Power Surge: Power Play Series Book 4

by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  Both Randi and I snap our heads to Smith, who's paused his search, placing his full focus on us.

  “Um, because that would be wrong,” Randi says with a shaky laugh around the nail between her teeth. “I can’t cross that line. I couldn’t want someone killed because I didn't like them or because they want to harm me. No, we wait and catch him in the act and let the justice system handle it, like we did with Kyle. Not that it worked. He was still killed, just not by me.”

  “Randi,” I groan, the exhaustion morphing into irritation. Fuck, I need some sleep. “Why do you refuse to believe Birmingham killed himself? Let it go—everyone else has. You have other things to worry about.”

  “Why do you think he was murdered and not a suicide?” Smith asks.

  Randi shrugs, the soft material of her robe swaying with the move. “I knew Kyle. Hated him, but there were some redeemable qualities about the man. One of which was attempting to protect me from Shawn’s devious plans, and the second, he wanted me to stay far away from the scandal he’d caught himself in. He warned me to stay out of it time and time again. Not that it did any good, but still he tried, and I’d like to say it was for my sake, not his. Kyle was a narcissist and craved power. There's no way he would've taken an out when he held all the cards.”

  “What cards?” he asks.

  Randi seals her lips shut. Her eyes cut to me.

  “Right.” Releasing her hand, I seal a quick kiss to her forehead. “I'll clear the bathroom. You check the balcony and finish up in the room, Smith. Let's get this done. I'm fucking exhausted.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Randi

  One-handed typing is for the birds. It's taken a whole minute of my life to type out a single sentence. Only a few hundred more before this email is finished and ready to be proofread by my admin. It's miserable. My elbow hurts from the strange angle and awkward movement, as well as my wrist and back, and the pain in my neck is causing a low throb to radiate at the base of my skull.

  It would be simple to ease my pain, to adjust in the bed to get my work done quicker.

  But no way in hell will I.

  Tearing my eyes from the glowing laptop screen, I cast a soft look at the man snuggled beside me, his arm wrapped protectively around my waist and my fingers entangled deep in his thick hair. I scrape the acrylic tips across his scalp, ensuring he stays asleep as I finish up work.

  A content smile spreads across my lips as I take him in. Asleep, he looks like the boy he acts like most of the time. The fine wrinkles along his eyes are nowhere to be seen, the constant concentrated furrow of his brow relaxed.

  Sliding my fingers through the locks one more time, I trace the arc of one dark brow, then the other. My touch lighter than a feather, I brush a fingertip along his scruff-covered jaw and chin. The sharp edges snag the pads of my fingers as I memorize each inch. His lips parted in a peaceful sleep, I fight the urge to close the distance between us and press my own to his.

  Those long dark lashes flutter, nearly fanning across his unblemished cheeks. Sleepy honey brown eyes slowly wake. They meet mine only to blink closed once again.

  “Mess,” he groans, his voice thick with sleep. “What are you doing?”

  I huff in full pout mode when he rolls, dragging his radiating body heat with him. Stretching out a long toned arm, he grips his phone from where he left it on the opposite side of the king-size bed and activates the screen. I wince when the time flashes across. He curses and tosses the device back to the bed. “It's four in the damn morning,” he complains while scrubbing at his face.

  I bite my lip to suppress a growing grin. This isn’t the first time we’ve slept all night together, but I’ll never get tired of seeing him like this. Hair rumpled, lids heavy, and lips pouty, he's 100 percent adorable.

  “I have one more email to get out, but the progress is slower than normal.” I lose the fight with the growing smile. “You're so cute.”

  “I'm a badass,” he grumbles with a fake pout, making his already fuller lower lip stick out even farther.

  “A cute badass.”

  A high-pitched squeak erupts as he attacks. The laptop slides to the side, his ninja-like reflexes catching it before it can crash to the ground. Nose to nose, our matching smirks bloom into wide smiles.

  “Your cute badass,” he whispers while ghosting a kiss across my lips.

