Power Play: Power Play Series Book 1

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  What in the hell is Trey doing under the table? I tilt my head in question, but he shakes his. Hmm, he'll tell me later, then.

  I shift my focus back to the sweaty Mr. Hindle. The air of power and influence is gone, his older age showing as his skin pales.

  “You're correct, nothing will hold up in court.” His brows rise and a flush of life spreads back into his gaunt face. “But that wasn't what I was going for. You see, I've noticed that in today’s social media society, justice doesn't mean anything. One slip of the voice recording leaked on the internet, one accusation, and poof, someone is guilty in everyone’s opinion before the case ever sees a courtroom. Trial by Twitter. It’s a thing.” His shoulders round as the truth in my words sink in. “Do you care what the public thinks of you? What about that beautiful young wife of yours? Oh, and your five kids. What would they think if they heard daddy dearest demanding sexual favors in exchange for money?” I click my tongue and tilt my head. “And the watching part? That's dark.”

  “What do you want?” he bites out, holding as still as a statue.

  Seriously, does Trey have this guy’s balls in a vise or something? I fight the urge to dip under the table and see what the hell is going on under there.

  “A few things, actually. First, I need you to tell Kyle everything went smoothly tonight and pay out whatever you agreed on.” A blast of satisfaction fills every inch of my heart at the condemning look he shoots my way. Not sure why he's pissed at me; he's the old dirty bastard. “Second, you'll also tell him to keep his hands off me or you'll pull your donation.”

  “Why the fuck would I do that?”

  I wave a hand in dismissal. “I don't know. Think of something. Maybe that you want me all to yourself or something. I don't care.”

  Seconds tick by, the murmuring of the other patrons, oblivious to what we're doing, filling the background. I lick my lower lip as I eye his still-full glass of wine. Would it be bad form to let that go to waste? I can't let down those poor grapes who lost their lives for this wine. Lifting one shoulder in agreement with my internal debate, I reach across the table and cradle the delicate glass in my palm.

  “Seriously?” Trey admonishes.

  I shrug and take a sip.

  “For all this, you'll destroy the recording?”

  I nod and pause, holding up a finger. “Also, no releasing my mom's information to the press. And if I ever hear you're attempting to extort sexual favors for political ones again, I'll release the recording and pay a visit to your wife personally to tell her everything that happened tonight. ’Kay? ’Kay.”

  I shouldn’t wink. That would be an asshole move.

  Eh.

  I wink.

  He begrudgingly grunts some form of acknowledgment. Good enough for me.

  Another hasty sip. Yum, so good.

  You know what? Fuck it. I slide my phone from the clutch and snap a picture of the bottle. Maybe it can be a special occasion bottle, like when the queen visits or I’m successful in securing world peace.

  I scoot out of the booth to stand, skimming both palms down the black material, drying them and pushing the hem back down my thighs in one move. The dress is beautiful, classy yet sexy. Too bad I'll burn it after tonight. I don't care how much it cost; I could never wear it again without remembering this asshole’s hands on me.

  I’m held captivated with acute interest as Trey leans closer to Mr. Hindle, whispering something in his ear. I track Trey's movements as he shifts out of the booth and stands beside me. Our eyes meet, something dangerous and hot flaring between us.

  I turn my attention back to the table, locking eyes with the slimy bastard.

  “Nice doing business with you, Mr. Hindle. Thank you for the wine. It was delicious.”

  I spin from the table, more than ready to put this night behind me. My feet don’t get a single step before a comforting hand presses against my lower back, guiding me through the restaurant once again.

  I won this battle.

  We won this battle.

  One of many in this political warfare I’ve immersed myself in, I’m sure.

