* * *
Thank goodness it's not as cold here as it was in DC. This pleasant fall day at eighty–five degrees allows us to ride with the windows rolled down in the Suburban as we drive to Mom's. The change of clothes helped but not by much; the overpowering stench of stale smoke and body odor still wafts off her in waves.
The leather seat creaks as I lean forward to tap T on the shoulder. “It's your next right.” Through the windshield, I watch the sign for Green Meadows come into view. The G is missing, and Meadows now says dows, but hey, it’s home.
Was home.
T slows to make the turn but slides to a complete stop instead of turning into the run-down trailer park.
“Randi?”
“Yes, T. Here.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“Randi, this is a—”
“Run-down trailer park. I know this. Believe me, I know exactly what it is. I'm the one who grew up here, after all.”
“Here?”
“I thought we already covered that.”
Trouble chuckles in the seat beside me, making me smile. At least someone gets my humor. Grumbling under his breath, T eases his foot off the brake and turns the SUV into the entrance.
“Okay, it’s the third one on the left.” I crane my neck to see out the window as we pass a turnoff, hoping for a glimpse of my old trailer.
“What's down there?” Trouble asks, leaning forward to look through my window too. “Old boyfriend's house?”
“Um, no.”
“Then what? You were looking for something.”
I lift my hand toward my mouth and nibble on the thumbnail. “Mine.”
“Your what?”
“My trailer,” I whisper, then cut my eyes at him to gauge his reaction.
A deep line creases between his neat brown brows as his eyes flick from me to the window and back again.
Before I can ask what he's thinking, we pull to a stop. A pained groan fills the back of the car. Everyone tenses but doesn’t make a move. We're all probably thinking the same thing—maybe she'll pass back out.
No such luck.
Which shouldn't be a surprise. We are talking about my luck, after all. I thought my shitty luck changed when we won the damn primary, only to be painfully reminded the win locked me into an indebted contract with a dirty politician. Go me. Maybe if I wouldn’t have been so focused on proving myself to my haters I would’ve realized the bear trap I was walking right into.
Another groan with unintelligible mumbled words fills the third row. I pull my knees into my seat and press a cool cheek against the headrest. Glassy, bloodshot eyes blink up but don't focus.
How long will it take for her come down from a meth high? She’s always been an addict at worst, alcoholic at best, but she was a good mom. As good as she could be, I guess. Not great, but it could’ve been worse.
“Mom. You're okay. It's me, Randi. You’re home.”
A wet cackle rattles her chest, and I cringe back an inch. “Randi. I missed you, honey.”
Right, and a Texas summer isn't hot.
“Let's get her inside.” I turn to open the door but pause at Trouble’s eyes focused on me. “What?”
He shakes his head and throws the door open like it pissed him off somehow. Before I can do the same, mine opens on its own with T just outside the door. I nod in thanks and slide out to access the back seat where Mom’s laid out. Without a word, T reaches into the back and carefully slides Mom out, cradling her tiny frame in his arms.
Warm tears fill my lower lids as I stare at the two. His larger-than-life size dwarfing hers making her body look so tiny and frail.
My lips purse to keep the building emotions shoved down deep where they belong. Tonight I can break down. When I'm alone later, I can freak out and cry over the last twenty-four hours. Until then, I keep my shit together. No showing weakness.
“Okay, then,” I croak, the rising emotions stealing my voice. Dammit! Keep your shit together, Randi.
Dead grass crunches beneath my Converses as I turn to my old home and march for the front door. My stomach lurches into my throat when the first step cracks beneath my weight. Moving slower, I gingerly step onto the next wooden stair, testing it before putting my full weight on the rotting wood. “Good to know the money I've sent you has gone to good use,” I grumble.
I knew better then to send her money, but she’s my mom, and I had it, so I sent her some when she was in a bad spot. I clearly remember those ‘bad spot’ days, or years for me; I couldn’t turn her away empty-handed.
