Power Switch: Power Play Series Book 3

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  “What have you done?” Mother shrieks from the middle of the room. “We're ruined. You!” She jabs a finger toward Randi. “You're the one to blame. You'll pay for this. And you.” That trembling finger swings to me. “You're cut off from this family.”

  “Um, one more thing,” Randi says, raising her hand like she needs to be called on to speak. “With the kinky shit we know you're into—” I grimace, and she stops. “Sorry, sweetie, but I have to bring it up. With the kinky toe-fucking shit you're into, I suggest you hold off on the whole revenge part of your plan. You wouldn't want that to get out to your fancy friends too, now would you?”

  “Get. Out,” Mother says before screaming the same words over and over again.

  Her screams fade as Randi and I walk hand in hand down the hall. With her at my side and the confrontation behind me, the darkness of the house no longer pushes at the corners of my mind. For the first time ever, I feel free from the burdens of a joyless and loveless childhood.

  At the front door, Tank and a few of the other guys wait, his concerned gaze locked on me.

  “I'm fine,” I say to my best friend with a pat on his shoulder.

  “Can't say I'm surprised,” Tank says as we step out into the sweltering June heat. “Still sucks. And to think I thought my parents were bad.”

  “Ditto,” Randi chimes in. “Who knew cleaning up your mother after a bender would be better than that fancy shit show.”

  “Wow, you two don’t hold back on my account,” I grumble. Running a hand through my hair, I tug on the ends.

  In unison, our heads turn at the belligerent shouting pouring from the inside of the first SUV. I fight a smile at the annoyed scowls of the two agents assigned to take him away. No doubt Dad will be out on bail by the end of the night, but the charges are there, and that’s what matters.

  “Not anymore,” I mutter.

  “Hmm?” Randi asks, tilting her face up, a hand coming up to shield her eyes.

  “Inside, Dad said it's how deals were made in this town, at places like The Boardroom. And I'm just saying not anymore. Not with you.”

  “By making a few waves, and even more enemies.”

  “But you're doing the right thing. Tank was right all those months ago.”

  “About what?”

  “You're the change this town needs. After you’re done with this place, DC will never be the same.”

  She presses her forehead against my bicep. I stroke the back of her head, threading my fingers through the silky, dark locks.

  “Ready to take on the next asshole tonight?” I toss out, changing the subject from one heavy topic to another.

  “Not really,” she grumbles.

  “What if I let you ride back home with me instead of him?” I hook a thumb in Tank’s direction.

  Her head pops off my arm, a wide smile splitting her face.

  “Really?”

  “No,” Tank barks. “Not going to happen. Randi is getting in this SUV and we’re going straight home to plan for tonight.”

  I smirk ignoring my friend. “Sure, baby. I'd love to feel you behind me.”

  “I said no.”

  Randi and I exchange a quick look, both knowing what the other is thinking, and take off in a sprint toward my bike, Tank's demanding shouts trailing behind us.

  24

  Randi

  I'm going to vomit.

  Again.

  Yep, I said again, because I've thrown up consistently for the last hour as I waited at home, nerves going haywire, for this moment. Now the time is here. Outside the Suburban's dark windows, the city zooms past as we glide through the downtown DC streets, getting us to our end destination faster than I'd like. If we never got there, I might be okay with that too. Not that I want us to die in a crash, but maybe slightly injured where they have to wire my jaw shut?

  I shake my head and swallow past the anxiety lumped in my throat making it difficult to even breathe normally. Reaching down, I snag the spare bottle of water always stored in my side door and pull it free, the crinkle of the thin plastic breaking the tense silence.

  Trey shifts in the passenger seat but doesn't turn. He's been quiet since this morning, not that I blame him. We did accuse his father of sleeping with underage girls and his mom for some pretty random kinks. Jessica, the smart woman, has already released a statement on social media that she and Trey are done. She also sent text earlier saying she was sorry for everything and was leaving for a few weeks to escape the media storm in Switzerland.

