Power Play: Power Play Series Book 1

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  Eyes still glued to the TV, I say, “Fill me in. Now.”

  “The investigation is ongoing. We don't know what happened,” the hot agent says. You'd think his words would agitate me more, but the concern with a hint of frustration in his voice is soothing. “Not a well-thought-out plan, but still, whoever did this probably thought they could scare you out of continuing on to the general election.”

  “Up till this point, it's been protesters, a few things tossed on stage or toward me during a rally. Nothing violent. Whoever is behind this upped their game tonight.” I tear my focus from the TV and attempt a smile. “Convenient that you and your friends were already here though. Thank you. I really didn't want to die tonight.”

  “Agents, not friends. And we were already here prepared to receive you after the party. I talked to the team lead while you were with the doc, and it seems there was some kind of communication breakdown. We were told the security team who's been with you up till this point would hand you off here at the condo. Instead, most were dismissed earlier today, and then the final few were told they were done after the party.”

  “Is my concussed brain confused or does that sound fishy? Do I have to keep you? The team, that is.”

  “Yes, ma'am. We’re here to stay.”

  The room goes fuzzy as my eyes struggle to maintain focus. The daunting weight of the entire night's events settles on my shoulders. Exhaustion swoops in, draining the last bit of energy reserve I have left.

  “I think I need a quick nap,” I murmur. The bed dips under my hands and knees as I crawl up to the top but collapse before I can slide between the sheets.

  “That's not a great decision.”

  “Just a few minutes, Trouble,” I say on a yawn. Damn, I'm tired. The past few months—hell, few years—feel like they've finally caught up with me.

  “Trouble?”

  I smile into the pillow at the confusion in his voice. Maybe having these guys around won't be so bad after all.

  “I can see it,” I say and snuggle deeper into the soft bed. “You're trouble. I just know it. But don't worry. So am I.”

  He mutters something I can't make out, but I don't care. Just a few minutes of sleep; then I'll be good to go.

  The last thought that slips through my mind before oblivion sinks in is the hope that he’s still here when I wake up.

  Chapter Eight

  Trey

  A swirl of conflicting emotions and indecipherable thoughts floods through my mind. What in the hell happened during the last hour? My gaze wanders up and down her robed body, inspecting each inch, hoping to find the sign to help me understand her. To say I was floored when she stepped out of the bathroom earlier is an understatement. Curled on her side, the potential VP's breathing evens out, and her shoulders relax further into the mattress. During the primaries and televised debates, she seemed plastic, too perfect. But the woman lightly snoring on the bed is the definition of real perfection. The no makeup, wet hair, and glasses look is one most women wouldn't dare pull off even in the privacy of their own home.

  But not this woman, this Randi lady.

  I narrow my eyes on her relaxed face, skimming down to focus on her slightly parted plump lips.

  “What in the hell do you think you're doing?” Tank whisper-yells from the doorway.

  I jolt like I’ve been caught doing something inappropriate, and my gaze flicks to the floor. “Nothing. She fell asleep. Just monitoring her like that doc told us to.”

  I glance over to Tank, whose eyes are on sleeping beauty. She mutters something unintelligible and rolls to lie on her back. I look back to her, trying and failing not to notice the bare skin of her toned calves.

  Tank clears his throat, dragging my attention back to him.

  “You want me to take over?” he asks.

  I wave a hand, declining his offer. “I'm good.” Nodding to the soft armchair in the corner, I say, “I'll wake her up in an hour.”

  Tank’s large bald head tilts to the side. Shit, I know that look.

  “Odd, don't you think?” he muses. “Earlier tonight, you were complaining about this gig, and now here you are offering to watch while she sleeps.”

  My shoulders rise and fall in an exaggerated shrug. “Just doing my job, you nosy shit. Nothing else.”

  “Right.” He drags out the word, making it clear he doesn’t believe me. “We're in the next room piecing shit together. Let me know if you need me.”