Stepping on the landing, I crack my neck and grasp the flimsy metal door handle. I pause, staring at the clouded window. What will the inside look like if the outside is the start of a horror film? The handle wiggles in my grasp. There’s a screech of rusted metal bending, and then the door flies open. Adrenaline explodes from my belly, shooting scorching heat through my veins. I curse, jolting back to keep the door from giving me tetanus. Losing my footing, I stumble back a step. Arms flailing, I take another step back, only to meet air instead of more rotten wood.
Swinging my arms in large circles, I attempt to fight gravity from taking me down.
But like always, that bitch wins.
Chapter Twelve
Randi
The air whistles from my lungs, my neck snapping back against something solid.
“Fuck.” A hot breath brushes through my hair, floating it across my face.
Heart in my throat, I take a breath and hold it to calm down before I stroke out. My entire body trembles, but I stay upright due to strong arms banded around my waist. A pleasant spicy scent hits my nose. Hmm, that smells nice. I take another deep whiff, my eyes rolling back in my head at the desire that sparks from the scent alone. To my credit, my odd behavior could be from aggravating last night’s head trauma by cracking it again on… wait, what did I crack it on?
Following the mix of citrus and cinnamon, I sniff the air a few times, following it until my nose smacks into a solid, suit-covered chest.
“Seriously?” A deep chuckle vibrates Trouble’s chest, tickling my own. “Did you just sniff me? Maybe we should get your head checked again.”
“Probably wouldn't be a terrible idea,” I mutter with my nose still buried in the soft fabric of his jacket. “Just one more sniff.”
“Baby!”
The magical bubble his scent surrounded me in bursts. His arm tightens a fraction before helping me step out of his hold to stand on my own. I turn, a snarl pulling at my lips at the man standing on the landing.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” I demand. My fingers curl into tight fists at my side. “Mom, what is he doing here? Did you call him baby?” My gaze doesn’t leave the piece-of-shit slimeball standing just outside Mom's trailer door. A sleazy smile spreads across his pockmarked cheeks, displaying what remains of his teeth—which isn't much.
“Well, I'll be fucking damned.” A shiver runs down my spine as realization dawns. “Shoulda known she'd get your skinny ass out of jail.”
“Ma'am?”
I reluctantly pull my attention from Jimmy, our small town’s main drug dealer, to T. Mom wiggles in his arms, attempting to get away, eyes only for Jimmy.
“This can't be happening,” I mutter. I gesture toward the ground for T to set her down. What other choice do I have? Make her come back to DC with me? Hell no. That town isn't ready for Mom's shit show life.
Her bare feet barely touch the ground before she wobbles toward the trailer, stumbling up the two steps only to fall face first on the landing. Jimmy chuckles as her frail arms give out under her light weight each time she tries to push up.
“Mom.” She ignores me. “Mom!” I shout and step closer to the trailer. A tight grip on my bicep prevents me from moving closer. Whipping around, I scowl at Trouble. “I need to help her.”
The shake of his head is barely noticeable. Eyes on the two addicts, he steps closer, putting his chest against my back. “Who is he?�
� The tension in his voice, the silent command, brings the whole situation into focus.
I glance around, looking at each of the agents. Everyone stands close, tension radiating off their stiff postures, hands at their hips in case they need their weapons quickly.
Shit, didn't think how this looks to them. To me it's a common scene. No doubt this is a first for them.
“Mom's new boyfriend, apparently. That’s Jimmy Caster, criminal and drug dealer.” A demanding throb pulses through my head. I tip my hat back and press both palms to my temples to ease the pain. It doesn't help.
“Damn, woman,” Jimmy says, drawing my reluctant attention back to him. Bile rises up my throat at the sight of Mom hanging on his bony shoulders, rubbing herself against his side. “Look at ya.” My back vibrates at Trouble’s low growl. “Come on inside and I'll show ya what you been missin' out on.” Mom giggles beside him. Fucking giggles. He tilts his head down to her. “If yer a good girl, maybe I won't tell everyone about your mama here.”