  I wish I could forgive her, especially knowing that Trey's mom was behind some of the cattiness Jessica showed, but I can't. Not yet. I’ll give it a few days and revisit it then. It would be nice to have my friend back, someone to talk to besides Taeler and Trey. But once trust is broken, it's difficult to reestablish.

  Only time will tell.

  The plastic teeth of the bottle crack as I twist the cap. It’s almost to my lips when Trey turns.

  “You okay?”

  Lowering the bottle, I twist the cap back on and set it in the cup holder.

  “Yes. No. Maybe. Can anyone be okay with what's about to go down? Knowing they're about to alter a country’s future?”

  Understanding settles over his features. “Right.” A quiet pause settles over us. “Sam still pissed?”

  I snort. Yeah, he's still pissed. When I told him I needed to do this alone—well, alone with T and Trey and the fifteen other agents at my side in case Kyle goes all violent on me—Sam was less than pleased. But he really didn't have a choice in the matter. We don't need the DOJ present tonight. We're not filing for impeachment unless we have to. It's still in the best interest of everyone to get Kyle out of the president seat sooner rather than later, before more damage can be done. Tonight we tell Kyle to either step down effective immediately, or we’ll present the evidence to the attorney general, who will then file for impeachment.

  At this point, honestly, I'm not sure which way Kyle will go.

  On one hand, he doesn't seem to be the type who will take being cornered without a fight, but then again, if we go through with the impeachment filing, everyone will know what he's done. Which will he choose, pride or the public’s perception? I don't care what excuse Kyle gives for him needing to step down immediately, just that he does, by eight tomorrow morning.

  There are a lot of unknowns, which is why my stomach churns again, readying to push whatever I have left inside it up my throat. I hate this. We have a plan, but it could go sideways at any second.

  Not ideal. We did plan ahead and request extra security put on Taeler. Even though the possibility of Kyle even knowing where she is over in Europe is slim, I didn’t want to take any chances.

  “Can I have some of that?” Turning from the window, I catch Trey hitching his chin toward the water bottle.

  “Yeah, sure. Haven't even taken a sip yet. I'm a little afraid it’ll just come right back up. The last thing we need is me puking on Kyle and ruining his political career all at the same time.”

  “He deserves it.”

  With a comforting smile, he takes the bottle from my outstretched hand and twists back around to face the windshield. Needing a distraction, I slide my thumb across the phone screen, causing it to brighten the dark back seat.

  It was my idea to hold the meeting in a more public area. The Oval Office doesn't have cameras or anything that would protect us if Kyle goes postal. Instead, I turned this into an informal—or so Kyle thinks—dinner meeting at an overpriced trendy new restaurant close to the Capitol. Even though we have a private room reserved, it's still more visible than anything inside the White House.

  “Why does this smell weird?”

  I ignore Trey as I scroll through the few news sites, searching for anything new. Ever since I found out about the oil issue through Taeler instead of someone on my team, I’ve dedicated myself to looking through the news at least twice a day to make sure nothing slips through the cracks again.

  “Where did you get thi
s, Mess?” The tightness of his voice draws a bit of my attention from the phone. Without looking up, I give him a questioning “Hmm?” not understanding what he's referring to and not really caring. “Randi.”

  “Yep.” I click on an interesting article about the upcoming July 4th holiday and the ten best dips to bring to a picnic. “I want a picnic.”

  “Randi, focus.”

  “I am focused,” I say. I shut the phone off and slide it back between my jean-clad legs. “I'm just distracting myself….” I cock my head to the side, not understanding the panic flaring in his honey brown eyes. “What?”

  “Where did you get this water?”

  I hook a thumb to the door. “Down there, where I always have water waiting. Why? If you want more, I'm sure there's another bottle in the other door.” I glance across the SUV, tilting forward slightly to look into the other door’s side pocket.

  “Randi, baby, we don't leave water for you in the SUV. Too many ways for it to be tampered with. So where did you get it?”

