Power Play: Power Play Series Book 1

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  Power Play

  Power Play Series Book 1

  Kennedy L. Mitchell

  Edited by

  Hot Tree Editing

  © 2019 Kennedy L. Mitchell

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Created with Vellum

  To those who strive to be more than who they are today.

  You’re someone’s hero.

  Never lose that fight.

  Inspiration

  “In politics if you want something said, ask a man.

  If you want something done, ask a woman.”

  - Margaret Thatcher

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Also by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Trey

  January

  The big guy is overreacting, if you ask me.

  The annoying clicking of keyboards, chattering government employees in the nearby cube farm, and the scent of burnt coffee surround us as we march side by side through the hall toward the director’s office. We've been here enough times over the years that the desk jockey’s stares don't linger when they glance up from their glowing computer screens. Some of the visits were scheduled, typically follow-ups, while the others weren’t so mundane. I have the propensity to find my way into trouble if you ask our director.

  My best friend and team lead grunts out another string of curse words under his breath. I can’t help the smirk pulling up my lips in response to his pointed annoyance.

  I feel great about the stellar life choices I've made up to this point and have nothing to regret. Tank, on the other hand, is on the verge of blowing a gasket if the fiery red tint beneath his dark complexion is any indication. Needless to say, he's still pissed at me, even though I did the right thing. The man can hold a grudge, that's for sure. The incident happened well over twenty–four hours ago, yet he’s still pouting.

  “If we get fired, I'll murder you with my bare hands, drive your dead-ass body down to Florida, and feed you to the gators. I cannot believe you pulled that fucking stunt.”

  Yikes, he's cussing. Never a good sign. After this meeting with the director, I should get him something special to make it up to him. I would say a double cheeseburger, but then his wife, Sarah—love her, though I’m scared of her—will ride my ass for feeding him the processed abomination.

  I should pick up something for Rachel too. She was fuming yesterday when I told her what happened. No clue why, but damn, she was pissed. Is pissed. She wouldn't even talk to me this morning before I left. Whatever it is, we'll either figure it out or I'll apologize and buy her something pretty. That’s always worked in the past.

  “It'll all be fine like always. Just wait and see, buddy,” I mutter under my breath as his thick knuckles pound against the dark wood door separating us from the director’s office. “You worry too much.”

  “Worry?” He turns, facing me full-on. “You tackled the motherfucking vice president of the United States, you idiot.”

  I lift both hands, palms out, in surrender. “Listen, I don't mind you plotting my death and telling me about it in detail, but no name-calling. You know it hurts my feelings.”

  “Of course this is a joke to you. Everything is a damn joke.”

  On the other side of the door, a muffled female voice yells for us to come in.

  Hand on the cool metal knob, I give the flimsy door a push and pause with one foot over the threshold. “If we're going to fight like a married a couple, the least you could do is cook every once in a while, or at least put out,” I say over my shoulder with a smirk.

  A muttered string of curse words flies at my back as I step deeper into the director’s office and pause behind one of the two chairs. Damn, he's fun to rile up. You'd think I would be tired of it after all these years together, but nope, still fun as hell.

  Hands tucked in the pockets of my slacks and wearing my signature smirk, I wait for the director to acknowledge our presence. My cocky smirk has gotten me out of more trouble than not, it's worth a shot to see if it can work its magic on her today.

  “And what are you smirking about, Mr. Benson?” The director's pinched face peers up from the file flipped open on her desk. The tension in her tired eyes sobers me up a fraction. This could be more of a challenge than I initially expected. Still, not worried, it’s me we’re talking about here.

  “Nothing, ma'am,” I respond, still smiling. “You're looking lovely today. Did you do something to your hair?”

  “No.”

  “Something is different. You look ten years—no, make that twenty years younger.”

  “Cut the shit.” She grunts and rocks backward in her high-backed cheap leather chair. An ear-piercing squeak cuts through the otherwise quiet office. She winces as she adjusts, settling further into the leather cushions. “You know why you're here. Let's start with your side of the story, shall we?”

  “Short or long version?” I slide my hands out of the silk-lined pockets to grip the mundane office chair’s wooden frame in front of me.

  “For fuck’s sake.” Tank stiffens, his back going ramrod straight beside me, shocked at his outburst. Never one to break the rules, that one. It's why we get along so well—I bend the rules to my liking, and he does everything he can to keep me or anyone else from dying. It's fun. “Sorry, ma'am,” he apologizes with a slight dip of his head.

  The director pulls her thick plastic-framed glasses from her nose and tosses them onto the desk in front of her. “Might as well tell the long version, Mr. Benson. No doubt this will be entertaining.”

