Power Play: Power Play Series Book 1

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Trey grumbles. “We'll be fine. You act like she died in New York.”

  I seal my lips together to hide my growing smile. We chose to keep the muggers and what happened after out of the story we gave T when we made it back to the jet that night. No need for him to worry when nothing bad happened.

  “Keep him in line,” T says, eyes on me.

  I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  He grumbles something about us being ridiculous and an accident waiting to happen. I'm still giggling when the door clicks shut behind him and the snap of the deadbolt sounds. Smiling, I turn to Trey, but my smile falters at what I find. I swallow past the stalled breath caught in my throat.

  His eyes sparkle with restrained lust. Arms stretched out wide along the back of the couch, he widens his legs and arches a brow. “Two hours alone. What trouble can we get into all alone, Mess?”

  My heart thunders against my chest. Holy hell, is this the first time we've been alone since New York?

  Untucking my knees from where I'm curled in the chair, I stand on shaking legs. Toes pressed into the thick carpet, I tiptoe to the couch, pausing between his legs. A breath catches in my chest, my eyes closing as his wide hands grip my waist.

  “Every day I've watched you knowing what you feel like, smell like. Fucking torture.” He sits straight, pressing his face between my thighs into my thin cotton yoga pants. “I shouldn't be this wrapped up in you, Mess. But I can't stop wanting you.” He tilts his face up, locking on my eyes. I stroke a hand through his hair, savoring the way it slides between my fingers.

  “Then don't,” I nearly plead. “I don't want you to hold back.” There's so much I want to tell him. How his touch means so much more than any others. How I don't want to pull away but grow more desperate with each passing minute, each day he doesn't hold me close.

  Gripping the hem of my long-sleeve T-shirt, he slides it up, exposing my stomach. Both hands slide into his hair, gripping chunks at the press of his wet lips just below my belly button. I suck in a breath and hold it as the tip of his tongue traces the skin just above my pants. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband, he tugs them an inch lower, repeating the same path with his tongue. Lower and lower my pants drop. My pulse races through my veins, and heat builds beneath my skin.

  “I'll never get enough of your scent.” His lips move against the sensitive skin above my mound. “It's even hotter knowing how wet I'll find you.” Light brown eyes flick up, meeting mine. “And I've barely touched you. Tell me, Mess. Do you want me to lick it up?”

  Oh fuck, that’s dirty.

  And oh, oh so hot.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  Eyes still locked with mine, he nips at my skin, grinning. “Say it.”

  “I… I…,” I stammer. “I want you to… want you to lick it up. Fuck, please.”

  “Good—” His next word snaps off. I stumble back as he bolts from the couch. I blink, eyes wide, staring at the gun now in his hand. “Get behind me.” I hastily duck behind him, my back to the wall, and tug my pants up. “Grab hold of my jacket and don't let go, you hear me?”

  “What's going on?”

  “Someone is at the door,” he says over his shoulder as we move across the room. “They tried to get in, but the key didn't work.”

  I gasp. If T hadn't suggested I change my locks last week for increased security measures….

  I shriek and jump backward, tugging Trey with me, at a pounding on the door.

  Trey shoots an unamused glance over his shoulder and down to me.

  “What? I didn't go to spy school. I'm nervous.”

  His brows tug together. “You do know the difference between the Secret Service and the CIA, right? You might not get my vote if you don't.”

  I give his jacket a sharp tug and glance to the door that's now shaking from the constant banging on the other side. “You're going to vote for me?”

  He shrugs and turns to face the door, but I catch a hint of a smirk on his lips before he does. “Maybe. Now let’s see who's knocking, shall we?”

  Gun aimed at the door, Trey inches closer and rests his free hand on the deadbolt.

  The fabric of his jacket bunches under my tightening fists.

  With a quick flip of the lock and a tug on the doorknob, he swings around, blocking the opening with his body.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Trey bites out. His back muscles tense beneath my fists.

  Still unable to see, I push to my tiptoes and peer over his shoulder.