  “Right here.” I point down with more emphasis. “And yes you do. I've always had a bottle in here. Well, since… since recently, I guess. Huh. I just assumed it was just a new service you were offering.” Shrugging, I lean back against the cool leather, letting the AC seats help keep the stress sweats at bay. “I broke the seal myself. I heard it. So what's the big deal? It was sealed, so no harm, no foul.”

  “There is harm, because there are other ways to tamper with the contents without breaking the seal.”

  The hair along my arms prickles, standing on end as I put two and two together. Mouth gaping, I shift my unfocused, shocked gaze out the front windshield.

  That's not right though… right? It can’t be something as simple as tampering with the water in the SUV.

  “Benson, stop,” T says his voice tight. “Let's not freak her out before we know.”

  “Too late,” I squeak.

  The bottle in question dangles from Trey's fingers as he holds it up to the light.

  “Tank's right. We don't know for sure, but it's suspicious.”

  “Besides the fact that it's not supposed to be in here, what else is suspicious about it? It looks perfectly normal to me.”

  “The smell.” Settling his hand around the top, Trey twists the hard plastic top off and holds the open bottle back to me. “Smell it.” I give it a quick whiff to appease him before leaning back, putting as much distance as I can between me and the bottle. “Smells off, right?”

  I nod, then shake my head. In defeat, I raise both shoulders in a dramatic shrug. “I don't smell anything.”

  I shiver under his assessing once-over. “Could be the long-term effect of the poisoning from last year. The doc said your taste and smell might be off for a while, and since you've continually gotten small doses, it would never return to normal. It smells like almonds. It's a sign of cyanide being present. But like Tank said, we don't know for sure. I could be way off base and overreacting.”

  “But you don't think you are.” I wrap my arms around my chest and rub my hands up and down my thin sweater.

  “No, I don't. The biggest indicator is that the bottle is in here, in the seat you always choose.”

  “I don't always choose this seat,” I say absentmindedly.

  “Sure you do. It gives you a better visual of me.” His cocky smirk looks forced, but he's doing his best to lighten the mood, so I'll take it. “Which means whoever planned it knew your usual routine.” His jaw tightens, the muscle twitching beneath the passing streetlights. With one last hard look, Trey turns in the passenger seat. “What are the odds both my mother and Shawn have eyes on the inside?”

  “You're thinking it’s one and the same?” T responds. He flicks the blinker, the yellow flashing and clicking seeming too normal for their conversation.

  I stare out the window once again, watching the cars drive by, unaware of what's about to happen. At the stoplight, I watch a couple holding hands, laughing as they stroll down the somewhat busy sidewalk. Everything is as it should be for a Friday night in our nation’s capital.

  And here I am like some kind of atomic bomb circling, readying to slam to Earth, altering everyone's lives. Some for the better, others for the worse. I won't go easy on those in this town who think they're better just because of money or a title. My DC will be different. I'll put the focus back on the American people, on their core issues and needs.

  “Shawn did say he'd be vice president one way or another,” I mutter, sealing my forehead against the cool glass. “What a sicko.”

  Both men grunt, their anger and tension now almost palpable in the confines of the SUV.

  “We're here.”

  The black Suburban lurches forward as T pulls to a stop outside the restaurant entrance. Tense silence fills the cab as I inspect the entrance to the restaurant, desperately wishing it would somehow get sucked into a black hole, saving me from what has to happen.

  The weight of their stares shifts my attention to the two men.

  “You can do this, Mess.”

  “We're right there with you, Randi. That bastard won't lay a hand on you.”

  “And what he said,” Trey says, hooking a thumb toward T.

  I bite back a smile and shake my head, my hair sliding over my shoulder. Taking a deep inhale to steady my nerves and dispel the worry about the water bottle, I sit up straighter in the seat and roll my shoulders back.

  “Let's do this.”

