Power Surge: Power Play Series Book 4

by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  “Am I? Am I the same person now? I don't feel the same.”

  “Describe it.”

  The tendons of my fingers ache as I stretch them out to rub a sweaty palm along my thigh. “I can't.”

  “One thing.”

  I huff a laugh. “One thing.” Gazing out the window, I try to pinpoint just one of the messed-up thoughts that have been on a continuous loop the past several weeks. “It hurt,” I say after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “The pain was worse than I expected, but that's not what's playing on repeat. I can't shake the fear.”

  “That's normal, man.”

  I shake my head. “No, not fear of dying.” Sliding my gaze to his side, I wait until we're through a yellow light before continuing. “Fear of leaving her behind.” Turning, I sigh and stare at the buildings flashing past my window. “For the first time in my pathetic existence, the thought of not being there for someone, for her, was terrifying. I can't describe it any other way, but that's what keeps me up at night. The look in her eyes when she thought I was leaving her and the absolute pain that it caused knowing I failed her.”

  “Yet you're doing it now on purpose.”

  I shoot him a look. “That's different.”

  “How in the hell is that different? You say you were afraid of leaving her behind, yet you've seen her once, twice since you got out of the hospital?”

  “It is different,” I demand. “I'm messed up in the head. I'm doing her a favor keeping her out of this.”

  “Her a favor, right.”

  “She's got enough to deal with.”

  “Yet all she wants is to help you.”

  “She's the president of the free world,” I grit out. Again those fingers ball into a tight fist as anger at my current situation flows through my veins.

  “Yet all she wants is to be with you.”

  “Stop saying that,” I shout. My chest heaves. “I'm not the same person I was. One day I had a strong family name, I had money, status, her. Then the next I'm forgotten in a hospital bed while she makes a fucking decision that puts a target not only on her back but on her damn forehead without talking to me about it.”

  I suck in a breath and slide my wide eyes to Tank.

  “Holy fuck,” I say, slowly letting my held breath out.

  “Now we're getting somewhere.”

  “She thought I was too weak to tell me before she left for the press conference.”

  “I'd go with it more being about the element of surprise, but that's my take.”

  I nod. He has a point.

  “What else?”

  Now my quick breaths stem from excitement. For the first time in weeks, the weight sitting on my chest eases. “I loathe the fact that I have nothing to offer her now.”

  “Did you ever?”

  I shoot him another “fuck you” glare. “Not helping.”

  “Benson, you're the same fucking idiot today as you were the day you met. Nothing has changed.”

  “Everything has,” I say, my voice tight.

  “Not the things that matter. Sure, her job has changed, she has a new title, but that hasn't changed who she is. She's still just as crazy, just as honest and good-hearted as she was when we dragged her out of that smashed-up limo years ago. And if you believe your family name, your money, hell, anything other than the unwavering support you offer her meant a damn thing to her, then you don't deserve her.”

  “I'm afraid she'll see that now.” A sliver of the tension coiled around my constricted chest eases with the admission. “What can I offer her now that I'm this and she's that?”

  The seat belt catches against my chest at Tank slamming on the brakes a little too hard after whipping into a parking space. The gear shift slams forward into Park, his palm engulfing the entire thing.

  He rips the agency-issued sunglasses off his face and narrows his dark eyes. “You listen and you listen good, Trey Benson. You are not any less of a person, of a friend, or of a man to that woman because your parents are fucked in the head. Your money only mattered to you and those people who didn't matter at all. Me, Randi, Sarah, we all, for some unknown reason, love your scrawny ass without all that shit. Take away your last name, take away your money, your old life, and you're left with the man who wins people over just by being his own damn annoying self.”

  I'm not crying, you're crying.