  “Seriously?” The building anticipation drains from my taut muscles, leaving them heavy and lethargic. Grumbling under my breath, I turn on my bare heels, shuffle back to the center of my condo's living room, and fall into a chair. “What do you want, Shawn?”

  “Out of my way, rent-a-cop.” Shawn shoulders past the fuming Trey and steps into the living room. In slow motion, Trey turns from the door, shoulders tense, his furious gaze following Shawn's every move.

  “Watch it, Shawn,” I bite out. It's one thing for them to make fun of me, but my friends? Hell no. “That man can smoosh that narcissistic, smug-ass look right off your ugly face. Not a smart move to piss him off.”

  Shawn's eyebrows rise a fraction, but the Botox in his forehead prevents them from climbing higher. “Is that so, Trailer?” The shock morphs into his signature smug sneer. “Been getting close to the help, have we?” Delicate fingers pop the button of his suit jacket as he folds onto the couch. “I'd say that's beneath you, but we both know there's not much in this world that is.”

  Trey's features darken as he takes a menacing step toward the asshole sitting on my couch. I hold up a hand, stopping his advancement.

  “As lovely as this all is, what the fuck do you want, Shawn?”

  He chuckles, smoothing out the front of his pristine blue dress shirt. “Make sure you're all set for tonight.” His ice-blue eyes flick up to mine. “I am your trusted advisor, after all.”

  “Forced advisor, never trusted,” I point out. “And yes, I'm ready. I was reviewing the potential questions one last time when you tried to get in.” I narrow my eyes. “When did you get a key?”

  “When did you change your locks?”

  “Motherfucker,” Trey hisses. “How the fuck did you get a key?”

  Shawn simply smiles his Joker-like smile. “I have my sources.” His attention shifts from Trey back to me. “Tell me, Trailer, is there something going on between you and the wash-up behind me?”

  “Not that it matters, but no.” Keeping my eyes on Shawn instead of flicking to Trey takes every last drop of resistance I have in my body. “Nothing is going on between us.”

  “I don't believe you.”

  Fuck. Not that I would care if people knew Trey and I are fooling around, but not Shawn. He'll find some way to use it against me, use it against Trey. I lose the internal fight and give Trey a pleading look. He doesn't notice, his attention solely on a patch of wall slightly above my head.

  I swallow past the rising panic.

  “It would be a shame, wouldn't it?” Shawn says, cutting through the uncomfortable silence. “For Benson to lose the job he so loves for a chance at a cunt that's already been passed around most of DC under Kyle's bidding.” His eyes flash in victory. He doesn’t know Trey knows the truth, everything. Even still, unease rolls my gut. What if Trey believes him? “Not to mention the media circus that would ensue at yet another disastrous relationship for him.” He clicks his tongue. “His family name dragged through the media mud once again.”

  What?

  When confusion furrows my dark brows, power lights in those evil eyes. “Ah, I see he hasn't told you everything. Well, it's a good thing I can fill you in—”

  “Out,” Trey bellows, stalking toward Shawn. Panic replaces the earlier victory in the asshole’s wide eyes. “Get out now.”

  Not waiting for a reply, Trey wraps a hand around the back of Shawn's neck, hauling him off the couch.

  �
�Get your hands off me,” Shawn yells. “You'll regret this, Benson. I'll ruin you, ruin your family.”

  Trey's pounding feet don't falter as he flings the door open, slamming it against the wall. The crack of plaster sounds through the condo. With a final shove from Trey, Shawn stumbles out into the hallway. His face is beet red, nostrils flaring when he turns furious eyes on Trey.

  “This isn't over.” I blanch, shifting back in the chair when his focus turns on me. “You will pay for this, both of you.”

  The entire condo shakes at the slam of the door. I flinch at the sound.

  Trey's shoulders rise and fall in quick succession, his palms sealed to the closed door, head hanging.

  What the hell just happened?

  I snap my attention back to Trey from where it'd fallen to the floor. Phone at his ear, he mumbles something, pauses with a silent nod, and then slides the phone from his face. He still hasn't turned.

  Confusion morphs into hurt tinged with anger.