  I track him until his back disappears through the door and it clicks shut behind him. Like a magnet drawn to metal, my eyes shift back to the woman on the bed. I startle when they meet her half-open hazel ones.

  “You wouldn't happen to have any water on you, would you?” she whispers like every word hurts.

  I nod and point to her side table. “Bottle is beside you, along with some meds the doctor approved you to take for the headache.”

  “Headache doesn't even begin to describe the death metal concert going on up there.” A pained gasp pushes past her lips at her attempt to sit up. “Fucking hell.” She groans before giving up on her water quest and lowering back to the bed. “It's like the worst hangover ever but without all the fun and poor decisions from the night before.”

  I open my mouth to say something sarcastic, but her wide eyes flick to mine just as a slight green tint washes over her face.

  “Shit,” I grumble. I race to the bathroom, my steps pounding against the soft carpet. I skid to a stop along the tile and grab the first trash can I lay my eyes on. Emerging from the bathroom, I lunge for the side of the bed just as she leans over and vomits.

  “You should've left me in the damn car.” Another wave of nausea causes her to curl into a tight ball as she dry heaves into the metal bin. Tears streak down her pale face, drawing attention to the light scattering of freckles that adorn the skin along her cheekbones.

  All my smartass remarks—hell, even my annoyance at the woman, which has grown every day since she first appeared in DC—evaporate at her weak state. The metal of the bin digs into my fingers as I adjust my grip to hold it in one hand. With the other, I gather her long dark hair into a tight bundle at the nape of her neck to keep it away from her face.

  After a few more heaves into the bin, she waves a weak hand and falls back into the pillows. Sweat glistens on her forehead, and a pain-laced grimace scrunches her features. I set the metal can beside the door to take out later and return to the bathroom to find a towel.

  Her eyes are closed when I return but flutter open when I place the cool, wet washcloth along her forehead. For a minute, we stay in the cocoon of comfortable silence. Something in her eyes pounds at the thick walls I've built, telling me to reconsider my prejudgment of her. Before I fall further under her spell, I step back from the bed, snagging the bottle of water off the nightstand.

  “Here.” I crack the seal and hold it out over the bed.

  “Thanks.” The slight tremble in her hand as she reaches for the bottle doesn’t go unnoticed.

  What the hell am I doing? I roll my eyes at the concern and worry building in my chest, constricting my airway. She's fine, or she will be. Why the hell do I care anyway? She's the job, and she's with that fucktard Birmingham. She's just like them, all of them, and that's why I have to keep my distance. Even if she is beautiful. And somehow funny while in pain.

  “Anything new about tonight?” she mumbles after a long, deep gulp from the bottle.

  “Small sips or you'll get sick again. And try to sit up more.” Her hazel eyes flick to mine, and a confused look lashes across her face. “No, I haven't heard anything new. I've been in here since you passed out on me.”

  Her dramatic eye roll looks painful. “I didn't pass out. I rested my eyes for a few minutes. It's been a long night okay.”

  “Nothing like almost getting killed to ruin an evening,” I say dryly.

  “Right,” she groans in agreement. “Not that the party was any better. What a waste of money.” Turning on her side, she tucks the edge
s of the robe together, covering almost every inch of her legs, and snuggles deeper into the pillow. “What's up with the small food at those things? Is it not okay to eat anymore?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, I had to eat like a hundred balls to—”

  “Balls?” I raise my dark brows in question while attempting to hold back the laugh that wants to erupt. “You ate a hundred balls? Busy night.” This time I don't mask my smirk.

  Her eyes narrow before widening. “Didn't expect that.”

  I sink into the armchair opposite the bed. “Expect what, exactly?”

  “You being funny. You seem more like a jackass with a chip on his shoulder.” A sly smile tugs at the corner of her lips. She knows she's testing me, and for some reason, I’m enjoying it.

  “And you seem more like a power-hungry political lackey who's willing to do anything, or anyone, to get what you want.”

