Power Twist: Power Play Series Book 2

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  “Trey,” I say, my tone like a schoolteacher.

  A minute later, I watch him saunter back from the bathroom gloriously naked. A smile pulls at my lips at the undiluted confidence radiating off him. Squatting at the edge of the bed, he wraps a hand around my ankle and yanks me toward him. With a reverent touch, he swipes a warm, damp washcloth between my legs. His gaze flicks up to me with a shy smile before gazing back between my legs.

  A couple more swipes and he tosses the dirty rag to the floor, then pushes off the mattress with a groan to stand. I suck in a sharp breath when the low lamplight hits the right angle of his chest, highlighting the handprint-size bruise between his pecs. My fingers pause, hovering just above the darkening skin.

  “I….” Tonight could've gone a different direction. The moment I just shared with the man who loves me, the real me, would've never happened if it weren't for his vest. Biting my upper lip, I let my hand drop. “You could've died,” I whisper around the ball of unshed tears lodged in my throat.

  A warm calloused palm presses against my cheek, tilting my face up to meet his. “But I didn't. Now come on,” he says, brushing a thumb along my cheekbone. “Get dressed and come downstairs.”

  “Huh?”

  Trey smiles, his hand sliding from my face as he steps away from the bed. I watch, mesmerized, as he dresses, loving the way his body moves. While buttoning up his shirt, he flicks his gaze to mine, catching my stare. “You look like you want to eat me.”

  “And what if I do?” I murmur while ogling his long, lean body. “What’s so important that we have to put clothes on?”

  “Don't say shit like that, Mess.” His hands delve into his pants, tucking the tails of the light blue dress shirt inside before fastening his button and belt. “You know I'd rather stay up here with you, but I also know you'll want to hear the details of tonight.”

  I pop up from the bed, the earlier lusty haze gone.

  He smiles while shaking his head. “See? Get dressed and meet me downstairs. T and the guys are waiting.”

  He chuckles as my eyes widen. A warm flush builds beneath my cheeks at the implication. If they've been waiting for Trey to bring me down and it's been… a while, they'll have put two and two together. With a curse, I lean over, intending to bury my face in the pillow, but my shoulder lands on the mattress at the wrong angle. Throbbing pain bolts down my shoulder, and I hiss as I smack the bed before rolling to take some of the pressure off my shoulder.

  Trey's at my side, eyes and hands roaming my body, searching for injury. His gaze pauses on my shoulder, his face hardening with restrained fury. He brushes a thumb across the purpling skin so softly I barely even feel it.

  “This happened tonight,” he says more like a battle cry than a question. I swallow and nod, not really sure what to say. I've never seen him this intense before. It's almost like I can see the plans working in his head on how to kill the person who did this very slowly. “When we find out who caused this, I will make them pay for hurting you.”

  “I know you will.” For several seconds, we sit in silence, his furious stare never leaving the bruise. Reaching out, I rub up and down his bicep. “I need to get dressed.” When he still doesn't release me, I give his shoulder a hard shove. “Trouble, snap out of it. It's a bruise. I got hurt. You almost died. It's been a tough night for everyone. Now let me up so I can change and we can both find out what the hell is going on.”

  Those long dark lashes flutter open and closed several times before he finally pulls away. Running a hand through his dark hair, he shakes his head and moves toward the door.

  An earlier conversation pops into my mind just as he reaches it. “And, Trouble?” He turns, brows raised in anticipation. “You are in trouble for not telling me everything. I'm not mad, but I will be if you don't come clean on everything. Understand?”

  His features fall. Dread drops in my gut like a bowling ball into water.

  “And I fully expect you to make it up to me, the omitting information part,” I say while brushing the tips of two fingers up and down my inner thigh, his gaze tracking every inch.

  His lips tug up in his signature smirk. “Now that's something to look forward to.”

