack for it. Did you know that, Psycho?” Stitches asks, selecting the best pin from his toolkit. He peers over at me, his wire-framed glasses low on his nose. “You’ve got a real gift for pissing people off.”
“It’s a skill I perfected through years of making Lucius pop blood vessels.”
“Well, your other arch nemesis will be extra pissed. Might even pop a blood vessel too. Got it.” Stitches beams in pride when the lock clicks and the door swings open. “You’d think they’d have better security.”
“He’s arrogant. He doesn’t believe he needs it.”
Stitches and I slip through the entrance of Daddy Adams’ campaign headquarters. We’ve disabled the building’s security system. Any cameras set to record have been reprogrammed to play the same ten-minute footage on a loop. They’ll eventually notice in the days to come, but by that time it’ll be too late.
We’ll be long gone, in possession of what we need.
I could’ve had other men do the dirty work. I didn’t have to do it myself, alongside Stitches in the middle of the night.
But what fun would that be?
I’m an asshole who hates Ernest Adams. Exposing him wouldn’t be half as fun if I didn’t take part in it myself.
In the daylight, the campaign headquarters appears bright and welcoming—every other wall painted a golden yellow, the furniture modern and stylish, with banners and streamers hanging everywhere you look.
The words ‘A More Just Future’ are plastered all over, like the slogan is meant to creep into the recesses of your brain.
In the night, darkness eats up the room. What little light there is casts twisted and distorted shadows across the floor and walls. The office is less bright and hopeful, more dark and foreboding. More genuine in its gritty realness.
Ernest Adams is not the man he says he is.
Something I knew the moment I met him. My theory goes that he knew I knew from the moment he met me. I alone saw him for what he was.
“Do you really think you’ll follow in your despicable father’s footsteps? Do you really think I’d ever let a scourge on society succeed?” Ernest asked the afternoon we’d met. He regarded me with a furrowed brow and repulsed bend to his mouth. Sort of like how you looked at garbage overflowing onto the street.
Iwas the garbage overflowing onto his streets. At the same time, I wasn’t fooled by him like most others. He had his own trash to clean up.
Ernest didn’t like that at all. He made it his mission to destroy me and my father. He failed then.
He’s going to fail again now.
Stitches slides into the office chair of his campaign coordinator, Taryn, and bangs his knee on the desk.
“Shit, is this girl tall enough to go on the rides at Disneyland? Who raises their chair this high up?”
“You’ve never seen her in person. She comes up to my elbow.”
“Well, she needs to worry less about seeing over her desk and more about her passwords. Easiest account I’ve ever logged into. Guess what the password was?”
“Close, but no cigar. The campaign slogan.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “The rest of their database better be as easy to get into.”
Stitches works his magic. He leans closer to the computer screen, his fingers a blur on the keyboard.