  * * *

  Seven agents dot the edges of the room, my two and five of Kyle's; the others are standing guard outside the doors and the perimeter. I fight the urge to chew on my nails at the intensity beneath their concentrated focus. I guess I can see why they’re zeroed in on me. In this room, I’m the wild card from their point of view. Which, based on my unexpected and slightly violent actions in the Oval Office that first day we were in office, makes their analyzing stares warranted. But what they don’t know is this time it won’t be me who’ll be caught off guard with a shocking revelation.

  “Walmart.” The smug bastard doesn't even get up from where he sits.

  “It's proper to stand when a lady enters the room,” I say sugary sweet while batting my lashes his direction. I force my feet forward, making my way toward the empty chair situated across the small intimate table intended for two from where he sits watching my every move.

  “I will when I see one.”

  “Burn,” I mock.

  Trey slides the wooden chair out and helps me glide it back into place after I’ve sat.

  A nearly empty highball tumbler twirls beneath Kyle’s twisting fingers, the slivers of ice left swirling with the action.

  “Started without me?” I say with a pointed glance to the glass in his hand.

  Lifting the glass, he drains the contents and lifts it up, those ice blue eyes never leaving mine. An agent approaches and replaces the empty glass with a fresh one.

  “You're not my first meeting tonight. This place is a bit boring, if you ask me. I would've suggested another, but”—Kyle's icy gaze skims over my shoulder—“I hear it was raided earlier today based on a tip.” I shiver when Kyle returns his full focus to me. “Breaking up families is a good way to make powerful enemies in this town, Walmart. You have enough, don't you think?” After a long sip, he rests the amber-filled glass on the table. “Where you learned about the dark corners of this town is what I'd like to know. Who’s been sharing our secrets?”

  Needing to do something with my hands, I swipe the knotted black cloth napkin off my empty plate and pull it to my lap. My fingers fidget beneath the tablecloth as I pour all my nerves into anxiously twirling the corners around one finger and then the next.

  “Worried those slipped secrets also involve you?” My bravado is all fake. Hopefully he can't hear the thunderous pounding of my heart. The tip of my index finger begins to throb as the circulation slows due to the napkin twisted and knotted around it.

  “I have nothing to hide.” For emphasis, he s
preads his arms out wide like he's giving me free reign to look for any misdealing. But the flash of apprehension in his tired eyes is a sign of the worry he’s hiding beneath his own brave mask.

  Taking a moment, I observe the man sitting across from me without the usual fear and my normal loathing seeping through, clouding my reflections. Similar to the past few months, there are dark circles beneath his eyes, signaling his continued exhaustion. A few wrinkles crease his normally pristine dress shirt, displaying the telltale signs of yet another long day. Then there's the drinking. I eye him as he tips his glass back, emptying it of its contents, and holds it up for a second time.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?” he asks, apprehension in his tone.

  “I have no damn clue why, but for some odd reason, I'm worried about you.” I huff at the ridiculousness of my statement and rest back in my chair.

  Genuine surprise blooms across his face before he schools his features back into the smug smile he loves to wear.

  “Now why would you do that, Walmart? You're the one with Shawn nipping at her heels.”

  “Not for long if he was serious at Camp David that day.”

  The condescending smirk falters. “I'll worry about him when I have to.”

  “But to answer your question, you look tired. Exhausted even.”

  “I'll let my plastic surgeon know,” he grumbles. In an uncharacteristic show of weakness, he traces the few fine lines marring the delicate skin around his right eye.

  “Kyle….” I don't know what to say next. How do you even start this kind of conversation? When I thought he poisoned me, I wanted revenge. Then when he dragged Taeler into our fight, there was only pure rage fueling my focus to take him down. However, now that the fury has ebbed and months have gone by, apprehension has taken over, repressing the condemning words from leaving my mouth.

  “You can say it, Walmart. I already know you find me oddly attractive and want to suck my fat cock.”

  Sensing Trey's movement in my periphery, I whip out an arm, stopping him from doing something we would all regret.