  “What the hell was all that about?” My voice shakes with the swirl of emotions I can't get a handle on. “I know you said you two had a history, but what he said about another disastrous relationship? Media circus? What the hell, Trey?”

  Time stands still. He releases a loud, resigned sigh.

  “Look at me,” I demand. I swallow back the unshed tears clogging my throat.

  “Grem will be here shortly. Don't leave.”

  “Trey?” I can't keep the pain from seeping into my tone.

  Why does my heart ache? He owes me nothing. I shouldn't care. But I do. Fuck, I do. Each heavy thud of my heart sends another aching pang through my chest.

  “Good luck tonight,” he mumbles in goodbye.

  Anger at myself and rejection from his avoidance mix, needing an outlet. I furiously scan the room. Snatching the iPad from the other chair, I hurl it across the room with a banshee scream. The screen splinters against the wall before the device falls to the carpet with a deafening thump.

  Chest heaving, I focus on the destroyed electronic.

  At least now I'm not the only broken thing in this fucking room.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Trey

  “What are you doing here?”

  Ignoring the beta team member's question, I turn to close and lock the door. I wince at the dented, crumbling section of wall behind it. I need to remember to have that fixed. It was my fault, after all. Normally I keep a tight leash on my anger, keeping it from boiling over—unlike earlier. But Shawn fucking Whit shoved me headfirst over the threshold of my normal hold on that dangerous emotion.

  What he said wasn't so much the issue; the disrespect toward Randi was what pushed me past my normal control. She might not have caught it, but I sure fucking did.

  I give my head a small shake. Today was a disaster, which morphed into an even bigger disaster at the debate. It couldn’t have gone worse for Randi. There's little doubt that the way I left things messed with her concentration.

  I'm an idiot. An asshole and an idiot.

  If she loses because of me….

  “I need to talk to her,” I say, turning back toward the living room. One guy sits on the couch, the rest of the team outside in the hall or downstairs at all the entry points.

  “Not sure that's a good idea,” the guy says with a laugh. “Birmingham just left. I heard every word. He ripped her a new one. If I were her, I'd be in there packing my bags with my damn tail between my legs.”

  I don't suppress my deep groan.

  This apology will be expensive. Even something from Tiffany's might not make up for the last twelve hours.

  Earlier, I retreated, not ready to admit why Shawn's words and insults to Randi hit deep. I needed a few hours to process it alone. Could I have told her all that so she didn't have to wonder all day? Yeah, but at the time, the rage clouded my vision; all I could see was my own pain.

  “Tank asked me to come up and talk about tomorrow.” Lie. “We need to go over a few things, so I might be a while.” Truth. “Take a break. I've got this for a few hours.”

  He shrugs and lies back on the couch. “Don't have to tell me twice. Thanks, Benson.”

  Hand on the doorknob to the bedroom, I pause. Nervous energy builds, my chest tightening.

  She has to forgive me.

  I don't knock. With a quick twist of the knob and a push of the door, I step into her bedroom. Grief permeates the air, smacking me in the face. Each breath deepens the regret filling my chest.

  “Randi.” Not taking my eyes off where she's perched on the edge of the bed, I reach back, closing the door and flicking the lock. She doesn't acknowledge me, her eyes glued to the opposite wall. “Mess.” Each step is tentative, careful, like I'm approaching a wounded animal. Technically I guess I am. Her, the most fascinating woman I've ever met, me, the one who hurt the insecure person she hides beneath the Political Barbie mask.

  “What do you want, Benson?”

  I cringe. Benson, not Trouble. Hell, not even Trey. Not a good sign.

  Determination propels me forward, sitting me beside her. The bed dips, rocking her an inch closer.

  “I wanted to check in on you.” She huffs, her eyes rolling to the ceiling. “To apologize.”

  “Little late for that, don't you think?” She shoves her hands on the bed, pushing herself up. Slowly she turns to face me, meeting my pleading gaze for the first time since I entered the room. “You saw the debate?” Her shoulders slump. “I lost us the election tonight.” Her eyes, brightened to a perfect green by the stupid contacts Kyle makes her wear, look to the ceiling. “I'm ruined. I'll have to go back home, failing again.” Her gaze is still upturned as a single tear trickles down her cheek.