  “And you know what else?” he adds on while pointing between my brows. “Yes, I love you, and these few weeks seeing you sinking has gutted me worse than knowing I set that kid up for failure. You're my best friend, and I will not let you lose that woman, the best thing that's happened to you since me, all because you're worked up about something that does not matter. She loves you, Benson, really loves you. The way Sarah loves me. Faults and all, those women love us to our core. I have no idea why or how it happened, but I thank the good Lord every night that she does. Stop thinking you're in this alone and have to figure it out by secluding yourself.”

  I can't look away from my best friend. Thank fuck he chooses to not point out the unshed tears dampening my lower lids that he can no doubt see.

  Clearing my throat, I shift in the seat. “Well, hell. Should we make out now?”

  Lips twitching, he suppresses a smile. “We good?”

  “We're good.”

  “Good,” he responds as he shoves the heels of his palms to his lids. “Damn dust in my eyes.”

  “I was going with pollen.”

  Movement in front of the windshield snatches my attention. My heart stops before kick-starting again at a rapid pace. Sarah, Tank’s frightful wife, now stands at the hood of the SUV with a coiled rope dangling from her left hand. Not taking my focus off her, I nudge Tank with my elbow. “What the fuck were you two planning to do to me?”

  A loud, rumbling laugh belts from his chest when he sees what I'm seeing. “That woman.”

  “Is violent as hell?”

  “Perfection.” I swear he lets out a love-filled sigh. Shaking his head, he flicks a look to my side. “She’ll be disappointed that she doesn't need to follow through with whatever crazy-ass plan she concocted to make you open up.”

  I flinch as Sarah narrows her eyes and rests both hands on her hips. “Get out of the car, Man Child,” she yells through the windshield.

  I’m armed and outweigh the woman, but somehow, I’m still a bit terrified. “Protect me,” I beg.

  “You're on your own, man.” The car door slams shut behind him. I watch as he strides to his wife and engulfs her in a bear hug. A hint of a smile breaks through her tough exterior. An exterior she has to wear on a daily basis commanding several hundred marines.

  Grumbling to myself about how unfair my life has turned out to be, I climb out of the SUV. “What exactly were you planning to do to me?”

  Sarah sighs and leans against Tank's wide chest. “Tie you to a chair and come up with creative ways to make you talk.” She rests her head back on Tank's shoulder as she gazes up at him. “But it seems all my planning will go to waste.” The loving concern behind her wide eyes as they meet mine is crystal clear. “Seems you two started the conversation without my help, which is good.”

  “So I don't end up tortured to talk through my feelings?”

  “Because you have bigger issues to deal with,” she says, watching my reaction.

  “What's going on?” Tank demands, shifting into full protective mode. Gripping her shoulder, he steps back, putting a foot between them. This is another reason why I’m terrified of Sarah. If you as much as look at her the wrong way, not only do you have to deal with her, who’s a badass in her own right, but protective papa bear will rip off your arms and legs after she’s through with you.

  They’re perfect for each other.

  “It's all over the news. Saudi Arabia, our ally, is taking live fire as we speak. Sources over there are begging for a response from the US, for any kind of help. Which means your girl’s under fire, Man Child.”

  “What?” I snap, my own protectiv
e instinct kicking in knowing Randi is not only in the middle of this shit storm but is dealing with it alone.

  A million thoughts and questions flash through my mind. Taking a quick stride forward, I grip Tank’s arm. “Call Pierce, tell him to get to the White House and we'll meet him there.”

  “It’ll be a war zone. No way will they let us through the front gate.”

  A sharp tug on his bicep puts us nose to nose. “Then we'll break it the fuck down. She needs me, Davis. I'm not letting her go through this alone.”

  Chapter Nine

  Randi

  Chaos mounts behind me as I stare out wide windows onto the back lawn. Reporters line the fence, the lenses of their cameras reflecting in the afternoon light. Through the shouting behind me, a particularly loud voice booms above the others, demanding attention, but no one heeds his words.

  What the hell am I supposed to do?

  I'm so not prepared for this. Call me naïve, but I assumed I had… I don’t know, more time, maybe, before the preverbal shit hit the fan, all stemming from the fool who was in this role prior. Sure, there have been a few attacks between the volatile countries, but we were handling it. Sam and Todd were working on it. Doing a decent job at it, I thought. Not great but holding down the fort while I figured out how to stop everything from here.