  Searching his eyes, I debate asking the question that's been nagging at me since Agent Smith left the room hours ago, then decide to just go for it.

  “Do you trust the new guy?”

  “What happened?” Trey demands, going from cute and sleepy to protective boyfriend in a flash.

  I take the laptop from his outstretched hand and rest it on the floor. Wiggling low, I snuggle down the bed and turn to lie on my side. Tucking both hands between my cheek and the pillow, I wait while he does the same. Head propped in his hand with his elbow pressed into the mattress, Trey gazes down with an expectant expression.

  “Nothing happened. He's just hard to read. I can't…. I don't understand him.”

  Trey's focus shifts over my shoulder like he's processing through my words. “I trust him. He has an edge to him that no one else on this team has. It's a positive addition, especially now that you’re president and have three times more enemies and threats than you had as VP.” He inhales deeply, swiping his tongue along his lower lip. “But that edge comes with… something. I can't pinpoint it either. Yes, he's closed off, but not in a way where I think it's personal. If that makes sense. It’s almost like he's closed off in the way a tiger is caged. It's for the safety of others that it's behind bars.”

  “He's a tiger?”

  “On our team I'm the one with the looks and charm.” I snort and shove his shoulder, resulting in his signature cocky smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. Fuck, I love it. I love him. “Tank's the one with the leadership and size. That man could stop a speeding car with his shoulder. The other guys are great at following orders and observation. Smith… he adds a violence to the team. That's what I mean with the caged tiger analogy. I have no doubt if you asked him to take someone out, he'd do it without question, or if you're in danger, the threat would not only be eliminated but they'd never find the body.”

  I swallow, shifting my gaze from Trey's face to his bare chest. Reaching forward, I trace his collarbone. “Is he unstable?”

  “I think we all are. His comment about monsters earlier was curious though. But that kind of statement makes me think he knows what lurks just under his skin. As long as he's in control of it, well, then I'm good with him.”

  “The CIA director said they would never transfer someone out of the agency willingly. I think what he wasn't saying was no one leaves the CIA still breathing.”

  Trey smiles. “Not everything you see in the movies is real, Mess.”

  “I know that,” I say, even though my comment was based on the Jason Bourne movies as my reference.

  “Right, well, the CIA, especially at that level, they're all dicks. They'd never admit someone wasn't cut out to be an agent and they had to transfer them out. But I don't think Smith flunked out of the CIA, if he even was CIA. He could've been NSA or Homeland Security.”

  “He seems strung tight,” I say as I allow my fingers to slide along the naturally tan skin of his hard abs.

  “I wouldn't let him be around you if I thought you were in danger. I don't get that vibe from him.”

  “He doesn't laugh at my jokes.”

  Trey's breath hitches, a small groan pushing past his parted lips at the scrape of my fingertips down his happy trail.

  “Give him time, Mess. He'll be in love with you in no time, just like the rest of us.”

  “That doesn't bother you?” I ask, halting my pursuit as I anticipate his answer.

  His gaze burns with intensity. “If I thought he was a threat to us, he wouldn't be breathing. What I meant was anyone who spends time with you falls under your spell. Mine just happens to induce lust and vivid pi
ctures of me fucking you every which way.”

  Tingles erupt in my lower gut. I suck in a shaky breath.

  A hot palm wraps around my wrist and tugs it lower down his abdomen. Our gazes stay locked as I trail my nails down his skin until my knuckles graze his hard cock. It twitches in my grasp when I wrap my fingers around him and squeeze. Trey's dark lashes flutter, his eyes barely open as he gazes down at where I’m slowly pumping my hand up and down the silky smooth skin.

  His breath hitches; beneath the covers, his hips flex, thrusting himself harder into my hand. Desire blooms through my veins, scattering any thoughts of the email I never finished or the nagging questions I still have about Agent Smith. The soft sheets glide beneath my hip and shoulder as I wiggle down the bed to dip beneath the layers of covers. Darkness envelops me. My desire surges at the heavy scent of Trey’s spicy aroma mixed with both our arousals.