  “I'm no one's lackey,” she grits out, all humor fading into resentment.

  Huh, that's the part she points out. Interesting. “Sure you aren't, puppet.”

  “We're done here. My head hurts,” she deadpans, never dropping my gaze. Shit, if her gorgeous eyes could throw daggers, I'd be dead. “Leave. Now.”

  The soft fabric of the chair presses into my palms as I push against the armrests to stand. After fixing my suit jacket, I tuck both hands into my pants pockets and return her hate-filled stare.

  “Don't think you can fool me, sweetheart. I see right through you.”

  “Might want to get your eyes checked, asshat.” The edge of her left lip curls up in a snarl, but even still, she’s a knockout. “But it's a good thing I don't give two shits what you or any of your little buddies out there think because—”

  “Everything okay in here?” Tank’s deep voice booms through the room, cutting the tight tension in the air.

  Eyes still locked on mine, both of us vying for dominance, she hitches her chin. “Besides my pounding head, nausea worse than morning sickness, and this jackass pissing me off, yeah, it’s just sunshine and unicorns in here.”

  I stifle a smirk as Tank covers his laugh with a fake cough.

  “Right. Um, the nausea the doc said to expect that from the concussion, but you mentioned morning sickness. Any chance you're also….”

  “Also what?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief when her annoyed gaze slides to Tank. Shit, that woman can hold her own.

  “Pregnant, ma'am.”

  An undignified snort echoes through the room. I chuckle with a shake of my head in disbelief. Who in the hell is this woman?

  “No, absolutely not. You have to have sex for that to happen, if you believe my seventh-grade sex ed teacher.”

  My eyes meet Tank’s, both of us clearly confused.

  “Not that it did Mary any good, am I right?” she says with another snort. “Damn, I miss sex. Even boring, handsy sex would do at this point.”

  “Um… uh…,” Tank stammers.

  I bark out a quick loud laugh as his dark skin glows with a red tint.

  “Not with you, Terminator. I see that ring on your finger. It's the first thing I noticed, that and your pretty shiny head and muscles.” Her mouth stretches with a wide yawn. “And not Trouble either, unless he agrees to wear a ball gag.”

  “The fuck?” I say on a pushed breath.

  “Night night, ladies,” she mutters into her pillow as her eyes close. “I'm not good at this sleepover stuff, but next time I need wine and Golden Girls. ’Kay? ’Kay.”

  The second the last word is out, her body relaxes as she passes out cold.

  I shake my head, completely dumbfounded, as Tank and I exit the room. We leave the door open a sliver to make sure we can hear her if she wakes up again.

  “What in the ever-loving hell was that?” Tank asks, eyes wide in shock. “I couldn't keep up with the conversation, could you?”

  “Barely. Did she call us ladies and say we were having a sleepover?” The wall shudders when my back slams against it. I pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to ease the pressure building behind my eyes. “How in the hell is she potentially our next VP?”

  “She called me Terminator.” A hint of awe clouds his tone, making me look across the room to where he's perched on a barstool.

  The rest of the team ignores us as they type away on laptops and phones. I survey the room. Gremlin is nowhere to be found. Must be stationed in the hall.

  “What was that about needing sex?” That gets the guys’ attention. The low murmur and clicking of keys from earlier halt.

  “Is there a signup sheet?” Champ offers from where he sits on the floor, laptop balanced on his knees. “I don't care if she is his sloppy seconds.”

  A collective growl vibrates through the room at the mention of him. No one except Shawn is more conniving, degrading, and overall a fucking bastard than Kyle Birmingham.

  “No signup sheet,” Tank barks. All humor melts from the room. “She hit her head, probably had no idea what in the hell she was saying. It's business as usual for us. We learn as much as we can about the attack tonight, and we do our job. You will respect her, you will protect her, and you will treat her like every other man that has come before her. Nothing changes. Got it?”

  A resounding “Yes, sir” rumbles through the small room.

