Power Term: A Secret Service Romantic Suspense Series (Power Play Book 5)

by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  Two of them scan Randi with a blatant lust-filled once-over as they pass Whit. My jaw muscle pulses from clenching to keep me from bolting off the floor and cutting their eyes out of their heads. But that wouldn’t do me or her any good. I’d be dead before I stood from the floor. No, to help her, I play it safe and stay alive. I fought all morning to find my girl; I won’t risk dying, leaving her alone once again.

  A stolen look across the room to Tank tells me he agrees.

  The five stop directly in front of me. One toes my discarded gun.

  “Ten dollars.” One eye squinted to block out the blinding light, I smile up at the bastard. “It’s the government’s, so really I’d be making money. Not like I bought it.”

  Brown stains coat his crooked teeth, his rank breath pungent even from a couple feet away. Stale body odor floats on the air as another one of Whit’s hired hands steps closer. Features scrunched with disgust, one spits, the brown sludge splattering on the floor near my knees.

  “Keep yer mouth shut, pig.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. At least these fuckers will be easier to dispatch than trained men. With the sounds, smells, and looks of these stragglers, Whit picked them up at the local Bad-Guys-R-Us store and went for the cheapest option available.

  A grunt rumbles in my chest as I’m shoved and stretched every which direction with their search for my many weapons. Four guns, two knives, and my cell phone clatter to the ground as they pat and dig down my body. When the last of the guns is tossed to the floor, both wrists are secured behind my back. Thin bindings dig into my wrists.

  “Clean,” one shouts before shoving a boot heel to my shoulder, sending me toppling forward. Concrete approaching fast, I twist to keep my face from slamming into the unforgiving floor.

  “We leave now. The whole fucking army will be here soon.”

  Fragments of rock and other debris dig and scrape along my arm as I search for Randi and Whit. Hauled upright by hands beneath both armpits, I attempt to throw their loose hold. Something hard slams against my back. Grunting, I stumble forward, barely keeping myself upright.

  “Move.”

  I barely hear the command over my harsh inhales and exhales as I breathe through the pain.

  One hand firmly grips my elbow and another shoves my back, forcing me forward. I shoot an annoyed glare to Methhead Fucksticks One and Two as they drag me toward a small alcove Whit and Randi slipped into disappearing from sight.

  I take the opportunity to scan for any sign of Smith. He has to be in here witnessing all this. A shift in a shadow, so minute I almost miss it myself, makes me pause. Examining the dark corner, I crane my neck to see any additional signs of our only hope.

  Gray eyes reflect the light, the rest of his face remaining concealed. “Wait.” My lips move without sound, a silent plea to Smith before I’m dragged between two walls. The stench intensifies a thousand percent as we cram into the tight space. Sweat slicks every inch of skin sandwiched between these two assholes.

  At an opening in the floor, I’m forced to descend the wooden steps. At the bottom, loose dirt shifts beneath my boots, and a musty, stale air engulfs me. It’s pitch black except for the few flashlights up ahead.

  The prick at my back slams against me for the hundredth time since we squeezed down this tight tunnel. “Is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?” I snap over my shoulder.

  “Nah, pig. Just thinking about how that cunt up there will feel once we get where we’re goin’.”

  Nope.

  With a feral growl, I dip my chin before knocking back right into Fuckstick One’s face. Bone cracks beneath my skull, the impact sending a vibration through my brain all the way to the tip of my nose. A howl of pain pulses down the gouged-out dirt walls. Thick tacky liquid snakes along the back of my neck, mixing with the rivers of sweat before gliding beneath the crew neck of my shirt.

  Shouts erupt ahead of us, asking what’s going on in the back.

  “Motherfucker.” A damp, coarse hair-covered arm wraps around my neck, the crook of his elbow tightening around my windpipe, cutting off my air supply. “Just for that, I’ll make you watch.” Spit sprinkles my ear and neck with his rage-filled words.

  Stars spark in my vision as his choke hold tightens.

  With both wrists secured, I’m at his mercy. Digging my heels into the shifting dirt, I lean back and twist to dislodge his hold. Pins and needles explode along my legs and fingertips.