  A groan rumbles in my throat, matching his as I wrap my lips around the soft head. Flicking my tongue along his slit, I lap up the few drops of desire. Long fingers slip through my loose hair, tightening into a fist. Following his urges, I glide up and down, my lips suctioning around his throbbing cock. The bed shifts and his hips lift, diving deeper down my throat. The grip in my hair holds me steady as he thrusts in and out. Muffled curses make their way down through the blankets, but I don’t pay them any attention, too engrossed in my ministrations and the feel of him coming apart because of me.

  Suddenly the light of the bedside lamp assaults my eyes, and cold air fans along the bare skin of my legs and arms, causing goosebumps to erupt. The hand at the back of my head releases its hold before hooking beneath my arm and hauling me upward. I glide up the sheets with ease. The room rotates with a single urgent shove to my hips. My nose buries into the pillow as my hips and legs jerk with hard tugs on my sleep pants and panties until they’re fully removed.

  Rising up, I dig both elbows into the soft mattress and glance over my shoulder. Trey kneels on the bed, stroking his cock, which is still glistening with my saliva, his focus solely on my ass. The tip of my tongue glides along my lower lip, licking up the last tastes of him. He swipes the fingertips of his free hand along my spine. Fevered chills sprout in their wake, and I shudder in response. The bed shakes as I press up to my knees. My spine arches as he trails lower, gliding between my cheeks. A finger hesitates over my tight hole. Instinctively I feel a hot flush spread across my cheeks. Unsure, I shy away from his touch.

  “Not tonight,” Trey says, his voice a deep rumble through the room. “But one day soon, baby.” Every muscle relaxes as he continues the path south before diving deep into my wet center.

  My head relaxes forward, the feather pillow a cushion for my forehead. For half a second, I'm empty, the sense of loss like a stone sinking in my gut, before I feel the bed shift beneath his weight and a different pressure against my entrance. I brace myself for him to thrust forward, giving me exactly what I need.

  But he doesn't.

  My entire body trembles in desperation. I shift back, urging him to hurry the hell up, but am met with a resistance that's not his cock. The soft pillowcase shifts along my forehead as I turn my head. Mouth open, ready to scream at him, I look over my shoulder. The words evaporate in my throat; I still, not daring to even breathe. The desire-driven, sexy-as-hell Trey is long gone. Instead kneeling behind me is concentrating, tense Agent Benson with his full focus directed at the balcony doors.

  As graceful as a born predator, he shifts off the bed, his hard gaze never faltering.

  “What—” I snap my lips shut at his raised hand. Trepidation takes over, smothering the earlier need. The edge of the sheet folds between my fingers as I tug it upward, covering my naked lower half.

  On silent feet, Trey rounds the bed. I track the quick movements, each breath tighter than the previous. Still gloriously naked, Trey yanks one foot and then the other through the legs of his suit pants from where he draped them over the chair before climbing into bed hours ago. Leaving the top clasp dancing open, he swipes the radio and earpiece from the side table.

  Time stands still as he fiddles with various knobs and switches. His lips move with a silent curse. The radio is launched through the air, landing on the bed with enough force that I feel the impact. Running a hand through his hair, Trey locks his intense gaze on me.

  “Do you have a gun?”

  I yank the sheet higher, savoring the false sense of security the thin material offers. “Why would I have a gun?” I whisper back.

  “You need a gun.”

  “I don’t know how to use a gun,” I whimper.

  Even in the faint light, the deep dip of his brows is visible. “You’re from Texas. Everyone there knows how to use a gun.”

  A hysterical giggle bubbles past my lips. I slap a hand to my face. “No gun. No radio. Now what?”

  The color drains from his lips as he seals them tightly together and casts a look to the door leading to the hallway.