My stomach lurches. This time there's no stopping it. Squatting to the grass, I vomit the water and bits of food from the light breakfast on the plane.
Shit, this is bad.
“Get her out of here,” Trouble orders.
I don't fight it as I'm hauled up to a standing position and directed away from the trailer toward the Suburban. A blast of cold air at the open door has goose bumps pebbling my skin. A gentle hand presses against my lower back, urging me inside.
“I can't leave her like that,” I tell Gremlin as realization dawns. “I can't leave her with him.”
“We'll handle it, ma'am.”
“This can't get out to the press. Kyle will kill me,” I whisper.
“We’ll handle it.” A commotion draws my attention, but Gremlin stops me from looking around the door with a gentle hand to my cheek. “Sounds like Benson already is, ma'am. She'll be fine, but we need you safe, and that's inside here. Understand?”
I swallow down the lump clogging my throat. Do not cry, Randi. Not here. Not yet.
With a shaky nod, I climb inside the SUV and slide onto the soft leather seat. “Thank you.” Meeting his light blue eyes, I attempt a grateful smile.
I expect to see pity written across his face and in his gaze, but instead all I find is something like compassion. With a quick nod, he shuts the door, enclosing me inside alone. An agent stands on either side of the passenger doors while the rest of the team forms a short line, shoulders touching, blocking my line of sight to the trailer. After a few minutes of gnawing on my thumbnail almost to the quick, the line finally breaks apart. T and Trouble wear similar grim expressions as they approach the SUV, Gremlin following, while the other agents march to the second Suburban and file in.
I keep silent, my frantic gaze flicking between the three men as they climb in. Unseeing gaze focused on my clasped hands, I clear my throat, trying to ease the tension-filled quiet. Everything feels heavy. I need one hour alone to process it all.
“I want to stay overnight in Dallas.” My voice breaks from the lump of unshed tears in my throat. “We'll go home tomorrow.”
“Ma'am, Mr. Birmingham said—”
Anger washes away the pity party I was starting at the mention of his name. Snapping my gaze up, I meet T's dark sunglasses in the rearview mirror. “I don't give a fuck what Kyle wants right now. I need one night away, an hour alone to deal with all this shit. Do you realize what happened last night?”
“Someone tried to off you.”
I side-eye Trouble. “I was thinking about how I somehow won to potentially become the second most powerful person in the country, but yeah, toss me almost dying in there too. And this today.” I shake my head and immediately regret it. I squeeze my head between my palms, attempting to alleviate the throbbing. “I can't go back tonight. Plus, I have to figure out how to fucking keep Jimmy quiet and what to do with Mom—”
“It's taken care of.”
I shift in the seat, angling toward Trouble.
“What does that mean?”
“I made sure he understands the consequences if he speaks to the press.” His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, but his eyes won't meet mine.
“And that means what, exactly?”
“He beat the shit out of that fucker and told him worse would happen if he said anything about your mom.” My eyes widen at Gremlin's words. “Oh, and told him to stay away from your mom.”
“What the hell?” Too many conflicting emotions pour through me to decipher which one I actually feel. Happy, angry, sad, relieved.
Again, he shrugs.
“Look at me, dammit.” I smack his shoulder to get his attention. “Seriously?”
Only the barest outline of his eyes is visible through his dark sunglasses, but I know he's watching me.
“He was a threat to you, so we handled the situation.”
“Um, did anyone else throw a punch?”
He smirks and shakes his head.
“Then you handled the situation.” Pinching pain fills my lower lip as I bite down. “What about Mom? She'll just go right back to him, and I'll be back down here next week hauling her out of holding. Again.”
“Rehab.”
I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Been there, done that. It doesn't stick.”
“There are several good ones out in California. They have a higher success rate than others because of the long programs.”
I purse my lips and raise both brows high on my forehead. “You seem to know a lot about it. Been recently?”
Silence.
Interesting. Interesting indeed.