  “Enough,” someone up ahead shouts. Dirt rains down from above, sprinkling my face. His sweaty-as-fuck arm loosens, sneaking in an elbow to the jaw before slipping away entirely. Not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me struggle, I inhale short gulps through my nose and release through tight lips.

  A heavy hand slams between my shoulder blades, forcing me forward. A few inches separate me from the man ahead, the same with the motherfucker behind me. Blinking away the blur near asphyxiation causes, I try to focus on anything that could help us if we manage to escape these bastards.

  Dirt. Below me, along the walls, above me.

  We’re underground.

  A tunnel of some kind. A tunnel leading us far from the military force surrounding the warehouse, waiting to swoop in and save us and the president at Tank’s command.

  A command that will never come.

  Oh hell, this is bad. Really, really fucking bad. We barely found Randi in time before they moved her to the new location. What are the odds the director and Smith can find us if Whit smuggles us out from under their noses?

  At the thought of Smith, optimism flares within me, cutting through my thoughts.

  There is some hope. Smith is still out there and probably saw us leave. He could be following us now, or better yet radioing to tell the others we’re on the move so they can follow. It won’t take them long to find the escape hatch and—

  An eardrum-shattering boom blasts down the tunnel. My knees buckle at the ground trembling beneath my feet. With a curse, I lean to the right, my shoulder taking the brunt of the impact as I fall to my knees. The men in front of me all stumble and fall, some leaning against the shaking walls, others flat on their asses in the dirt. Chunks of dirt fall from the ceiling.

  Ears ringing, body still vibrating, I shift along the tunnel to look the way we came only to whip back around and shield my face as best I can from the approaching cloud of dust.

  Shouts of confusion cut through the ringing in my ears. I shake my head, trying to clear away the fog, coughing and sneezing from the dust tickling my nose and throat.

  What the hell was that? As I lean against the tunnel wall, more vibrations travel along the dirt, but they’re much weaker than before.

  “Could’ve fucking warned us,” the asshole at my back shouts, probably thinking he’s whispering. “We were too close to the explosion, the fucker. I won’t be able to hear for a damn week.”

  Explosives?

  There’s no way. I think back to what the one guy said to Whit, and a knowing feeling sinks my gut. He blew the warehouse. That bastard Whit never planned to leave any evidence of where he escaped to. And we—no, I played right into his hands.

  He blew the warehouse with Smith, our only hope, presumably inside.

  Now what the fuck are we going to do?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Randi

  Cool air chills my bare, sweaty arms and legs, goose bumps sprouting in its wake. The same steady throbbing beat that’s been a constant pain drums against my skull. My lips part on a soundless cry at a simple move of my head.

  But it’s not just my head, or my neck, or even the sliced-up skin of my wrists and ankles. Everything fucking hurts. There isn’t a single muscle, bone, or patch of skin that doesn't hurt like hell. I should come to terms with the fact that this will be my state of existence for the rest of my short life. However long that will be. Damn, that’s a depressing thought. A very clear depressing thought. Of course, nothing else makes sense around me except that little ticking clock in the ba
ck of my mind reminding me my life is in danger and I might die soon.

  “Thanks for the encouraging thoughts, brain.” My voice is hoarse and raspy, barely above a whisper.

  Each shallow breath is a hiss through clenched teeth. A quick tug of my wrists and ankles confirms both are still bound. Thin material—sheets, maybe—slides beneath my sticky cheek, the smoothness an unexpected sensation. Where am I? This is obviously different than the hotbox warehouse.

  Continuing to breathe through the pain, I struggle to remember the last thing I saw or heard.

  The ground trembling beneath my feet, dust and dirt pelting my face.

  Someone carrying me, the stench of weed and body odor a distinct contrast to the musty scent that surrounded us.

  Blinding light, welcomed fresh air. Trees. Lots of trees and men.

  Shouting. A familiar voice yet filled with a rage and fear I’d never heard it hold before.

  Then… nothing.

  Not a single memory, just darkness and peace only oblivion can offer.

