Power Twist: Power Play Series Book 2

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  “Tank,” Trey shouts. The unease in his tone shoots my panic into overdrive. Strong hands unclick my seat belt and shove me to the floorboard. “Careful, you ass.”

  “Stay down,” Grem yells above my head. “Fuck, this is bad. What the hell is going on?”

  Using their bickering as a distraction, I press both palms to the coarse black floor mats to slowly rise up. Peering over the armrest, I glance right and then left, making sure no one is paying attention before popping up to look out the front windshield.

  “Who's that?” I ask before a hand slaps me on the back of the head.

  “He said stay down.” Pursing my lips, I glare at Trey. “Sorry, but for real. This is serious, Mess. We're blocked in.”

  “By who?”

  “We don't know.”

  “Where are the other guys?”

  “Detained as well,” T grumbles.

  “Someone's getting out,” Grem whispers like the guy can hear us.

  “What is he doing?” I whisper back. “Wait, why are we whispering?”

  “You do realize we're in a bad spot right now, right, Mess?” It's hard to tell, but I swear a hint of humor laces Trey’s words.

  “I do, but I can't see what's going on from down here, so you have to give me a play-by-play.”

  “He doesn't have a gun,” Grem whispers.

  “Seriously, why are we whispering?”

  “Doesn't mean he doesn’t have one. Here comes another,” T says, confusion in his tone.

  “Back here too,” Trey adds, his intense gaze locked out the back window. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “We could always just ask,” I toss out. Makes sense to me. At the weight of all three sets of eyes zeroed in on me, I shrug. “Just a suggestion. Maybe they want an autograph or something.” The gravity of the situation settles in my chest, causing an awkward chuckle to vibrate out. “Sorry, I'm not laughing.” Another giggle bubbles out on its own accord. “Shit. Sorry, guys. I know this isn't—” I say through another giggle. “Funny.” Clearing my throat, I swallow back the full belly laughs that want to burst out, but I can't stop my shoulders from shaking. “I did this when those muggers cornered me and Trouble. It's like some kind of—”

  “Who did what?” T roars. I swear the SUV rattles with the force.

  “Way to go, Mess,” Trey mutters under his breath.

  “We're having a serious talk when we get through this, Randi,” T admonishes from the driver seat. He sighs and runs a hand over his shiny head. “But you have a point. Whoever it is isn't demonstrating the desire for violence.” Tilting my chin, I catch T and Trey having an unspoken conversation through the rearview. “I'll go.”

  “No, I'll go,” Trey grunts. “You have Sarah. If shit gets bad out there—”

  “No,” I shout, reaching out lightning fast to grab his slacks. “You can't go out there. What about me? You have me.”

  Trey's honey eyes soften with a sad smile. “It's my job, Mess. I’d rather it be me than you or Tank.” His long fingers wrestle with my own, uncurling them from the fine material of his suit pants. A quick squeeze is all I get before he shoves open the side door and climbs out.

  “Trey,” I yell.

  Shoving against the floorboard, I scramble up, attempting to dive out of the door before it closes behind him. An arm snakes around my waist, halting my advance before tugging me back several inches. Eyes wide, I watch in absolute horror as the side door closes in almost slow motion, officially cutting me off from the man I might love.

  Chapter Eleven

  Trey

  The thump of the Suburban’s door slamming shut echoes down the dark alley. Careful to keep my hands where they can see them, I lift the shoulder strap over my head and carefully lower the assault rifle to the asphalt. The stench of rotten food and cat piss infiltrates my nose, forcing me to hold a shallow breath until I'm upright. My sole focus never leaves the lead man standing in front of the other four, hands carefully clasped in front of his large body. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the weight of the stares from the other men at my back.

  This has to be the worst situation I've ever been in, yet I'm not afraid. The only safe spot around holds the one person I'm willing to lay my life on the line for. No gun, no cover, at the mercy of the unknown, and yet I'm okay. There’s a settled feeling about doing what's needed to protect the one you love.

  Love.

  Oh hell.

