“I am.”
“I know. That's what I just said. Anyone who's done what you've done in your life, all that you've accomplished on your own, has to be. Remember who you are, Randi. Remember what you've been through to get here.”
Sliding my gaze back to the mirror behind the bar, I focus on my own reflection. He's right. Why the hell am I sitting here having a damn pity party—and alone at that. I've made it this far in life, accomplished so much with very little; why do I think this is the one thing that will take me down?
The reflection tilts its head as I do. My slightly frizzy dark hair swooshes along my back. Fuck, I look like hell.
“Why does it feel like we're always having this conversation?” Palms to the bar, I use it for balance as I slide off the stool, giving myself a second to steady my footing. “It must be exhausting always having to pull my shit together.”
“That's where you're wrong. I know you're new at this friends thing, but I'm not. I can't tell you how many times Tank's pulled my head out of my own ass or slapped me straight. That's what friends do for each other. They’re there when we fall.”
“So which are we? Friends or more?”
Peering down, Trey smiles. “Why do you think they're mutually exclusive?” His eyes leave mine to scan the room. “Elevator’s waiting. Come on, Mess.”
The guys form a tight grouping around me as we march to the elevator. Between the four bodies, I bounce around like a damn pinball, but somehow they keep me upright. The moment we step inside the elevator, the doors close and we zoom upward. “Oh, hey, and one more thing.”
“What's that?”
“Don't mention to Sarah how I said you hit like girl. She'll beat me up for sure.”
I snort, then slam my hand over my nose and mouth to keep the sound from happening again. Tears from laughter prick the corners of my eyes, dripping down my cheeks as I tilt my face to see his.
“You think I'm kidding,” he groans.
The elevator slides to a halt, the movement throwing off my equilibrium and making me sway into Trey's hard chest. Thin smile lines spread from the corners of his eyes with his smile. “If you wanted a ride, all you had to do was ask.”
Before I can respond, my feet leave the ground and his firm chest is pressed against my shoulder as he carries me out of the elevator bride style. Tucking my chin, I keep my face hidden from him so he doesn't see me smiling. In a few short steps, we're maneuvering through the door.
“Here,” Trey says like he's out of breath as he slowly lowers me to the ground. The moment our eyes lock, the rest of the team fades to the background. Maybe it's the alcohol or not giving a shit anymore about what any of them think, but something fuels me to press up to my tiptoes. Slowly he lowers, his lips a hairbreadth from mine.
“Knock it off, you two,” T says, sounding completely exasperated.
Trey clears his throat and straightens. With a huff, I whirl around, ready to tell T off, but the room keeps going.
Fuck.
“Get her in the shower, Benson.” Around me, the team snickers. “Alone,” T bellows. “We need to sober her up.”
“Where's the fun in that?” I giggle. Shit, I'm drunk. Clearing my throat, I shake out my hands, attempting to regain some composure. “Can someone please order me a cheeseburger with fries? And a Coke. Oh, and a cake. A big fucking cake that says ‘worst day ever.’”
Before I attempt a step on my own, I slide one foot out of a pump and then the other, leaving the thousand-dollar shoes abandoned in the middle of the suite’s living room.
“You stay there,” I say to the shoes, pointing at them like they’re a dog.
“Seriously? Fuck, you’re shithoused.” A snarl pulls at my lips at the laughter in his voice.
Instead of responding, I flip Trey the bird over my shoulder as I march to the bedroom door—which keeps moving. Closing one eye, I focus on one door and aim for it. Unfortunately for me, I chose the wrong one. My face smacks into something hard, followed by a big toe. Stumbling back, I lose my footing. A quick free fall and then my ass slams to the floor. Giving up on life, I lie back on the suite’s hard floor, pressing a palm to my throbbing cheek.
“I thought you wanted to break the cycle.”
With my free hand, I jam a middle finger high into the air, hoping it's directed at T.
“I hate you both,” I mumble.
“We didn't do this to you. We're just reminding you of what's on the line.”