  Compelling one lid open, then the other, I blink to clear the blur and focus on my new unfamiliar surroundings. Soft rays of dusky sunlight stream through a single rectangular window along the far wall, the only one on this side of the room that I can see. Unfinished walls, wires, insulation exposed, a simple concrete floor, wooden stairs leading up to a single door, and a low ceiling above. A basement, maybe? I have zero clue where I am, but at least this place has air conditioning. Even the stabbing pain radiating from my side is manageable without the suffocating heat.

  “Mess.”

  My frantic gaze bounces around the room, searching for the owner of the hollow voice. A squeak of a mattress spring and the rattle of a flimsy metal bed frame sound as I shift to roll to my back. With a grunt, I flip, the bindings biting into my wrists with my slight weight lying on my secured hands. The white sheet slides beneath my heels as I struggle to gain leverage to flip again. Pushing and rolling my shoulders, I finally rotate to rest on my side, facing the opposite direction from before.

  That’s when I see him.

  My eyes widen in shock at his disheveled state, but it’s the sheer devastation behind his dull honey eyes that catches my breath.

  “It’s okay. We’ll get you out of here.” His tone is dull and lifeless, lacking its normal cocky arrogance.

  “What’s wrong?” I rasp. The sadness radiating off his slack features fuels my panic. “Trey,” I beg. Fuck, what if it’s him? What if he’s hurt beyond repair? I skim his dark T-shirt and pants in search of an injury.

  “Randi, I need you to focus on me.” Reluctantly, I do as he asks. “Don’t be scared, baby. The others will find you, but—” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. “—I don’t know when. I need you to listen to me, okay?” I nod, too transfixed on his words to utter a response. “They’re going to use us against each other to get what he wants. And I need you to be strong for me, strong for you.”

  “I’ll give it to him.” My voice is as panicked as I feel. “I can’t—”

  “You have to, Mess. Whit is….” His eyes flick to something behind me and stare unfocused. “This is beyond what I ever imagined him capable of. I knew he was an evil son of a bitch, but this is… different. His need for revenge on you, on us…. All he can focus on is making us pay for what happened four years ago.”

  “I know what he wants, and I’ll give it to him. He wants me to call Sam. For me to step down and have Sam select Shawn as the VP. I’ll give it to him. I’ll give him whatever he wants. I can’t watch—”

  “It’s not as simple as the VP spot anymore, you know that. It might have started as that, and you getting that spot instead of him might have been the catalyst, but this is more than that. Now it’s personal to him. He won’t stop this until we’re both….” He shakes his head. “Shawn’s been planning this for a while, and it’s carefully thought out and well-funded. We wondered where he’s been the last year. Well, now we know. Planning all this.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  His slight sad smile tugs at my already bleeding heart. “You were drugged during the drive here, baby. I wasn’t. I heard it all, I know what he has planned for you and me. The longer they’re focused on me, the better. I’ll be the distraction to keep their filthy fucking hands off you and give Smith and the others time to find you.”

  What he’s asking me to do clicks into place. Despite the sharp stab of pain in my neck, I shake my head. Locks of stiff hair fall into my line of vision. “No. I won’t watch them hurt you.” I can’t do what he’s suggesting, can’t let them torture him for as long as possible, with me watching, to give the others time to find me again.

  “It’s not a suggestion, Randi.” A sliver of my Trey, that commanding, dominant tone, hardens his voice. “I can’t—” His voice cracks. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep their focus off you. I can’t watch them hurt you” His shoulders slump. “I’m not strong enough for that.”

  “Trouble—”

  “You’re the one who matters, Mess. Not me. You have to live. Because if you don’t, I’ll be dead anyway. I don’t want a life without you in it.”

  “Where is T?” I whisper, unsure where Shawn and the others are at the moment. T was with us earlier, that I do remember. He’ll talk Trey out of this ridiculous idea. “T, where are you? Talk some sense into him.”

  A grief-filled sob swings my attention back to Trey. Head bowed, shoulders trembling, he doesn’t look up when I whisper his name.