  I glance over my shoulder to Trey, a smile spreading up my lips. At least I’m not alone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Trey

  Muscles tense, hands fisted, I fight the urge to turn and skewer that rat bastard’s balls with the steak knife I left on the booth seat. The magic lessons as a kid come in handy at times; tonight was one of them. No one noticed the slight of hand as I swiped the seemingly unsuspecting knife from the table. No one except Mr. Hindle, who felt said knife slicing through his suit pants, readying to do the same to his sac if he so much as breathed too deep.

  Tank set it up for the team to hear every word through the small listening device hidden in that tiny purse of hers. How I kept myself from tackling the fucker as he played Randi with the expensive wine and faking to be interested in the causes she holds close, I'll never know. I deserve a big fucking gold star next to my name.

  The old fucker should be tortured and left for dead for even thinking it was okay to extort a woman like that. A snarl pulls at my face. I know from personal experience that he's just one of hundreds, if not thousands, in the corrupt political scene.

  A forceful relieved exhale pushes from my chest as we exit the restaurant into the much cooler hotel lobby.

  Instead of directing Randi toward the front doors where Tank and the other boys wait to whisk her back to the jet, I tug her close and divert us down a long hall.

  “Um, Trouble, where—”

  I press a finger to my lips, cutting her off. The clicking of her heels echoes down the empty hall, mine silent with each step. Searching right and then left, I grip her elbow and tug her toward a conference room door. I press an ear to the door and listen.

  Nothing.

  Perfect.

  The door clicks open with ease, and I pull her through after me. Darkness engulfs the large ballroom except for the bright band of light cutting through its inky blackness from the hallway. I tip my face to meet hers, wide hazel eyes searching mine.

  The door snaps closed, eliminating the last bit of light.

  Darkness envelops us. A bolt of satisfaction shoots through my chest as her smaller body presses against my own. Without questioning the emotions spurring the moment, I wrap an arm around her shoulders, tucking her tighter against my chest. Here, she’s safe. Away from the corrupt world that wants nothing more than to conquer and pillage her trusting soul. A growing part of me doesn’t want her to win in the general election. She’s too good for this town. I’ve seen what the political game does to women like her, seen the bitter shell left behind.

  Through the earpiece, Tank demands our location.

  “Tank, listen, man. Don't be mad.” I wince at the explosion of curse words in my ear. “But we're going off-line for a little while. Don't worry, big guy, we'll be fine.”

  At that, I tug the earpiece from my ear and turn off the radio. Digging around my pants pocket, I pull out my phone and press the flashlight icon. Randi's sweet face pinches as she pulls back from the bright light assaulting her unprepared eyes.

  “Do you or do you not want to see New York City while you're here?” Her eyes search mine before glancing to the closed door. “If you're ready to go back, then we walk out of here and head to the jet. I just thought after all that”—my muscles tighten, tugging her closer—“you'd want a night off. You didn't get one in Dallas. This is your chance.”

  “What about the team?” she asks. I tug on her hand for her to release the thumbnail she's chewing on. “Can we go out there alone?”

  “Do you trust me?” I ask, seriousness filling my voice. If she doesn't, hell, that’ll be a blow I'm not prepared to take.

  An eternity seems to pass between the moment my question leaves my lips and her answer. I want her to rely on me. No, I’m desperate for her to rely on me, to see me as her protector. A man who will fight to keep her safe from the DC wolves and threats to her life.<
br />
  “Yes,” she says with a smile. “Yes, I trust you.”

  My lips curl, mirroring her own. “Good. Then let's go.”

  * * *

  “Wow,” she says on a pushed breath.

  Standing close, I peer down, soaking in her palpable excitement. Around us, lights blink throughout glittering Times Square. Thousands of tourists shuffle, bumping against each other, moving bodies like human bumper cars. Horns blare over the music pouring from various stores. In the center of the exciting madness, the Naked Cowboy strums away on his guitar, eating up the attention.

  With her excitement, it's like seeing it all for the first time, even though it could easily be my hundredth. I chuckle in amusement as she points at the nearly naked man, her brows waggling suggestively beneath the “I Love NYC” hat pulled low.

