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

by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  “Laying it on thick, aren’t you?” he grumbles. Using my shoulder, I hold the phone to my ear as I dig into the front pocket of my jeans and slide the half-gone cigarette pack and lighter out. “Thought you were quitting?”

  My lips spread around the butt between them as I light the end. Only after a couple deep inhales do I respond. “Soon.” Closing my eyes, I rest my head back against the rear window.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand tall as a sensation of foreboding washes over me.

  “Don’t do anything stupid.” The line goes dead in my ear, but I don’t drop the phone. Instead I continue to talk into it like there’s still someone on the line.

  “Yes, of course, we can do that position again tonight, baby. Yeah, you screaming my name was music to my ears too.” Okay, maybe this is a little thick, but Tank and Smith didn’t tell me I couldn’t exaggerate a little while playing prey. “In fact, later I want you to recite the oath while I—”

  The distinct click of a slide engaging catches my ear, cutting off my next words. I peek one eye open, the late morning sun bright as it pours through the open gaps of the parking garage. A shadow moves to my right. Peeling the other eye open, I flick the spent cigarette to the cement and extinguish the glowing ember with the heel of my shoe.

  I shove the phone into my back pocket and frantically scan the row of luxury cars. Somewhere in the distance, the clink of a bottle rolling down the slope of the ramp cuts through the stiff silence.

  “Hello?” I say to no one as I scan the parking garage again. My face drops as my hands connect with the soft cotton of the T-shirt instead of the hard grip of my gun. The gun that’s in the center console four feet away. “Fuck,” I mutter.

  A familiar figure steps from the recessed shadows cast by a thick support column.

  My eyes narrow at the gun casually hanging at his side.

  “What are you doing here?” I snag another cigarette, hands slightly shaking, taking three attempts to light the end before I’m successful. Little does this fucker know it’s adrenaline and not fear that’s causing the tremor. Adrenaline, blood lust, the need to murder… yeah, we’re going with adrenaline.

  “Cut the damn act,” Ponder chides. “You know I was behind it all. You and those dumbasses have been tracking me—unsuccessfully, I might add.”

  “What’s your plan now? Kill me, then go after her again?”

  He leans his head one way and then the other like he’s considering the options. “She was a job. Which I completed by delivering her unharmed and helping keep her… compliant.”

  “Until Whit changed tactics on you.” I release a billow of smoke and cock my head to the side. At least that’s what Randi thinks. She clearly remembers him being against forcing himself on her, and that’s why he left without finishing the job. “Who would’ve thought someone like you has standards.”

  He purses his lips. “I’m a killer, not a rapist. Then the fucker went and crossed me by taking you. You did me a favor killing him that night, saved me the trouble.”

  “You kill all your clients?”

  “Just ones who have the potential to double-cross me or who actually do. The latter don’t live long.”

  “And Rosen?”

  The man huffs, using the barrel of the gun to scratch an itch along his scalp. “He was as weak as they come. That wasn’t the first time he ordered a hit for someone else. I fucking hate middlemen.” The loathing in his hard tone lays truth to the statement.

  “So what now? You plan to kill me, then her, and then escape to….” I wave a hand in front of me, indicating for him to finish the statement.

  “Just you.”

  Both my brows rise up my forehead. “The other client with a hit on the president won’t be happy about that, will they? I didn’t figure you as the type of sociopath who’d go back on his commitments.”

  The roar of a car engine fills the garage. We both tense as a white compact car from the level above rounds the corner, its tires squealing as it takes the tight turn. Ponder slips the hand with the gun behind his back and nods to the driver as he passes. If anyone were to see us, they’d think we were simply neighbors having a nice chat in the garage.

  “You’re personal. All the contracts on that bitch are voided considering most are incarcerated or dead. So now it’s just you and me.” He frowns at my empty hands. “I was hoping for more of a fight, but I have a plane to catch.”