“And what's that, sensei?”
“Everything you've fought for.”
“Oh, fuck,” I grumble. Rolling to my stomach, I push up to all fours. “Seriously? It’s just a few drinks. Can you two just relax for one night?”
“No.”
Indignation grows into anger until it's boiling in my veins. My breaths shorten as heat builds beneath my skin, causing my stomach to roll and sweat to bead along my upper lip.
“Get off your fucking high horse,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “You think you’re better than—”
The breath whooshes from my lungs as I’m hauled into the air by an arm around my waist. Kicking and thrashing, I fight T's strong hold as he marches into the bedroom. We bypass the bed, heading straight to the bathroom.
“Put me down, you bastard!” I screech. My eyes widen when his intention becomes clear. “No, no, no!” I beg.
He doesn't listen.
The shower door nearly shatters at the force of it being yanked open. With little care, he deposits me on the hard tile. I smack my palms on the floor, struggling for traction. Every curse word I can think of, plus some made-up ones, spew from my lips as a cold spray of the water assaults my face.
“You listen to me, Randi Sawyer. I will not let you do this to yourself. You got yourself into this mess, and I'm going to make sure you get out of it fucking alive, you hear me?”
“Fuck, Tank,” Trey's concerned voice pours over the pounding of the water.
“This little pansy ass behind me is too wrapped around your little finger to give you the tough love you need right now, so I'm gonna do it. I know this is more than you expected. Fuck, I can't imagine the kind of pressure you're under, and honestly, I don't want to. But I will not let you give up or give in. You're better than that, you hear me?”
A hot hand presses against my cheek, turning my face up. T's dark eyes search mine with a kindness, maybe even worry, that I've never seen before.
“You hear me?”
Swallowing, I nod. “I hear you.”
“Good, because you're the only woman besides Sarah I've ever taken to, and I won’t let you destroy yourself.”
With a not-so-gentle pat, his hand pulls from my cheek. I follow his movement as he stands and shakes off water from his soaked jacket sleeve. Behind him, Trey's lips are pressed into a thin line, his forehead wrinkled. Embarrassment washes over me like the water still pouring over my head. Turning my face, I bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling.
“We'll be outside the door if you need us.”
The glass walls rattle when the door closes. Through my drenched hair, I glance out only to find both men gone.
A sob bubbles up my throat. Leaning back against the white tile, I tuck both knees to my chest and press my forehead to my thighs. T's words replay in my mind, making me sob harder than I ever have because of the truth and conviction behind them.
A little thought in the back of my mind pulses, niggling its way to the forefront.
What if they're wrong?
Chapter Sixteen
Trey
The ugly-ass fancy carpet silences my heavy pacing steps just outside the bathroom door.
“You're babying her,” Tank snarls from where he's lounging on one of the two sitting chairs across the room.
“And you're being an ass,” I snap back, curling both hands into tight fists.
His eyes follow the movement, and a smirk tugs at his lips.
“You wanna fight?”
“No. Yes.” Le
aning back against the wall, a quiet thump sounds when my head hits the drywall. The door to the bathroom whooshes open, a billow of hot, wet air pouring through. I cautiously watch as Randi steps into the bedroom, fingers fidgeting with the sash of the thick, oversized white robe.
Her throat bobs. Red-rimmed eyes meet mine before sliding to Tank.
“I'm sorry for my behavior,” she says. Rolling her shoulders, she straightens her spine. “You're right, both of you.”
“You need to let others help you, Randi,” Tank says. “All this wouldn't be too much if you let other people help you every once in a while.”
With a sigh she moves toward the bed and perches on the edge.
“It's tough, you know. It feels like everything would be easier just to do it on my own, to make sure everything gets done.”
“Never said it would be easy, but you have to keep trying.” Tank sighs and rubs a hand over his bald head. “Now come on. Your food’s in the living room, and we need to talk about the information in that envelope from last night.”