  A drop of guilt settles in my gut. No way in hell is this business as usual. I will respect her, I will protect her, but treat her like every old fart who’s been under our protection? Not a chance. First of all, I never had to deep breathe to stay focused on the job instead of their legs or had the urge to verbally spar with one just to hear what they'd say next.

  No, this time it's different.

  Hell, maybe I'm even different.

  Maybe—

  The door flies open, slamming against the wall and cutting off my thoughts. Tension consumes the room as Birmingham steps over the threshold. His cold eyes sweep across the team before settling on me. A condescending smirk rises up his prick face.

  “Didn't see you with your parents tonight at the party.”

  I shrug, faking casualness when all I really want is to punch the slimy smirk off his Botoxed face. “Working.”

  “Ah, that's right. Sometimes I forget where you landed after you couldn't take the pressure of the game.”

  “Whatever you want to tell yourself, asshole.”

  The entire team snickers. I watch with pure joy and fascination as the tips of Kyle's ears redden.

  “Show some respect, or I'll try you for treason after I win,” he seethes. “Or maybe I'll torture you with the entertaining sex tapes Shawn and—”

  Without thinking of the consequences, I lunge. Two anaconda arms wrap around my chest, hauling me backward before my swing can connect.

  Rage burns through my veins, igniting my skin. With an arrogant laugh, he saunters to the bedroom door. Hand on the knob, he turns back to face me, his features hardening to stone.

  “I've fucked that tight pussy so many times my dick is imprinted in her cunt. She's mine, so don't even think about touching my new favorite toy.”

  Fists at my side, I clench them tight and seal my lips to keep from responding.

  “Good boy. And they say old dogs can't learn new tricks.” He shoves the door open and steps into the bedroom.

  Staring at the now closed door, I inhale a deep breath, mentally erasing every fucking emotion that woman conjured in me tonight. I erase the idea of thinking she's different than every woman I've ever met. A fucking liar. I should've known.

  Turning, I yank open the front door. Gripping Gremlin's collar, I pull him into the condo and slam the door shut, leaving me alone in the hallway. Hands on my knees, I take several deep breaths, evening out my pulse and diminishing the boiling anger.

  But hours later the bitter taste of disappointment hasn’t faded.

  Chapter Nine

  Randi

  A cold, fear-laced shiver pulls me from a light sleep. Eyes closed, I wrap both a
rms around my chest to fend off the uneasy energy that’s settled over my room. Something icy wraps around my ankle, slowly sliding my heel across the duvet, putting distance between it and the other. Behind my closed lids, my eyes twitch. The steady pulse in my head makes it impossible to gather enough energy to open my eyes.

  “Get up, Walmart,” a familiar deep voice says, cutting the ties the darkness had over me.

  With a gasp, I bolt upright, eyes frantically searching the room before settling on Kyle at the end of the bed, one hand around my left ankle while he brushes his fingertips up and down my bare calf with the other. Another fear-filled shiver rattles through my body, shaking my shoulders and sending flairs of pain into my brain.

  “Kyle,” I rasp. Damn, my throat fucking hurts. Without taking my eyes off the pervert, I grapple for the bottle of water on the nightstand. My stiff fingers wrap around the thin plastic, the crackling sound piercing the heavy silence. “What are you doing here?”

  “We seem to have a problem, you and I.”

  The room temperature water slides down my parched throat as I gulp the remnants in the bottle.

  “The fact that someone tried to kill me tonight?”

  His grip around the ankle tenses, signaling his annoyance. A creepy, sinister smile spreads across his lips. I press up to my elbows, putting my back against the headboard.

  “That is unfortunate, but I did warn you this would be dangerous.”

  “I thought people would make fun of me for using the wrong fork or some shit like that, not try to kill me!”

  “Well, now you know. Now, the issue I left my date tied to the bed for.”

  The soft skin of my palm smacks against my lips in a desperate attempt to keep my stomach contents down.