“I've looked into those before, but if I remember right, they were way too expensive for what I could afford,” I tell him.
“What about Birmingham?” All warmth from his features disappears at the mention of Kyle. “Won't he help you with your mom?”
I shake my head and turn to look out the window. “I don't want any more reason to be indebted to that asshole. I need to do this on my own.”
It would make life a lot simpler if I asked Kyle for the money, but what would he demand in return? I'm already in too deep as it is with him and his corrupt family.
“I'll figure it out,” I murmur to the glass. “I always do.”
* * *
The suite is ridiculous in the best way possible. Every surface shines while light sparkles around the room. Sweet vanilla mixed with jasmine fills my nose as I step deeper into the living room. I shift on my feet, staring at the floral carpet while attempting to keep the tears I've held for hours at bay for a few more minutes as the guys secure the room.
Absurd if you ask me. It's not like this was a planned stop. Deciding to stay overnight at The Ritz in downtown Dallas before flying out tomorrow was too impromptu for someone to plan a master assassination attempt. The guys fought me in the car, saying it would be best if we went on home tonight, but using my award-winning debate skills I won the argument.
Hopefully Kyle won't ream them for going against his direct orders. He’ll be furious with me, but I don't give two flying fucks. I need a hot bath, a Snickers bar, and no fewer than two boxes of tissue to get through the next hour. All these damn emotions need an outlet before I explode in a river of tears and a gooey mess of snot.
I never cry, but the previous twenty-four hours would get to anyone with a pulse.
“Clear,” T's booming voice echoes through the room.
Almost like my tears know relief is coming soon, two escape, slowly rolling down my hot cheeks. Gaze lowered, I race to the master bedroom. The fancy-ass door refuses to close quickly even as I shove on it, desperate for privacy. With only an inch to go, the sense of someone watching draws my attention. On the other side of the door, Trouble’s worried face fills the remaining small gap. His lips part, but the door clicks shut before he can get out a single word.
The worry and confusion shining from his light brown eyes snap the thin restraint on my rolling emotions. Tossing the ball cap to the bed, I fall t
o the floor not caring that I’m falling apart in the middle of the room. My ass hits the soft carpet. Knees tucked to my chest, I press my forehead to my thighs and let the tears flow.
Seconds. Minutes. Hell, maybe hours pass, but I don't move.
Something taps my shoulder startling me out of my hysteria. Peeling my forehead away from my jeans at a gentle touch on my shoulder, uncomfortable dark brown eyes watch from where T is crouched beside me. It's stupid, and so unlike me, but instead of pulling away from his comforting grip, I lean in to it. Happy-filled tingles spark from his touch. It's nothing like the heat and desire that coursed through my veins from Trouble’s, but still, the sense of support fills my heart with a friendly calm.
“You okay?” he asks.
Breaking his gaze, I rest my chin on my knees. A breath catches in my chest at the sight of Trouble, also in the room, perched on the edge of the large four poster bed.
“This won't be a thing, will it?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. The annoyed look on his face is almost believable if it weren't for the deep crease between his brows signaling the concern that lurks beneath the facade.
“And what would that be?” I sniffle and discreetly wipe my nose across my jeans in attempts to look somewhat presentable.
He waves in my direction with a pointed look to my tear smeared face. “The crying.”
“For fuck’s sake, Benson.” Pure exasperation fills T's tone.
A genuine laugh tickles my chest, making the tears slow. “Fuck, I hope not. But if every day for the next couple months or worse four years is like the last twenty-four hours, I can't give you any promises.” My teeth sink into the nail of my pinkie. “It won't be, right?”
Both men huff. “Sure as hell hope not. It's been a day of firsts for us too.”
“Does that mean I win some kind of prize?”
“For what?” Trouble asks, his signature sexy smirk on full display.
“Being the biggest mess in the shortest amount of time.” I flick my gaze between the two men. “Come on. I deserve something for adding some excitement to your mundane lives, right?”
Power Play: Power Play Series Book 1 Page 11