  After the door clicks shut, I take a deep breath and roll off the bed, heading for the closet. Apprehension swirls in my lower belly as I yank a random pair of yoga pants from a drawer and slide a T-shirt off a hanger. Between Trey’s revelation about buying the votes and the shooting, I'm not sure which one I'm more anxious to learn the truth about.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Trey

  Back against the wall, I monitor the empty stairwell as the picture of ease, but inside I'm a fucking mess. Not only do we have to tell her there's a price on her head, but I also have to reveal the shit show my personal life has turned into these past few weeks. Who knows how she'll react.

  With a soft groan, I relax my head back against the wall.

  “It's your own damn fault, you pussy.”

  I eye my best friend. “Come again?”

  “You heard me. It wouldn't be that big of a deal if you would've told her your plan from the start instead of doing it all behind her back.”

  “She would've said no,” I say with a deep exhale. Shit, I need a cigarette. And a drink. Several, in fact. “I did this for her. She'll see that.”

  Tank barks out a laugh, garnering the other agents’ attention. He waves them off and turns to me, still chuckling. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  He's wrong. Everything I did was for her. She didn't want to go back to Texas a failure. She's the one who was so upset that the vote might pass. Yes, there was a part of me that couldn't stand the thought of her leaving, stepping out of my life. But that's a small portion of the reason. I'm selfless, damnit.

  Right?

  I shake my head, the ends of my floppy hair sliding across my eyebrows.

  “You need a damn haircut,” Tank tosses out.

  “You need to mind your own damn business. I'm doing it for her.”

  A wide, all-teeth smile spreads up his cheeks. “Ah, did I hit a nerve?”

  “No.”

  He attempts to suppress his smile and fails. “Right. All I'm saying is be careful how you approach this with her.”

  Reluctantly, I close my eyes and motion for him to keep talking. “I'm listening.”

  Tank twists one way and then the other, stretching out his back. “First off, search her for weapons.” Lightning fast, I reach out and smack the back of his bald head. “You think I'm kidding,” he says on a laugh. “That girl is amazing, but she has a different level of crazy in her. All I'm saying is check her for anything sharp. I'm thinking of your balls here, Playboy.”

  Just the thought of her attacking my boys makes me cringe. I cup myself, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

  “Thanks.”

  Tank nods and glances to the stairwell. “Make sure you don't—”

  A soft creak sounds just as her feet appear, taking the steps hesitantly one at a time. Tank looks to me and shrugs.

  The fuck.

  “Don't do what?” I hiss, gripping his shoulder and pulling him back to me. “Don't do what?”

  A look of pity flashes across his face, pulling a snarl from mine. “Lie. Be honest with her, lay it all out on the table. Hold nothing back. If I've learned one thing from marriage, it’s that women can sniff that shit out. One small detail you purposefully withhold will come back to bite you on the ass one day.” I arch a brow with an unbelieving look. “You think it'll be worth it, saving some of the pieces to ease the blow now, but when she finds out you held information back when she thought you were being honest with her, it’ll be like a fucking atomic bomb—parts of your relationship destroyed, never able to recover. Trust me, Trey. Tell her everything.”

  I wince. Hopefully that doesn’t count for friendships too. I’ve conveniently withheld the part Mother is using as leverage to ensure I do her bidding instead of the other way around. That snippet of informat
ion I'm keeping to myself until I know more.

  Did that weasel back in Boone say something, or was it one of the team members, mine or beta team? Somehow she knows about me beating that fucker within an inch of his life. Hell, if Tank hadn't pulled me off him, I probably wouldn't have stopped there. Yes, I was pissed at that loser for how he spoke and looked at Randi, but it was more of a last straw kind of thing. So much had built up over that past year, and that idiot was just the match to ignite the inferno inside me. Either way, Mother knows, and now not only do I have to figure out how and who, but also how to get out of the shit I've stepped into with both feet.

  Releasing his shoulder, I step back and turn to the stairwell. Hazel eyes meet mine. Swallowing back the guilt and nerves, I turn for the door and yank it open.

  “I need some air.”

  Well, that solidifies it.

  I'm a chickenshit.

  I'm running from the woman I love so I don't have to tell her how I've screwed everything up. There has to be a way to spin it all to make her see my side. Make her see I just didn't want her to hurt, didn't want her to leave.