  “Of course.” I shift my attention to Tank. “Buddy, you should sit. You don't look so good.” It's the truth. His large bald head gleams with beaded sweat, and the buttons of his dress shirt pull taut with each of his deep breaths.

  The chair complains under his heavy weight as he sinks onto the stiff cushion. He looks like a cartoon, such a huge guy squished into a tiny chair. Tank's large size came in handy back in the day when he played college football and then went pro after those four years. Nowadays it's the perfect idiot deterrent when we're on the job. Anyone attempting to start shit takes one look at him and bolts in the opposite direction.

  “Go on, Mr. Benson. I don't have all day.”

  “Right, sorry, ma'am.” I clear my throat. “Yesterday we arrived at the VP's home, One Observatory Circle, for the start of our shift at eleven hundred hours. Nothing seemed out of place as we made our rounds outside. Inside we met with the beta team in the security office to cover the details of the previous shift: reviewing incident reports, any new threats, checking the VP's schedule for the day, things like that. Inside the security room, movement on one of the screens caught my attention. Zooming in, I recognized the room in question was the library, and inside was Vice President Nick and some woman. They seemed to be talking, but they were a little too
close for my liking. Something didn't feel right about the situation, so I left Tank, my team lead, in the security room to see what was going on. When I arrived, I found the door locked, which raised even more suspicion. A loud noise and a muffled shout prompted me to kick the lock and barge in. Once inside the library, I scanned the room, made a quick assessment of the situation, and felt the vice president was in danger, so I handled the situation.”

  “You tackled a sixty–year–old man,” the director says on an exhausted sigh. She seems to do this a lot with me. If she didn't like me so much, she would've canned my ass years ago. Having the Benson family name doesn't hurt either.

  “Did Vice President Nick submit a report regarding my actions?” I ask before correcting myself and adding, “Ma'am.”

  Her pointed annoyed glare says everything I need to know. Of course that limp dick of a bastard didn't write a formal complaint regarding my actions yesterday. I caught him red-handed sexually harassing the woman when I barreled into the library. The director knows all this too. She hates Vice President Nick as much as, if not more than, our team does. Something tells me his hand, along with many other slimeballs’ in this city, has found its way to her ass more than once.

  Fuck, I cannot wait until the next election. Can't get this asshole out soon enough. Not that the next guy will be any better. At this stage in anyone’s political career, they're all the same.

  “He didn't, which you know, or you wouldn't be smirking like a kid who robbed a candy shop and got away with it. But dammit, Trey, we can't have our agents tackling dirty politicians any time they feel they’re in the right.” She lets out an incredulous huff. “There wouldn't be anyone left in DC.” A small smile pulls at her lips before she purses them tight. “I've been directed to make an example out of you. Out of the entire team.”

  Tension tightens my shoulders. The cheap chair frame pops under my white-knuckle grip.

  Well, fuck. Did not expect this. Accountability? What the hell.

  “Gators,” Tank grumbles, shooting me a death glare.

  “Ma'am, it was my choice. Hell, the guys weren't even around to try and stop me.” I jab my middle finger against my breastbone. “Punish me, not them.” I may be an idiot at times, but my antics are my own. No way can I live with the team being canned because of my actions.

  “You're a team.” The chair squeaks again as she leans forward. “You're officially removed as alpha team for Vice President Nick.” Her hand juts out, stopping my rebuttal. My lips snap shut, my jaw clenching tight to keep from speaking out of turn. “Beta team will shift into the alpha spot, and Charlie team will replace beta team.”

  The reality of the situation drops like a lead weight in my gut. I suck in a breath in an attempt to keep a level head. “Ma'am, you know why I did it,” I grit out.

  Her deep forehead wrinkles smooth a fraction, sympathy seeping into her clear blue eyes. “I do understand, but that doesn't change the impact of your actions. This isn't like your previous antics. You attacked the vice president, and something has to be done.”

  “Where does that leave my team, ma'am?” Tank asks, voice solemn. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them, he drops his head forward.

  Double fuck.

  “As punishment, your team is now beta team's backup. When the primary elections are finished and the nonincumbent candidates are selected, you will then move back to alpha team for one of the delegates. Dismissed.”

  The primary election? Nonincumbent delegates?

  That's next fall, over a year from now.

  I draw in a breath, ready to protest and ask for leniency, but Tank's tight grip on my bicep hauls me toward the door.

  “Mr. Benson,” the director calls before I'm out the door. Adjusting my suit jacket I turn back toward the office. “The woman, did she press charges?”

  Hands fisted, I shove them deep into my pockets. A thick chunk of dark brown hair falls out of place, sliding across my forehead as I shake my head. “No, ma'am, just like the others. Tank tried to talk to her after, but she refused. Said she didn't want to risk her political career over a misunderstanding.”