Her brows shoot up in interest. When she takes a step toward the door, following Tank, I reach out, snagging her wrist and tugging her to a stop. Hazel eyes meet mine, a small, sad smile pulling at her lips. She tucks a few wet locks of hair behind her ear and clears her throat.
“It'll be okay, Mess.”
“I know,” she says. “Or I hope, I guess. Come on, I'm starving.”
Her forced fake smile pierces my heart with the uncertainty and sadness behind it. I allow her to tug me along, and we walk into the living room. Releasing her wrist, I position myself in the corner where I can see every angle of the room. The savory smells intensify after she yanks the silver lids off the room service cart.
She takes the plate with the cheeseburger and fries and sets it on the low coffee table in the middle in the room before sitting on the floor in front of it. Two huge bites and a few fries later, Randi finally looks up.
“I'm sorry, guys,” she says with a sigh, meeting the eyes of every man in the room. “I—”
“I looked over the information in that envelope.”
Randi's head whips toward Tank, her eyes the size of saucers.
“From what I can tell, it's all legit. Someone was, or is, following Taeler under orders. That’s what the Russians were doing there, why they’ve been there. My guess is they saw her sneak out, and since they were ordered to keep her safe, they followed to make sure the other person didn’t take the opening and snag Taeler off the street.”
Nibbling on a fry, she says, “I need to thank Vlad next time I see him. No doubt it was his orders that had those guys there offering the extra protection. Probably to get on my good side if I had to guess, but hey, it worked.” After a quick sip of her bottle of Coke, she asks, “Do we know who's behind it?”
“Who do you think would stoop so low to have your daughter followed to gain leverage on you?” I ask.
“Fuck,” she shouts, throwing a half-eaten fry across the room. “Which one?” Shoving up from the floor, she stumbles forward, catching herself on the arm of the couch. “Which of those fuckers hired someone to follow my daughter?”
“Based on the evidence—” Tank starts.
“What evidence?” she asks, sinking onto the couch, her unfocused gaze on the opposite wall.
“Various correspondence through the dark web and cryptic phone calls were all documented in that file. I have no damn idea how they got the information.”
“Let’s be honest, it's Russia,” she says with a huff. “They probably started the dark web just so they could monitor it.”
“There's something else, Randi.” Every head in the room turns to Tank at the seriousness in his voice. Even mine. What the hell is he about to say?
She gives an exhausted sigh. “That’s ominous. I’m not sure I can take any new shocking news. Do I need to know?”
Tank’s eyes narrow. “No.”
Chewing on her thumbnail, she flicks her gaze to me. “Is this one of those things I need to let go, let someone else handle?”
“Yep,” I respond immediately. I have no idea what Tank's referring to, but if it has anything to do with her safety, then hell yes she should leave that up to us. There's no need for her to worry about things like that when it's our job to keep her safe.
She releases a heavy breath and nods. “Okay.” Smacking her thighs, she rolls her shoulders and stretches out her neck. “I trust you, T. You handle whatever that is you’re not telling me about plus continuing to handle the security aspects for Taeler in Austin. In my mind, I'm taking both off my worry list.” She arches a brow at Tank. “Happy?”
A broad smile spreads across his face, one I rarely see and never on shift. “Very.”
“But what can we do about whoever’s following Tae?” she asks, the worry back in her voice. “I'm not naïve enough to think I can stop them from trying to hurt me directly or through Taeler. But I also can't just ignore that there’s some guy following my daughter around for fuck knows what reason.”
Tank's dark eyes meet mine from across the room. In the few seconds we hold each other’s stare, a silent conversation passes between us.
“We have to be careful,” I say, drawing her hazel eyes to me once more. “Whether it be Whit or Birmingham, both are dangerous and have unlimited funds, and now we know they have friends in shady places. Once we know the why and we have more proof, then we act, but until then, it's just your word plus some files we shouldn't even have as evidence.” I massage the bridge of my nose and seal my eyes shut to calm the dryness. Fuck, I'm tired. We all are. “We wait, get more information, and then act. Knowledge is power in these fucked up games.”