  The hat and sweat suit, plus the flip-flops—all her idea, not mine—were a necessary purchase after we broke out of the hotel's back exit, hightailing it down various streets to escape a murderous Tank.

  I offered to buy her something less… well, ugly. That’s the best way to put it. But she refused, saying the New York Yankees sweatpants and sweatshirt were perfect. Paired with a pair of gaudy flip-flops from another vendor and she's a hilarious hot mess. Not that she seems to care one bit. Hell, she didn't even bat an eye at having to change in a dark alley or the hot dog stand I suggested for dinner.

  This woman tosses everything I know about women out the window and has ruined me for the Political Barbies in DC forever. This is fun. Easy. The last time I was in New York, all I saw was the inside of high-end boutiques and department stores as Rachel lit my credit card on fire. Thank fuck I didn't give in to her pouting when I wouldn't go into Harry Winston with her. The media circus around our breakup would've been ten times worse if there was a broken engagement tossed into the shit show.

  I stumble at the insistent tug on my elbow. A lock of hair falls along my forehead as I shake my head in amusement. Randi leads us through the swarm of people, talking a thousand words a second over her shoulder as she points up at the bright billboards with the hand not pulling me along.

  Maybe I should send Shawn a thank-you card for helping me see that Rachel and I were a forced fit. It sucked at the time, yes, and hell, it still does at night when I fall asleep horny and alone. My poor dick hasn't felt anything other than my own hand in way too long.

  My gaze falls to Randi’s round ass accentuated by the draping material of the soft sweatpants. At my back, someone stumbles in to me, shoving me forward. Our feet tangle, her loud gasp barely audible above the other noise on the street. I wrap both arms around her waist, lifting her off the sidewalk and tucking her close to my chest. A couple intentional steps forward and I'm once again steady on my feet. But still I don't drop her. Instead, I tug her closer, the crease of her ass cradling my hardening cock.

  Fuck, she feels fantastic, and this is with clothes on.

  Her chest expands and shrinks in rapid succession beneath my forearms.

  Around us the crowd shuffles, ignoring our tight embrace. Oblivious to my internal battle to not fuck her against the nearest wall. The need to take her, to make her scream my name, increases every day we're together, every second more torturous than the last. I shouldn't want her. Not because of her background or her lack of wealth but because she's the job. My job is to protect her, keep her safe, and here I am unable to think beyond the way my dick feels pressed against her.

  This is a terrible idea, but I can't stop. I don’t want to stop.

  I want her, all of her, every inch and every breath begging for me.

  “Trey?” Wiggling in my hold, she rotates to dip her head back, hazel eyes finding mine.

  “Randi.”

  “Um, I can't really, you know, breathe here.”

  Shit.

  “Sorry,” I grumble and ease my hold, savoring the slide of her body against mine. “You ready to get out of here? Head back?”

  The excitement and joy falls from her face.

  “Do we have to?” she asks, looking to the sidewalk. I stare at her hat-covered head, not understanding what just happened to flip her mood. “If you're worried about the crowd, we can go somewhere else.” Pushing to her tiptoes, she looks right, left, over her shoulder, and then over mine, looking back down the street. “Where's Central Park?”

  Reaching out, I interlace our fingers and meet her hopeful gaze. “Come on, Mess. It's this way.”

  With the hustle of the crowd behind us, I flex my fingers to release her hand, but hers tighten, keeping my hand clasped.

  Okay then.

  Stepping over a line, but that’s okay. She probably needs to feel safe as we navigate the streets of New York City, and holding my hand like a drowning victim does a life preserver offers that sense of safety. I should not read into the simple gesture. Which I'm not, except my semi isn't listening, and it's fucking chafing the hell out of the tip.

  “You seem like you’ve been here before,” Randi says beside me. Her head is on a swivel, taking in every building and storefront.

  “I have—several times, in fact—but I'll tell you something, Mess. It's a different experience with you.”