  “Quiet,” I say loud enough to be heard over the other voices. Turning from the window, I take in my advisors and commanders from each military branch. Six weathered faces focus on me, their skin wrinkled with the massive amount of stress that comes with being the president’s military advisors.

  Todd, the weaselly secretary of state I don’t trust as far as I can throw him, leans forward from his position on the couch, tension radiating off him in waves as he wipes his palms up and down the length of his thighs. Blake paces the back of the room along with the defense secretary, both mumbling to themselves. A few other advisors are scattered around the room, their worry palpable.

  “General Carpenter, I want your insight first,” I say to the man with more service bars and medals than I knew even existed secured to the front of his army green uniform. “You have the floor.”

  The intimidating man rises from the ornate stuffed winged-back chair. Hands clasped in front of his hips, he widens his stance and centers his heavy focus on me.

  “I’ve read the initial reports coming out of Saudi Arabia. Several small attacks have erupted along the borders. No one has claimed responsibility, but the pressure is mounting, and it seems more attacks are expected. The king is asking for our assistance in defending their borders and protecting their civilians from the continuous attack. It’s not a well-organized army, more like several small cells attacking in sequence.”

  “Do we know who ordered the attacks, or do they seem like random acts of violence?” I ask. My gut clenches with trepidation. Small attacks like these have sprouted up all through the Middle East, causing unrest between our allies and enemies. The turmoil is bubbling over, threatening to send that part of the world into war, attacking anyone they assume is behind the attacks.

  And I know the reason why.

  “Based on my meetings with the various leaders over the previous few weeks, I suspect Russia,” Todd chirps in.

  I shoot him a condemning expression, nearly mirroring the scowl the general now wears, which seems to agree with my silent “shut the fuck up” hint to my idiot secretary of state.

  Folding my arms across my chest, I lean a hip against the edge of the desk, looking down my nose at the man. What the hell is Todd thinking, tossing out Russia? He's up to something. He requested a meeting with Vlad before the New Year, but I never heard if it actually happened.

  I shove the nagging feeling away, needing to focus on the issue at hand.

  “Highly unlikely that it’s Russia,” the general says. “We suspect Yemen or Syria based on the initial intel. I suggest sending in a small force to take out the groups targeting our ally and secure the area to ensure there aren’t any additional flare-ups. We can gain information while on the ground. In and out in under twelve months.”

  “Twelve months?” I grit out. “That's your version of in and out?”

  “If we do not secure the area, more militants will come in and do the exact same thing. This is a part of the world that is in constant turmoil. The fact that they've been in relative peace for the past few years is unheard of.”

  No doubt that's why whoever was manipulating Kyle wanted all this to happen.

  “What are our other options?” I ask, masking the hopeful tilt of my voice with a fake sigh.

  The room swells with a pregnant pause. The general exchanges a sharp look with Blake. “Minimum casualties on both sides and we help an ally. This is the option.”

  “You're telling me with all the intelligence we have, everything we know about this situation, that military force is the only course of action?” I scoff and move around the desk to stand behind it once again. Fingertips pressed to the hard surface, I lean forward, putting most of my weight on the desk. “No.”

  The room erupts with disagreeing shouts. I lift a hand, urging them to let me finish.

  “First of all, this is not our fight.” Well, technically it is, but as far as they know, it’s not. They have no idea we might be the ones who actually funded this fight. Hell, I didn't even know until I received the evidence Vlad furnished. I still don't know the major players; even Vlad wasn't able to obtain those details, which says a lot. The file was crystal clear on one aspect of the scheme. The drilling, rising gas prices, and funneling the profits to offshore accounts was a drop in the bucket to the overall plan. All that money was then channeled out to various for-hire militant groups to force that part of the world into war.