  My pulse races as he slides the hand with the gun forward and raises it, pointing the end of the barrel right between my eyes. Sweat beads and drips along my forehead, catching in the dark scruff I was too lazy to shave off this morning.

  A sharp whizzing noise zaps through the air milliseconds before Ponder’s head explodes. Blood, brain matter, and bits of skull spray along the cement and splatter the windows and trunks of nearby cars. I watch as his body crumples in slow motion.

  A warm breeze wafts through the wide open-air gap between the cement barrier and the next level. I let out a sharp whistle and stroll toward the dead assassin. Stopping just outside the growing puddle of blood, I toss the spent cigarette into it, watching as the sticky liquid quickly douses the ember and the filter absorbs all it can until it’s as red as the ground.

  My ass vibrates. I smirk around the new cigarette between my teeth, waiting until I’ve taken a few hits before slipping the phone free. Swiping the screen, I immediately hit the speaker button and hold it close to my lips.

  “Cleanup on level 3.”

  “Funny.”

  I huff and take another deep inhale, allowing the repetitive motions to calm my nerves.

  “That was closer than I expected. What took you so long?”

  “Took me so long?” Smith’s voice drips with indignation. “We’re four buildings over, the wind is gusting outside, and I had a four-foot break between levels to shoot through. All in all, I consider what I did fucking quick.”

  I snort and take another drag. “Fine, color me impressed. Where’s Tank?”

  “On his way to you.”

  “Thanks for making the shot.”

  “Told you I could.”

  Shaking my head, I end the call. Even with the man who was out for my blood dead at my feet, anxiety rushes through my veins. One down, how many more to go?

  Lost in thought, I roll the filter along my lower lip.

  One question keeps going through my mind.

  Now what?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Randi

  August

  The grainy sand seeps between my toes as I race down the beach like I’m being chased.

  Because I am.

  Adrenaline races through my veins and blood thunders in my ears as I push harder, urging my legs to move faster. Sand flies behind me in my wake, hopefully giving my pursuer a mouthful of it and hindering their ability to get close enough to snatch me.

  My skin tingles with the awareness that someone is close. Too close. The muscles of my thighs protest, my legs feeling like noodles, but the flickering light of my destination urges me past the pain. Huffing, I pump my arms harder and fight the need to sneak a glance over my shoulder.

  Dark shadows move along the beach. Massive shadows. I smile despite the air wheezing from my chest.

  Twenty feet.

  Almost there. I can make it.

  Fifteen feet.

  The pounding of another set of feet slapping the sand seems much closer than before.

  Ten feet.

  An arm snakes around my waist, hauling me backward. I scream in frustration as my back collides with the still warm sand and a massive body straddles my hips.

  Wet dark hair glistens in the moonlight. The house security lights cast a shadow over the body, making it impossible to see the expression on the man’s face.

  “You’re going to pay for that, Mess.”

  Somehow even with my labored breaths and zero energy to even blink, I laugh. Trey’s thighs tighten around my hips when I try to buck him off. Halfhe
artedly, I slap at his chest and shove at his shoulder in an attempt to get him off me.

  His large hand snags one of mine before it can smack his bare chest a third time, then the other just as easily. Leaning at the waist, he holds both my wrists in one hand and digs them into the sand above my head.

  Desire warms my lower belly, making me squirm beneath him, this time with zero hopes of dislodging the delicious weight settled over me.

  “Is that any way to treat your husband?” he chides, but there’s a hint of laughter in his voice. He twists to talk to the four agents behind us, dousing his face in the light. Just as I expected, a smile graces his face, those fine laugh lines crinkled at the edges of his eyes.

  “You’d already jumped off the cliff once and said it was fun.”

  “You pushed me.” He laughs, turning his full attention back to me. “Then ran.”

  “You said you wanted to race home.”

  “Together. Race home together.”

  “How’s that fair?” I grumble.

  “We have twenty-four hours to celebrate our honeymoon, baby. Is this really how you want to spend it?”