  I smirk at her responding snort. “Mess? Is that what you're calling me now?”

  I shrug and look away so she doesn’t catch my smile.

  “I should be offended, yet it fits. I'll allow it. And you know you use that word a lot when you describe me.”

  “Mess?”

  “No, different.”

  “Ah.” I tug her to a stop to keep from being run over by a speeding taxi. “It’s the best way I can describe it. It's a good thing though, so you know. It's… vibrant.”

  “Vibrant.”

  I shake my head. “It's hard to explain. I've seen the world through a certain lens for thirty-eight years, and then you come along and turn things from versions of gray to full of color. Full of life. I've never known someone who sees the world for what it is and not what they can get from it.”

  I glance down to gauge her reaction only to find her head down, the bill of the hat blocking her face from view. A quiet sniffle meets my listening ears. Another has me tugging her to a stop, but still she keeps her face down. Bending my knees, I lower a few inches, putting me at her level. Two fingers beneath her chin, I tilt her face to meet mine.

  Well, fuck me.

  Wet streaks glisten along her full cheeks in the overhead streetlight. Unease at her red-rimmed eyes steals the air from my lungs.

  Large tears roll down from the inside corner of both eyes. “That was the nicest… the nicest thing anyone has ev-ever said to me. About me. Thank you.”

  Talk about a knife to the heart. I ball my hands into tight fists as anger and resentment build, rolling together and growing larger and volatile. If that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her…. I shake my head. Nope, can't go there or I'll go on a killing streak, murdering everyone who's ever said an ill word toward her.

  “You're breaking my heart here, Mess.” I tug slightly on her hand until her chest is pressed against mine. Eyes to the sky, I mentally list the Redskins’ roster, hoping to distract me from her squished tits rubbing against me.

  I’m going through the 2018 lineup when she finally pulls back, wiping her nose with the sleeve of the sweatshirt.

  “I'm okay, just didn't expect that, and after tonight with… you know. I'm just on edge. Then you go and say something nice, and here I am losing my shit on the streets of New York City.” She takes another step back, fully pulling out of my embrace, and starts toward the park once again.

  “Different circumstances, but I do know what it’s like to not have support, or hell, even a positive word come out of your parent’s mouth. How do you do it?” Hands in my pockets, I slow my steps to keep pace with hers. “Everything you've lived through, pushed through, yet you're still pushing forward, striving for more.”

  The tips of her fingers slide inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt before she tuc
ks her arms around her chest. “Speaking of parents, thanks for the rehab referral. It’s working out great so far. Costing me a kidney, but hopefully it makes a lasting impact this time.”

  “You’re welcome. Glad I could help take some stress off.”

  “And to answer your question, I guess you can say me growing up the way I did made me positive instead of desolate. Everywhere around me I saw where giving up would get you, and I didn't want that. Not for me or for Taeler. So I stayed positive, kept that hope of a better life alive day after day, even when things were tight and I didn't want to stay strong. That's the thing about being a parent, you can't give up. You have someone looking up to you, counting on you to give them their best life. I couldn't give up because I couldn't give up on Taeler.”

  “You were fifteen when you felt that?”

  She shrugs, dismissing the awe in my voice.

  “Randi, most people don't realize that even when they become parents later in life. Our world is a selfish black hole that sucks your will to live—”

  “You're kind of dramatic for a guy, you know that?”

  A sense of relief floods through me at the smile in her voice. “All I'm saying is you're special. Don't ever forget that. Whether you win or lose in November, always remember there is no one like you out there in this world, and anyone who takes the time to get to know you, the real you, is lucky as hell.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Randi

  The night air turns crisp, any warmth from the day gone as we walk and talk through the nearly deserted park. Trey turned off our cell phones and the listening device before leaving the hotel to prevent T from tracking us, and the freedom from the stupid electric device is amazing. You don't realize the disservice the constant connection to the outside world is until its leash is severed and you're freed.