  Dozens of times, I’ve listed the pros and cons of informing my military advisors of what was put into action by Kyle, but it always comes down to the same answer: I can't. If the information gets out, if our allies knew what American dollars had funded, we'd be friendless in less than a week and the target of their ire, followed by attacks.

  No, this stays with those few who know the truth: me, Sam, Trey, and T. Plus Shawn, I guess, who’s been creepily absent since I announced Sam as VP. Every day I don’t hear from him, the little voice in the back of my mind warns me there’s a reason and I should prepare for the worst.

  I shift my focus to the small American flag standing proudly at the corner of the desk. I can't justify leading our men and women in uniform into this fight, putting their lives on the line, for a lie. Those countries think their neighboring enemies are responsible for the attacks and are ready to respond with more might and harshness This has to end soon before things get out of hand, but not with military action. Not yet.

  “Second, we don't have enough solid intel to justify deploying several thousand troops.” I shake my head and shove off the desk. Walking around to the front, I lean back against the edge and cross my arms. Hopefully this pose looks intimidating. “No, we will go about this in a different way.”

  “Madam President, I disagree with—”

  My sharp look cuts Blake off.

  “I understand most of you are not a fan of my decision. I'm well aware of that.” A sharp knock at the side door triggers me to pause. Sam stalks through half a second later, quickly shutting the door behind him. A swift nod in greeting and he relaxes back along the wall, those green eyes taking in the grumbling group crowding the Oval Office. “No military action. Todd, get the king on the phone. He and I can talk about next steps and how we can help without sending troops.”

  Todd’s already pale face loses more color. “I'm not sure that's a great idea. He's mentioned a few times in the past that I'm not his favorite person in this office. Maybe the vice—”

  “Man the fuck up,” I snap. How has Sam not killed him over the past few weeks as they traveled together? “Get over the king not liking you and get him on the damn phone. We will figure this out. Today. I need to know who he suspects ordered the attacks,
and then we go from there. Next I want to have a conversation with whoever the hell is running Yemen, Syria, Oman, and Iraq these days. We figure out what the actual fuck is going on over there today, gentlemen.”

  Done with the conversation, I flick my wrist toward the door, waving them off, and push off the desk.

  Disgruntled grumbles resound through the room as the men exit. Only once everyone except Sam is gone do I allow myself to sink into the massive desk chair.

  “I don't know which is worse,” I say, my eyes closed as I massage both temples. “My military advisors knowing what I know or continuing to keep them in the dark, making them assume I'm an idiot for not heeding their sage advice.”

  “Both.” Sam's deep gravelly voice carries though the now still office. “But you know as well as I do that they can't know. You and I agreed on that weeks ago, Randi. Even with Birmingham removed from this office, we cannot risk the repercussions if the countries who have sustained casualties and damage find out the United States are the ones funding—”

  “Funded, not funding,” I correct. “I shut all that shit down and cut ties with everyone we could tie the scandal to the night I was sworn in.”

  “Fine,” he acknowledges. The wall groans as he shoves off to move toward the center of the room. “But funding or funded, it’s all the same. The money these militant groups are using to buy guns, supplies, and intel came from us. If this attack on Saudi Arabia is the militia group funded by whoever constructed the shit Birmingham dragged us into—which, like you, I suspect is true—this is their first major attack. I'll be honest with you, Randi, I don't think it's the last. If we don’t do something about this now, things will get worse fast.”

  “I agree, which is why I want to bring the higher-ups in the CIA into the fold.” Peeking my eyes open, I slide my gaze to the closed door he came through. It's wishful thinking that Trey is just on the other side. Not after the morning we had, not with his avoidance the past few weeks. I'm desperate to know what's bothering him, but being locked in this gilded cage has me limited on how to get to him. “We have to identify and stop the ones responsible now. With Kyle gone, we need to get the names another way, which will take time. While I'm working to keep the peace over there, the CIA can be behind the scenes, working on identifying who's behind all this. Once we figure that out, we take them out and we're in the clear.”