  “Misunderstanding. Right.” She sighs, her unfocused gaze landing on the wall behind me. “One day I'd love for someone to stand up to these pricks.”

  The longing in her voice urges me deeper into the office. “Why don't you? You know exactly what goes on behind closed doors.” From harassment to bribes and dirty dealings, not to mention all the affairs going on amongst the small political circle, the director knows enough to take down half the men in this city. Then again, those secrets are how she landed this influential role in the first place.

  Her perfectly cropped blonde hair swings along her jaw. “No, not me. I'm too deep in this city. I wouldn't survive. Maybe someday someone will come along who doesn't have as much on the table to lose.”

  Who knows? One day someone could move into this town who still has some morals left and is ready to wreak havoc. But considering I enjoy living, I won't hold my breath for that person to appear any time soon.

  Chapter One

  Randi

  April

  No. Please no. Not today. I dip my head into the sink and look up into the still-dry spout.

  I'm on Candid Camera, aren't I?

  I glance around the trailer, waiting for someone to pop out and shout, “Gotcha.”

  Please tell me a friend is pulling a prank. Not that I have friends, but a girl can hope it's all a joke and her water isn't shut off the night before a court appearance. My one paying client needs me at her side tomorrow when the judge gives his final decision on the custody case I've worked on for months. Now I'll look like the low-rent attorney my fees depict me as being.

  I twist both the hot and cold knobs, the chipped plastic digging into my palms until neither can turn any farther.

  Nothing. Not a single drop.

  “No, no, no, no,” I groan as quietly as possible to not alert Taeler in the back of the trailer. Can't believe this is happening again. Yes, again. Because this is my reality, and it fucking sucks.

  Giving up on the hope that magic water will suddenly pour from the rusted spout, I drop both elbows to the kitchen counter and hold my head between my hands.

  Guess the check mix-up scam didn't work with the water company this month. I've pulled it enough times that it's no surprise they caught on to my creative bill paying—or not paying—tactics. I only need three more days. Three days until payday. But of course, some idiot set up a billing system that doesn't coordinate with standard pay cycles. I would file a complaint with the mayor, but said complaint would just end up on my desk.

  Yep, the mayor of Boone, Texas, won't have a shower before work tomorrow. Unless I suck up my pride to walk a few trailers down and use Mom's. Chills rake down my spine at the thought. Who knows who her boyfriend is this week, though not a single one is someone I want hanging around while I'm naked, even with a locked door between us. Plus, her place is disgusting, a literal pigsty. As in she has a pig living with her. In the trailer. One of Mom’s stupid-ass boyfriends gave her a miniature pig for a gift last year. Turned out it wasn’t so miniature but actually a normal size pig, Big Patty, who Mom still refuses to give away.

  Taking a small step back, I fall onto the couch. One benefit of a small single-wide is that everything is close. It's not the newest model—okay, it was born before me—but it's mine. Leaks and all.

  For now.

  Fuck, I don't want to think about that right now. I can't think about that right now. If I have to pay the fee to have the water turned back on, plus pay the electric bill on top of Taeler's monthly expenses, there might not be enough to make the full mortgage payment. Again.

  My eyes burn with the welling tears. This is my shit show of a life. The life everyone in this small town knew I'd one day grow into. “Once trailer trash, always trailer trash” in most people's minds around here. I'll never amount to anything, and nothing I can do will change that. Well, on that
front, yeah, I am proving them right. College and law school, yet I still ended up three trailers down from where I grew up. I like to pretend they aren't smiling behind my back because I'm proving them right each day I sink deeper into debt.

  “Mom?”

  The skin of my arm peels from my damp lashes as I slide it down. Blinking back the unshed tears, I raise both brows at Taeler.

  “Good, you're still up. I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

  I focus past her shoulder on the dry sink. “Being clean is overrated, right?” I mutter more to myself than to Taeler.

  “You are so strange, Mom,” Taeler says with a huff, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

  “Heads up, the water's off. Something must have happened with a line somewhere. I'm sure we'll be all good tomorrow.” Is it considered lying if you're attempting to hide your misfortunes from your kid? I'm going with no.

  I groan in utter exhaustion from life and pull myself upright. Puffs of dust and who knows what else float into the air as I pat the other cushion. With all the dramatics of a teen, she flops down beside me. I start to ask what she wanted, but her eyes are glued on the phone in her hand before I can get a word out.

  “Did you need something?” I nudge her shoulder with my own, fighting for attention.

  Her blue eyes bounce between me and the screen before clicking it off and setting it aside. Once, twice, then a third time she swipes her long blonde hair behind her ear.