  Yes, I want to scream. Don’t get me wrong, I love us making love, the sweet and gentle stuff. But I love our frustrated, angry, punishing fucks just as much. Hell, maybe even more. And with us being on the campaign trail and me still running a country, that hasn’t been on the menu as of late.

  And I really, really, really want it to be.

  I bite my lower lip and nod.

  Understanding washes over his face as he sits up, bringing my wrists up with him. Looping them around his neck, Trey dips his head, pressing those wet lips against my ear. I shiver as his breath sends goose bumps flaring down my neck.

  “If you wanted a good hard fuck, all you had to do was ask, baby.”

  “Trey,” I gasp as his teeth sink into my earlobe.

  Before I can beg, we’re off the sand and I’m cradled against his chest. Bits of sand dig into my exposed thigh and stomach where our bare skin rubs together as he strides toward the infinity pool. As he leaps up the steps like he’s not carrying a grown woman in his arms, I take in our surroundings.

  For twenty-four hours, this place is ours. Only ours. A private beach, far away from the media or any watching eyes. It’s not much of a honeymoon, but let’s be honest, it wasn’t much of a wedding, much to every woman in America’s disappointment. A simple white dress—yeah, yeah, I know it was silly to wear white. I obviously wasn’t a virgin considering I had living proof running around with her own tiny human to care for. Trey was in one of his sexiest suits, and the justice of the peace. Of course he came to us at the house instead of us having to go through the downtown area of Honolulu, which was nice. Plus with T and the rest of the secret service team by our side we had plenty of witnesses as we signed the marriage certificate.

  The moon’s reflection shimmers on top of the pool water. Trey stops just at the edge, his toes hanging over the tile. This close to the house, the lights offer a clear view of his face. The face that now wears a mischievous grin and highlights the sparkle in his honey brown eyes.

  “Oh no you—”

  The bastard does exactly what I suspect. My sharp squeal is immediately cut off as we plunge into the cool pool. Trey’s grasp tightens around me as he shoves off the bottom, rocketing us back to the surface. I gasp in a deep breath and turn, swiping the soaking hair from my eyes to glare at my gorgeous husband.

  Gorgeous doesn’t do him justice. There’s a playfulness about him always, but then there’s this glimmer of intense badassery.

  Badassery. That’s a word, right?

  “The art of being badass?”

  Trey’s laugh brushes over my shoulder as he swims us to the edge. “I like where your head’s at, Mess.”

  At the edge, he walks us down to the shallow end of the pool. I sink a bit when he releases his hold before finding my footing and standing so my upper half is exposed to the night air. The sound of rushing water snaps my attention back to Trey, who’s pushed himself out of the pool and is now sitting on the deck, legs spread.

  Nail between my teeth, I move to stand between his spread thighs and rest my hands on either side of his hips.

  Without breaking eye contact, Trey calls out to Tank, “I’ve got her covered. You guys make yourself scarce. And turn off all the motherfucking lights, would you?”

  Tank grumbles something in return, but I don’t pay him any attention.

  One by one, the overbearing spotlights the guys had set up for security around the property wink out. The last one to flicker off is the one by the pool. The last thing I see before we’re doused in complete darkness is Trey’s smirking face.

  The sudden darkness takes my breath away. Within seconds my eyes adjust to the low light coming from the house and the soft blue illumination of the pool from the underwater light.

  Callused hands grip my biceps. When Trey’s lips brush over the shell of my ear, a soft chuckle tightens my lower belly.

  “Come on, wife. Let’s play your dirty games out here.” Teeth sink into my earlobe, and I jerk in surprise, then lean harder into him. “Then we’ll go upstairs and play mine. I think you’ll enjoy the… additions I purchased for our twenty-four-hour honeymoon.”

  I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

  Additions.

  Fuck, I hope they hurt so good.

  Damnit. There really is something wrong with me.