  What a fucking time to figure that shit out. Not that I'd tell her. I haven't even told her about Jessica yet. The lie of 'there hasn't been the right time' only holds for so long. At this point it’s obvious that I'm scared to tell her. What if she leaves, walks away because dealing with the plan I've made is too much to deal with? The woman has enough on her plate for me to toss this new kink into her life, even if it was all for her.

  Palms out, I continue forward. Sweat drips down my temples and slips down my spine. Even with the cooler spring weather, it's fucking hot in Texas. How these people live here I'll never know.

  A faint waft of gunpowder sweeps down the alley, bringing forth a buried memory. My nostrils flare with each deep inhale. My pulse races as I fight to keep the memories from those few deployments in the Middle East at bay.

  Randi needs me. This is the mantra I hold onto to keep from slipping into war mode. She needs me here, not disoriented in my own mind. It’s not often that a trigger is strong enough to pull my focus, but when they do, typically only a bottle of Blanton’s can chase them away and bring me back to reality.

  With each deep breath, I urge my body and mind to relax. The last thing I want is to react too fast, putting us all in danger.

  I pause several feet away from the hood of the SUV, directly in the bright beams of the headlights, putting me about ten feet from the huge dude staring me down. Even with the draping shadows, there's no mistaking his type of build. Large bulky shoulders, thicker middle, tall as hell. The tattoo up his neck is a pretty dead giveaway too.

  Seconds tick by, but neither of us says a word. What's the protocol here? Do they speak first or me? Leave it to Randi to put us all in new, unchartered situations.

  You know what, fuck it.

  “You guys lost?” I ask.

  No response. Not even a blink.

  Definitely Russian. They're the only ones immune to my humor. Any type of humor, really. As I wait in silence, something clicks.

  “Were you the ones following her daughter?” My tone is more menacing than I meant for it to be.

  The man tilts his head. “Da. She was alone. No protection. Not safe.”

  “And you followed to protect her.” Right, and I have a ten-inch dick. “I’m not inclined to believe you, friend.”

  “I say so, means so.”

  “That doesn't really clear things up for me.”

  He cocks his head. “We no threat to girl.” This makes him laugh. “Why we want girl?”

  “You just happened to be here.”

  “We been here. Told to watch, protect. We watch, we protect.”

  “Well, that's just plain ominous.” The man doesn't crack a hint of a smile. Fucking hate Russians and their stoic asses.

  Shouting pulls my focus from him to our SUV. Narrowing my eyes, I try to see through the windshield.

  “Let's just say I believe you. What's with all this, then?”

  “We have message.” Without turning, he holds out a hand. I flinch, readying to grab my sidearm from the holster under my suit jacket as another man steps forward and slaps a large manila envelope in his hand.

  “For her,” he says, jutting it out toward me.

  This could be a trap, but hell, now I'm curious. What's that saying, curiosity killed the cat? Good thing I'm no pussy, because I'm curious as fuck.

  Keeping my eyes on him but my attention everywhere, I take the remaining few steps between us and snag the envelope from his extended hand. But his hold only tightens.

  “These are bad men your vice president is
mixed with. Watch her back. He like her.”

  The memory of the note from Munich slams to the forefront of my mind just as he releases his tight hold.

  “Who is he?” I demand. Kyle? Shawn? At his silence, I take a calculated step closer. “Who. Is. He?”

  The concentrated malice behind the man’s cold eyes sends a chill down my spine. The silence from his side makes it clear he’s not willing to divulge the curious identity of the ‘he.’

  Glancing at the envelope in my hand, I lift it in the air. “It's not laced with anthrax or anything, right?” I say as a joke.

  This gets a laugh. “No. We want you dead, we”—he makes a hand motion like a gun—“boom, you're dead.”

  “You have a way with words, man.”

  A banshee scream comes from inside the SUV at my back, making all of us turn.

  “Sorry about that. She's worried, I guess.” I give a pointed look to his hand still in the makeshift gun. “That's probably what's pissing her off. But don't worry. I've seen her fight. You can take her if all hell breaks loose.” I look back to the SUV. “In fact, I have some news to share with her that I know she’s not going to like. You guys available by the hour?”