  Silky strands of my dark hair slide through my fingers. Tugging on the ends, I use the sharp bite of pain to ground me to the present.

  I'm in such deep shit, and not only with Randi. Just being at the estate causes the cold, malicious feelings to surface; how will I survive diving back into that world full time? Randi saved me once from the jaded, bitter cavern I’d settled into, and she's the only one who can keep me from sinking back. The question is, after I tell her everything, lay it all on the line, will she want to?

  The wooden railing presses into my palms, supporting my heavy weight as I lean against it, head drooped forward. Digging my nails into the wood, I tighten my grip, the muscles of my arms and back flexing. Pain radiates from the center of my chest, causing my breath to catch.

  Behind me the back door opens, the door's hinges whining. Two sets of distinct footsteps parade out onto the wraparound porch, one soft, barely audible, while the other is heavy, purposeful. Not moving, I take a deep breath and wince at the blooming ache. Hell, being shot sucks. Even with the vest it fucking hurts. Without the vest, I'd be dead, so I can't really complain, but still, hurting with every breath isn't my idea of something to celebrate.

  To my right, the wicker rocking chair creaks with the weight of someone settling into it. Neither has said a word, waiting for me to collect my thoughts, I suppose. But where do I start? Everything seems fuzzy with the exhaustion and the handful of Advil I took before heading up to Randi's room.

  “What do you want to know first?” I ask, still staring at the wooden planks of the porch.

  The wicker creaks, the legs rocking backward and then forward once again. At their lack of response, I glance over my shoulder, making sure they’re still there. Tank leans against the house just behind where Randi sits, rocking. Neither is looking at me; both have their gazes locked on the vast backyard. I scan the area, searching for whatever they see but coming up empty.

  “Tonight,” Randi eventually says in a tone that tells of her own exhaustion.

  Guilt eats at my gut, forcing my attention off her and back to the decking.

  “Part of what you didn't want to know back in Chile is why tonight happened,” Tank answers for me. A sliver of the tension eases from my shoulders as he takes the lead. “Based on the information inside, we believe Whit is the one responsible for the tracking of Taeler and you. However, along with that information, there were new details that were specifically about you. And not with the sole intent of gathering intel but for a deadlier outcome.”

  The slow rocking stills. Again the thin wooden rods creak as she shifts her weight.

  “It’s Birmingham. He wants you dead,” I say, making what T so carefully beat around the bush blatantly obvious. She needs to know she’s in danger. Her role comes with it, but never has a VP had to also be on their guard against internal threats as well.

  “Oh.”

  At her simple response, I push off the railing and lean back against a supporting wooden post. Knees against her chest, chin on her knees, she looks young, innocent, vulnerable. Every muscle twitches, eager to wrap her up in my arms, to ease the thoughts racing through her head.

  “I'm not surprised,” she says moments later.

  I shoot a concerned look at Tank. “What do you mean, you're not surprised?”

  The soft skin of her cheek molds around her knee as she tilts her head to focus on me.

  “He was really pissed I went to Chile, to the OPEC summit, when he specifically told me not to. He said I'd regret it, but I have to admit, wanting me dead is a little extreme even for Kyle.” She huffs and presses her forehead against her thighs. “Is there anyone in this town who doesn't want me gone or dead?” Deafening silence fills the porch. “That's not a rhetorical question,” she adds.

  “We don't,” Tank says, stepping forward. Wrapping his big hands around the top of the rocker, he gives it a small shake, causing her head to snap up. “Tonight you were set up.”

  She snorts. “No shit, Sherlock.”

  Tank glares down at her. “Smartass. You were the only target. The only other injuries on the team were minor, except Benson’s, which would’ve been fatal if he didn’t have his vest on. And his was due to him blocking the bullet that was intended for you.”

  Her head whips around. I hold her intense stare, allowing her time to process Tank's words.

  “I’d do it again, Mess,” I say, not looking away from her wide eyes.

  “Those bastards could've taken us all out, but they didn't. We were fish in a barrel out there.”