  A content sigh pushes past my lips. Shifting around, I plant a soft kiss on his shoulder and relax against him. For the first time in months, I’m… content. The worries of the world—not exaggerating—aren’t swarming my thoughts and spiking my ever-present anxiety. No thoughts of the campaign, of upcoming debates, the election this fall. Nothing as I stare up at the beautiful star-filled sky while curled against the man I love. Well, nothing except for the “additions” Trey mentioned earlier. Those sound fun. But that will come later. Right now, this is exactly where I want to be.

  “I wish we could do this every day,” I whisper.

  “We can. Just say the word. Neither of us has to work another day, but I know you’d hate it.” His breath pushes over my damp shoulder. A quick nip of his teeth to my neck causes a giggle to tickle my chest.

  I pause, debating if his words hold any truth.

  He’s right. I’d hate it. After working my entire life, fighting for more, I’d hate a leisurely lifestyle of doing nothing. But for twenty-four hours? Hell yes.

  For several minutes we stay like this, his fingers finding my wet hair and playing with the ends as we let the moment envelop us in peace.

  “Will it ever be easy?” I ask the night, not expecting Trey to respond to my deep thought.

  “No. It won’t.” Unease curls in my gut. “But we knew that going into this, Mess.” He grips my chin to turn my face toward his. “I didn’t ask you to marry me because I thought it would be easy. I didn’t say ‘I do’ because I had false ideas of how the next four years will go when you win.” I smile at the “when” instead of “if.” “It will be tough. We’ll have to fight for us every fucking day. I’ll remind you when you’re taking too much on and need to lean on those around you. In return, you’ll let me know when I’m being an arrogant ass.”

  “So daily. You’re saying I’ll remind you daily.”

  A burst of giggles and snorts escapes when he digs his fingers into my side, wiggling them between my ribs and tickling the hell out of me.

  “We’ll have to fight for time together. But I promise you this, Randi, I won’t ever stop fighting for you. Fighting for us. Every day I’ll wake up ready to battle for what we have, and I know, I know you will too. We’ve been through shit together and made it through. What’s forever compared to all that?”

  His tentative smile and those honest words chase away all fears that have been my ever-present company since he slid that rock on my finger. Leaning close, I seal my lips to his and pour every ounce of love that’s gushing in my
heart and soul into him.

  Sealing our battle plan for us with a kiss.

  We will make it through this shit show called life.

  He’s right. We will fight for each other—for us—every day.

  Because I’ve never failed in my life, and I sure as hell don’t plan to start with him.

  My name’s Randi Benson, and I will fight for him with all I have, no matter the cost.

  Forever.

  Epilogue

  Trey

  March the following year

  My whistling tune is off pitch and rhythm, sounding nothing like the “Jeremiah was a Bullfrog” song I was aiming for. Not that it matters. There’s no one around to hear my awful rendition. It’s been seven months since I married the unlikeliest president and the love of my life, four months since we won the election, and almost two and a half since she was officially sworn in for her second term as president.

  I round a corner. A younger agent I recognize catches sight of me and stands a little straighter.

  With a smile, I stride past the kid and continue toward the Oval Office.

  The sounds of a bustling office grow louder the farther I stray from the resident side. Men and women discuss world events loudly on one side of the hall while the other side is too focused on their zillion-line spreadsheets to even notice anyone else is around.

  Blake, Randi’s chief of staff, offers a sharp nod as I pass and then continues railing on whoever he’s on the phone with. I take a sharp corner, colliding with someone, their iPad jabbing into my sternum.

  “Oomph,” I grunt. On reflex I reach out and grab hold of the person I nearly flattened to keep them from tumbling to the ground like their iPad.

  A string of creative murmured curses reaches my ear. I chuckle as the woman rips her thin arms from my hold and narrows her eyes up at me. Holding up both hands in surrender, I take a step back, giving her some space. The mix of fear and loathing at my proximity has me curious. Obviously she doesn’t recognize me or she’d know I’m no threat to her.