  When I look back, the four men are already sliding into their black Escalade. Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I find the SUV blocking us in from the other end of the alley is gone.

  “Well, I'll be damned.” The smacking of the envelope against my thigh is covered up by the roaring of the Russians’ SUV vibrating down the alley. Almost as soon as the whole strange encounter started, it's done.

  Turning on my heels, I trek back to the Suburban, the strange conversation replaying as I try to process his meaning. After picking up the discarded gun, I inhale deep, readying for Randi's fury.

  The diffusing quip I prepared vanishes from my thoughts the moment I open the SUV door. It takes half a second to take in the scene before I'm flying into action. Lunging into the SUV, I grip the back of Grem's suit jacket and shirt collar, yanking him off Randi and out of the SUV. After a quick once-over, making sure she's unharmed, I turn to the panting agent leaning against the brick wall.

  “She was trying to get out, Trey,” Grem says, lifting his hands from his knees in surrender. “I wasn't hurting her.”

  His words should make sense, but all I hear is the roaring in my ears. My chest tightens as I fight the urge to knock him on his ass for touching what's mine. My common sense and anger clash, fighting an internal battle in my mind as I stare down my teammate and friend.

  Cold fingers grip my hot neck, their touch seeming to sizzle against my skin. A sharp tug and I'm pulled down, soft wet lips sealing over my own. My body instantly reacts to her presence. Relaxing my tight fists, I wrap both arms around her waist, hauling her closer. Jagged nails scrape along my scalp before gripping the ends with a soft tug. I pour the intensity of the night into our kiss.

  “For fuck’s sake, you two.”

  Tank's rough voice breaks through the fog that settled over my brain, taking reality with it. With one last soft kiss to her forehead, I relax my hold but she doesn't step back, doesn't pull away. Palm to the back of her head, I tuck her face to my chest and rest my chin on the crown of her head.

  I meet Tank's dark eyes, expecting to find anger but instead seeing understanding. A silent conversation passes between us until the screeching of tires at the end of the alley breaks our stare.

  “It's the other guys,” Tank mutters while rubbing his large palm over his head. “I can't stop this, can I?” I shake my head, causing him to expel a heavy breath. “Just keep it private, Benson. And don't let it affect your job.” He points to me before swinging his finger to Grem. “He wasn't hurting her, simply protecting her idiot ass—”

  “Hey,” Randi grumbles against my blue dress shirt.

  I smirk as I stroke two fingers up and down her spine.

  “She wanted to jump out and save you.”

  Leaning back, I peel her face from my chest and arch both brows. “Save me, huh? With your mad fighting skills?”

  A small chuckle vibrates in my chest as she purses her lips and avoids eye contact.

  “What did they want?” Champ's voice carries down the alley from where he stands beside the other SUV.

  Immediately I force my hands to drop as I put distance between me and Randi.

  “Russians,” I say, my eyes locked on hers.

  “No shit,” Tank huffs. “Tell us what we don't know, Playboy.”

  “I really need that story,” Randi butts in. She wraps her arms around herself, rubbing her hands up and down her biceps.

  I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. My chest swells with pride when she dips her nose to the lapel and takes a deep sniff with a soft sigh.

  “They had something for her,” I say, nodding to Randi while bending to retrieve the envelope off the ground where it fell in my commotion with Grem. “Here.” I slice it through the air to Tank, who catches it easily. “They seemed….” I pause to crack my neck. Fuck, I'm tense. Even though my banter was relaxed with those guys, every muscle and nerve ending was on high alert the entire conversation. “I don't know the word for it, but I don't think they want to hurt Randi. It's more like they want a conversation or something. If you can believe what they said, they’re the good guys. He said they were only following Taeler because she was left unprotected.”

  “Then why'd they leave?” she asks.

  “Not sure. They handed me that envelope and bounced.”

