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“Excuse me, what?” Senator Baker inquires as his face turns beet red.
Wyatt cackles. “Wait until he gets the next few.”
Jillian repeats the question, “What will you do to combat the alarming rates of children being subjected to these life-altering experiences?”
Senator Matthew Bakers stumbles and stutters over his words, obviously flustered by how spot-on the question is.
Each candidate gives some variety of the same answer, promising to end all forms of child abuse. I grit my teeth at their hypocrisy, knowing at least three of them also like to molest underage children.
“Secret Service is on the move,” Sebastian announces, and I check the time. Perfect, another thirty minutes, and it’s show time.
Round after round of questions and arguments occur as each candidate grandstands, postulating their fitness for office.
“Senator Muller, thank you,” Bryant says as the camera pans over to him. It’s time! “This concludes our first primary debate of the election year. We hope these questions helped spark thought and an eagerness to make an informed decision come November.”
The camera shifts to Bryant’s left, landing on Jillian. “We want to extend our thanks to Bradford Hall Theater for hosting us.”
“Wait, did he just say Bradford? As in my family?” Ariah squeaks, rubbing her stomach.
“You okay, Ry?” Wes probes, standing. “How long have you been having contractions?”
Ariah peers up at him. “I’m fine, I promise. This is the first one, and we all know I’ve had at least two false alarms.”
We all narrow our gazes on her, not wholly convinced. She’s thirty-seven weeks. . . with twins. That means she can go into labor at any time.
“I’m fine. Stop fussing before you miss the finale you all planned without me,” she mutters, frowning.
My gaze flits to the TV just as Teagan says, “It’s live!”
“Samantha, you had one job, none of which told you to kill your friends,” Blair hisses.
“Fuck off, you lying bitch. You promised me the Heirs and reneged. So I didn’t know what was necessary to get what I’m owed,” Samantha snarls.
A shrill cry causes the microphone to screech. “Turn it off,” Samantha demands. “Matthew, make them shut it off.”
The video skips to Samantha in bed with Brian and Brittany. She’s talking shit as Brian fucks her ass, and Brittany sucks her pussy.
“Matthew’s too stupid to realize I’m using him. He hasn’t even figured out he’s not Wes’s uncle—he’s not Wes’s anything.”
The look on the Senator’s face as he shouts at the production crew to shut it down—priceless.
Two more clips roll—one is of Samantha closing the lid of the tanning bed on a still very much alive Meagan flailing her arms. The other is of Samantha delivering Bethany’s lips in a box outside the diner.
“You mean to tell me that deranged bitch is responsible for all of those deaths? How’s that even possible?” Ariah growls, but before we can respond, the grand finale plays.
“You should’ve made sure that bitch aborted that bastard. Now look,” Blair Davenport shrieks.
Samantha darts across the stage, heading for the control room. Security grabs her before she can even make it down the first step. “Turn it the fuck off,” she stomps before the burly man hoists her in the air. Her arms windmill until she’s securely in the Senator’s arms. Samantha keeps fighting, but it’s too late.
The money shot is already playing.
“You’re overreacting, Blair,” Samantha’s father sighs. “You and our daughter have always had such a flare for the dramatics.”
Blair’s face goes four shades of red in under two seconds.
“It’s not an overreaction when you find out your goddamn daughter is fucking your illegitimate son so she can take the Bradford girl’s spot.”
The entire theater hall stills. Gasps ring out, but I’m unsure if it’s here or at the debate. “She’s married to her brother?” Ariah shouts. “She’s fucking her brother?”