  Pain like I've never experienced cuts through my chest, piercing my heart.

  “It's too late. You left when all I needed was an explanation. You left me, confused, angry….” Her throat bobs. “Hurt. Fucking hell, Trey. You hurt me by not caring enough to stay and tell me what the hell all that between you and Shawn was. I didn't care—I don't care—what he says. I know every word out of his mouth has an agenda, some form of power play.” Pain, anger, and, the worst, disappointment cloud her beautiful face when she finally looks back down. “You don't owe me anything. This, what we did in the park, the flirting back and forth, you don't owe me anything, but what hurt was that you didn't even stop to think I deserved an explanation. You just walked out, making me feel….” She stomps her foot against the carpet. “You made me feel as worthless as everyone else has my entire life.”

  I don't think, only react to the ripping, shredding of my heart.

  Reaching out, I yank her into my arms, holding her close, squeezing her tight.

  “I'm sorry,” I plead into her hair. “Fuck, I'm sorry.” Her shoulders shake. I tighten my hold. “Tell me what to do. Tell me what to say, what to buy. I'm so sorry, Mess. I fucked up. I couldn't… I didn't know how to…. It was me. All me. I was so angry at Shawn, I couldn't think past the need to beat the shit out of him.”

  Her soft dark hair slides beneath my palm as I stroke it over and over. With each breath, I apologize all over again. Time slows; nothing outside of the woman in my arms matters. Eventually her breaths even out, the shoulder-racking sobs ceasing.

  So much needs to be said, needs to be explained, but the moment is still too raw for more words.

  Her body molds into mine, folding between my arms as I lift her and walk across the room. Inside the bathroom, I carefully set her on the white marble counter, holding her shoulders to make sure she's steady before stepping toward the tub. Fingers beneath the heavy stream of water, I wait until it turns scorching hot and close the drain. Searching through the various bottles along the edge, I pluck a bottle of cherry vanilla bubble bath and dump a drop into the water. I frown at the small amount of bubbles that break the surface. Twisting off the cap, I tip the bottle over, emptying the entire contents into the water.

  It takes a whole bottle per bath, right?

&n
bsp; Fuck if I know.

  I toss the empty bottle into the trash can across the room; it clatters against the metal sides as it descends to the bottom. I lift both hands into the air, pumping my fists in victory. Wearing a tentative smile, I chance a look to Mess. My heart leaps at the small smile she's desperately trying to not let me see.

  “I'm going back to a life of destitution, and you're cheering over making an easy toss.”

  I look from her to the trash can and back again. “Easy? Like to see you do it.” Her smile grows, bunching her adorable cheeks. “You're not going back. The election isn't over. We can figure it out, but first….” I point to the half-filled bathtub and overflowing bubbles. “Shit, maybe I put too much in.”

  “You think?” she says with a huffed laugh.

  “Take a bath, relax. Then we'll talk.” I pause at the door and look over my shoulder. “If you need anything, let me know. I'll be right outside the door.”

  At her nod, I step into the bedroom, closing the door behind me. The hinges give a tight rattle at the weight of my back slamming against the cool wood.

  Now to come up with a plan to keep her in DC. If today taught me anything, it’s that I'm not ready for her to be out of my life. Not yet. Hell, maybe not ever.

  * * *

  “You look better,” I say with a smile as she steps out of the bathroom. “How do you feel?”

  “Better.” The tension around her eyes still creases the edges, but the weight from earlier seems lifted for the moment. “Thanks for that.” Her fingers fidget with the sash of her terry cloth robe. “Now what?” Her hopeful gaze meets mine.

  Pinkie nail between her teeth, she shuffles across the room and plops down onto the bed, staring at me.

  “First”—I turn, bringing a bent leg to the bed to face her straight on—“I need to explain today, what happened with Shawn.” I clear my throat and grip the pant leg of my old jeans to keep from reaching for her. “I didn't know what to think when you stood up for me. Called him out for me.”