  “Wonder what's in it,” she mutters more to herself than to us as she steps toward Tank, eyes on the envelope. He lifts it high above his head when she tries to reach for it. “Hey, that's mine.”

  “Not until we run some scans on it. Ever heard of anthrax?” he chastises.

  “They said no anthrax. If they wanted us dead, they'd shoot us.”

  Randi's dark brows rise up her forehead. “See, no anthrax. Give it to me.”

  “I'm not betting your life on the word of some Russian who blocked us into a dark alley just to talk.”

  “You really need to see the good in people, T.”

  “I will when they give me something to go on. Now if you don't mind, let's get back in the SUV where it's safe and get you to your daughter.”

  “Ah fuck,” she exclaims. “Taeler. I… with all this and Trouble in trouble, it… come on, let’s go. We can figure out the Russian’s cryptic meaning later.”

  Storming to the SUV, she yanks the door open and climbs in, giving me a nice view of her jean-clad ass.

  “Benson, a word.” Rolling my eyes, I turn to face Tank. “Don't make me regret this, you asshole. Sarah's right, I can't stop you two, but I can ask—no, order you to keep it between us. She doesn't need the extra negative publicity if it gets out, and from what you told me the other night, neither do you.” His focus shifts from me to over my shoulder. “She know about the deal you made?”

  Chunks of hair slide across my forehead as I shake my head. “No, and she won't. I'll tell her about my deal with Jessica but nothing else.”

  Tank's large mitt of a hand slaps my shoulder and tightens. I fight a cringe at the pressure to my joints. “Hope you know what you're doing, man. This could get ugly quick if things go south between you two.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I attempt to stare through the dark tint to the one woman I've ever needed.

  “It’ll work out, Tank. Stop your fussing.”

  With a huff, he gives my shoulder a shove, making me teeter slightly off balance, and strides to the driver side.

  “It has to,” I mutter to myself.

  Chapter Twelve

  Randi

  Tiny's ostentatious squeal of laughter has every set of eyes in the restaurant trained on our table—again. He’s not the only one drawing the attention though. Oh no, I’ve been responsible for some of the looks too. And not happy ones either. Each time I've made eye contact, only scowls with an occasional middle finger added in for emphasis
have been shot back.

  Strange. I'm in Texas, my home state, and yet everyone seems really pissed at my presence. We ended up here, much to T's displeasure, after the hour-long debrief and cry session at Hoodwink—the debrief between the guys and Taeler’s agents, the crying all me and Tae. The shop hasn’t changed a bit. The nostalgia of walking into my old employment, the sound of tattoo guns and smell of antiseptic, added to my rolling emotions.

  “I'm just glad I got to see you again, Rand.” Returning my focus back to the conversation, I smile at Tiny. “Never thought it'd happen.”

  “Yeah, well, me either.” My gaze shifts around the restaurant. “It's strange being back in Austin. When I graduated, I didn't think I would ever be back. Nothing pulling me here, you know.”

  “Ouch.” Tiny clasps both hands over his massive chest with a fake cringe. “You saying I'm nothing, doll?”

  I shove his shoulder, which does nothing but hurt my palm. “You know what I mean. You knew I was just passing through.”

  “How did you end up working for him again, Mom?” Taeler interjects.

  I shrug and take another bite of the mouthwatering brisket. My eyes flutter closed as the flavors explode across my tongue. Texans have perfected the BBQ-making technique. At least this place has.

  I'd like to say the flavors and sounds bring back fond memories, but they don't. As good as the food in this place is, at the time it was way beyond my measly food budget. I could never justify spending a day’s worth of allotted food money on a single meal.

  The rough paper towel scrapes across my sauce-covered lips as I attempt to look less like a slob while I inhale the food in front of me.

  “I needed a job so I could eat,” I say with a shrug. “The student loans and scholarships only went so far. I applied to a bunch of different places but never heard back. One day I was walking past the shop, noticed his Help Wanted sign, and walked in.”

  “I thought she was fucking with me,” Tiny breaks in. “This twig of a woman, arms loaded down with books, cracked glasses—”