  “What’s going on, Trey?” I say louder. “Tell me what the hell is going on.” I yank at the restraints preventing me from comforting him, hating them more in this moment than ever before.

  “He’s gone.” I narrow my brows, not understanding. “Tank… Davis is gone.”

  “Where do they have him?” Deep down, I know what he means by “gone,” but I can’t go there. No, there has to be another explanation. Maybe they let him go. That’s a possibility, right? Maybe Shawn realized he didn’t need T for me to talk and let him walk away.

  Yes, T is out there free somewhere, putting together a plan on how to save us. That’s who Davis Washington is, the badass sweetheart who always has a plan.

  He has to be okay.

  He has to be. I won’t accept any other outcome. That’s how it works, right? If I don’t accept that something terrible happened to Trey’s best friend and Sarah’s husband, then it never occurred.

  “Trey?” I beg but seal my lips at the shake of his head.

  The faded memory from earlier comes flooding back, this time brighter, clearer, allowing me to remember every horrid detail.

  A sob shakes my chest and shoulders.

  I had one part right. Shawn didn’t need T for his plans for me.

  Shawn’s bored voice after we emerged from the tunnel slowly becomes clearer in my memory.

  “Take that one and dispose of him… No, I don’t care how you fucking do it….”

  Then a distant gunshot.

  A single shot. The kind where there’s no question that the bullet killed its intended victim.

  “No.” My voice cracks with the surge of grief. Trey nods, still not meeting my imploring stare that’s begging him to tell me it’s not true. “Did you see it?” My words come fast, spilling from my lips as my mind grasps on to this one sliver of hope. “Did you see them kill him?”

  “No.” Trey’s gruff voice is filled with the same soul-aching emotions rolling through myself. “I tried to fight them, tried to…. I couldn’t do shit as they carried you in one direction and dragged him in another. I had to choose. And I chose you, Randi. Every day, I choose you. I didn’t want them to take me out too, leaving you alone again with that fuckstick, so I stopped fighting back to make them think I gave up, but really I was going all in.”

  “For me.”

  “Always, Mess. It’s you or nothing.”

  “But he’s… your best friend. How could you—”

  �
��If you’re asking if it was a difficult choice, no. If you’re asking if it feels like my fucking heart is ripped in two right now, yes. We all know what we’re risking when we sign on with the agency. Davis knew, Grem knew, I knew. I just never expected the choice between them and you to be so easy.”

  A roar of voices and laughter sounds above us. Both our gazes lift to the ceiling.

  “It won’t be long now, Mess. We’ve been down here a while. I need you to stay strong. Stay strong for me, for Tae, for—” He clears his throat. “For Tank. Don’t let his sacrifice be for nothing. You live.”

  “Live for what if you’re not with me?” The jabbing pain in my side turns to more of a burn as my breaths quicken. “You think you’re the only one who can’t picture a life without us together? Without you? No.” I shake my head with the same conviction I put in the short word.

  “Did you not hear me, Randi? I’m not strong enough to watch them hurt you. Don’t make me see that. Don’t let that be the last thing I see.”

  “Same, Trouble.”

  “Mess.” He groans. “Please. Let me do this for you. For Taeler. For our country. Let my sacrifice mean something.”

  Hot streams of tears track down my cheeks before dripping to the sheet.

  “I don’t want to do this alone,” I whisper.

  “Do what, baby?”

  “Any of it. I finally have you, finally have someone I can depend on and who sees me. The real me and still loves me despite it—”

  “Because of it, Mess. I love you because of the mess that you’re so aptly nicknamed for.”

  “I love you, Trey, and I don’t want to live another minute without you in it. You’re it for me. Us, you and me. You promised me a future,” I cry. “You promised me forever.”

  “I know. I know I did, and I wish I could keep that promise, Randi, but it’s just not in the cards. We knew Whit was a malicious bastard after the poisonings, but I never thought—we never thought—he’d go to this extent. That was my mistake in underestimating how deep his hate and need for revenge ran for you.” A smirk tugs at his lips. “You couldn’t have chosen a less diabolical nemesis?”