Randi nods and slides from the couch back to the floor in front of her food. At the obvious conclusion of the meeting the other guys move about the room, murmuring to each other as they prepare to switch the on-duty shift to beta team.
Tank gives his head a slight tilt snagging my attention. I shove off the wall to follow him into another room, where he tells the agents inside to clear out. Once everyone is cleared out, he shuts the door with a quiet click but doesn't turn around.
“The information inside that file proves it’s Whit playing his fucked up mind games by having Taeler followed. Various emails back and forth between the two parties confirm it. It’s not much but enough fucking verification for me. But, now there’s more. Not only is Whit having Taeler’s and Randi’s movements tracked, but it seems the damn president joined in the game too recently.”
“What?” I growl between my clenched teeth, the muscles along my jaw twitching.
“Seems Whit has gathered information on her, having her followed from afar since… well, since she started the campaign, but Birmingham's reconnaissance started recently.” Turning from the door, I can't help but notice how tired my best friend looks. Puffy dark bags weigh under his eyes, and his normal steely expression appears more exhausted than mean. “As in since we landed here three days ago. She mentioned he didn't want her coming to the OPEC summit, but I just thought it was because he told her no and she went and did the opposite. But now?” He shakes his head and moves deeper into the room. Falling into the plush upholstered chair, he leans forward, balancing his elbows on his thighs, his head hanging. “Now I think it’s more than that. He's trying to keep her from something, and he's willing to put a hit out on her to do it.”
“The fuck?” I whisper-yell. “Did I hear you right?”
Tank nods. “The new information the Russians had is different than Whit's. Trey, that fucker wants her dead sooner than later.”
* * *
My clenched fist slams against the thick imported Italian wood door, demanding it to open. It swings forward, permitting a small gap for me to squeeze through with a bit of force. The childhood part of me feels guilty about bypassing Gerard without our usual happy greeting, but the rest of me doesn’t give a flying fuck. Storming through the ostentatious foyer, I march deeper into the house and pause.<
br />
“Where is she?” I demand, not turning to look at the old man, afraid of the disappointment I might find behind his caring eyes at my rude behavior.
“Entertaining,” he mumbles behind me. “Upstairs, master bedroom.”
Of course she is. When he says entertaining, I know for a fact that he isn't referring to my father.
Gerard calls out my name, but it’s lost to the pounding of my boots atop the polished cherry wood steps. Chest heaving from the mounting anger, I pause at the top of the stairs on the third floor, my focus narrowing on Mother’s bedroom door. Slowly I move down the hall, the sounds of shuffling and hushed voices slipping beneath the closed door. Forgoing any politeness, I shove my shoulder against the door as I push the lever down.
A sharp female gasp sounds through the massive room. Sheets clutched to her bare chest, Mother stares in horror while the man frantic to not be caught hurries to get one leg into his suit pants.
“Trey Carl Benson,” Mother screeches. “What are you doing?”
“We need to talk. Now,” I bellow. After a look of pure disgust at the man who just fucked my mother, I turn on my heels and march out of the room.
Oh hell. Maybe some of Randi's dramatics are rubbing off on me. What the hell did I just do?
I shudder at the image of Mother partially naked and the sleepy old guy standing terrified in his tighty-whities. No man should ever be exposed to that kind of horror. I'll probably be scarred for life—more than I already am, that is.
Gerard is nowhere to be seen when I hurry back down the stairs. The earlier guilt rises again, but I shove it down as I make my way through the maze of hallways to the sunroom. Pacing the row of floor-to-ceiling windows, I glance to the door every few seconds, anticipating Mother’s arrival so I can get answers and leave this hellhole. Being in this house does something to me, darkens my mood and maybe even my outlook on my future. With Randi, her positive nature—well, usually positive nature—the way she keeps fighting and striving for more bleeds over to me, making me feel the same. But all the anger, all the hate, the years of lies and deceit soak back into my soul with every second I'm here.
Power Twist: Power Play Series Book 2 Page 17