  All the blood drains from her face. Trembling fingers wrap around her neck before sliding down to press against her chest. She sways in the chair. Lunging forward, I grip her shoulder, keeping her upright. I hiss in pain at the quick movement pulling my aching chest muscles. Tank tugs her feet from the seat and straightens them out, allowing the blood to flow easily in an attempt to keep her from passing out on us.

  “Randi,” I demand. Tank's words from weeks ago filter in. “Stop.”

  Hardening my gaze, I give her shoulder a quick shake. I will not be her downfall. I will not baby her and make her weak. She's stronger than this, stronger than I give her credit for, and it's time I remember that. If I love her, I'll stop being the person who coddles her, who weakens her inner strength. No, I'll be the one who pushes her, makes her stronger, reminds her of how strong she really is.

  “Tonight happened, and we'll be better prepared next time.” I flick my gaze up to Tank. With a nod, I step back. Sliding my hands off her takes more effort than ever before.

  “And to be prepared,” he says, his voice hard, “we need to know everything. Every strange phone call, every battle with Birmingham or Whit. Everything, you hear me?”

  Pinkie nail between her teeth, she nods. “Okay, I just didn't realize….” She shakes her head. “That fucker. I hope he dies a slow death.” She purses her lips, a determined look flashing across her features. “I will not let him win. Trying to off me because I didn't follow one of his requests is utter bullshit. Who does he think he is?”

  “I'm not sure he's really thinking.” Shoulder against the post, I stare out into the backyard. “I'll admit Birmingham is a manipulative, power-hungry fuckstick who thinks everyone is beneath him, but this?” I shake my head and turn back to face them. “It seems desperate. Over the top for him, for anyone—well, anyone except Whit. Whit keeping track of you and those important to you doesn't surprise me at all. He's probably hoping for some kind of leverage to use against you or dangle like a cat and mouse game.” I roll my upper back against the rounded post, attempting to massage a knot from my muscles. “You said Birmingham was pissed on that call?”

  Her head bobs up and down. “Now that you mention it, there was something different about the whole thing. Yeah, I've pissed him off plenty of times, but that call, his voice… there was something more than rage in
it. Maybe a hint of panic?”

  “But why?” Tank adds in. “What could he be hiding that he'd risk hiring a contract killer to take her out? What's worth that?”

  “Ah, remember, I'm not worth anything to him anymore,” Randi says with a bite to her tone. “I served my purpose, got him into the White House. Now I'm disposable in his eyes.” Her eyes seem to glaze over, a far-off look settling into an unfocused stare. “In law school, he enjoyed pushing me to the brink, testing how far he could go before I would break, but you’re right, this seems like more. Then it was all fun and games to him, but now, if what y'all say is true, then something changed. Almost like… almost like I'm a liability.”

  Half of me wants to cradle her in my arms, protecting her from that dipshit, while the other half is eager to race straight for the White House to put an end to all this now. But neither is possible or helpful. What good would I be in protecting her if I'm in federal prison?

  “Also, while we’re on the subject, Grem has decided to stay down in Austin leading Taeler's protection detail permanently.”

  “Of course he did,” she says. “At least I know someone capable is watching out for her. That's a small concession to knowing it won't take long before they're all over each other.” She smirks and flicks a quick look at me. “Not that I can say anything. I just want her to be careful, you know. She's all I have—well, besides my mom.”

  “How's she doing, by the way?” I ask. Perching along the railing, I stretch my legs out and cross my ankles.

  Randi nods several times before speaking up. “Good, I guess. She's still out at the rehab facility, but more in their recovery program side. It's expensive, her living there and trying to adjust to normal life, but it's better than her going back to Texas and relapsing. She can't stay there forever, but for now it’s the best place for her. Even if it costs me a kidney.” Leaning back in the rocker, she rests her head and closes her eyes. “It’s crazy. How much I'm paying a month for that place used to be what I made in four. Now it's still a big expense but not out of the question. It's been over two years since Kyle walked into my office and changed my life. Now here I am.” Her eyes flutter open and scan the porch, then the backyard. “I’m in this amazing house, have no financial worries, have friends,” she says with a smile, “and a price on my head.”