  “Something doesn't feel right,” he mumbles more to himself than to me. In a flash, he’s on the bed, a hand pressed to the mattress to lean close enough for me to hear his quiet whispers. “I heard something outside. It could be nothing, but I’m not taking any chances. The radio is fucking dead, and I left my guns locked back in my room.” His harsh tone and annoyance are no doubt at himself rather than me. “Be as quiet as possible. Grab your phone, and lock yourself in the bathroom.”

  I snatch his wrist to keep him near before he can stand. “What are you going to do?”

  “Go, Randi.” With a fast flick of his wrist, he dislodges my hand and steps back to the chair. “Put this on while you’re at it.” The bulletproof vest that was slung over the chair’s armrest sails through the air, landing on the bed beside me.

  “What are you going to wear?” My voice rises with my panic.

  A loud thump reverberates from the other side of the hall door, followed by another. Trey’s expression turns grim. “Fucking go, Randi. I can’t handle this without knowing you’re somewhere safe.”

  Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Total sense. Except one minor issue.

  I can’t fucking move. Nothing wants to obey my desperate pleas to scramble off the bed and race to the safety of the bathroom.

  “I said fucking go. Now.”

  It's not the words or command that sets me into action. It's the fear laced into his harsh rasp. A fear for me and my safety, not his own. Sweat slicks his forehead and shoulders, glistening in the low lamplight. Forcing my arms into action, I snatch the vest and tug it over my tank top before securing the sides. Inch by inch, I work my way off the bed. Cold stone greets my bare feet, biting into my toes as I tiptoe toward the bathroom.

  That’s when I hear it.

  It’s barely audible over my thundering heart and pulse pounding in my ears, but it’s there. My steps falter, and I suck in a tight breath as I stand frozen halfway between the bed and bathroom.

  Trey pauses in the middle of the room, his head on a swivel, turning from the balcony to the hall door and back again. Dread cramps my stomach. I blindly attempt a step back toward the bathroom, but something snags my heel, wrapping around my ankle. I free-fall, the sheet I stupidly caught my foot in floating down with me. A rattling boom shakes the room as my flailing hand smacks the bathroom door, which slams it against the wall with the force of my body weight.

  My ass smacks the floor, my lower back and tailbone nearly breaking with the impact. The white sheet settles around me along the floor, covering my bare legs but leaving the rest of my naked lower half exposed. Ignoring the radiating pain coming from my ass and back, I snap my gaze forward in search of Trey.

  Shrouded in the shadows cast by the billowing curtains, he lingers at the edge of the balcony door, worry etched across his features as he stares at my awkward position on the floor.

  In a classic Randi move, I raise both hands and shoot him two thumbs up.

  A small bit of the worry fades from his pinched features as he shakes his
head and turns back to the balcony door.

  The balcony door that's now slowly easing open.

  Trey retreats a step, sealing his back to the wall. Partially covered by the sweeping tapestries, he keeps his focus trained on the shadow of a man moving into my suite.

  I gasp, both hands grappling with the sheet, trying to untangle it from my legs in a desperate attempt to cover myself. Even with the darkened room, the man's unnerving smile is crystal clear. With another step, he moves deeper into the suite. He slides something from around his neck, tugging it over his mouth as the glow of the side table light highlights his features.

  A gun dangles from his right hand. Each step brings him closer, yet I can’t move, can only stare wide-eyed, fully entranced by the damn gun. A full-body tremor rattles my shoulders as a sinister chill settles into my bones.

  Sarah's training vanishes, wiped clear by the undiluted fear coursing through my veins.

  Black gloves cover the intruder’s hands, with dark clothing hiding the rest of his body. Not a single patch of skin shows. A black scarf encases his lower jaw, covering everything from his neck up to his eyes before wrapping around his head, concealing that too.

  A subtle movement behind him reminds me I'm not alone. Trey is here, and nothing and no one will harm me while he's on watch.

  “What do you want?” I ask, forcing every ounce of strength I can muster into my voice to keep it from shaking.

  The man hesitates, tilting his head like he's considering me. “You.”

  “Why?” My voice trembles. A million thoughts pepper through, but one snags. His response was one word, but even with that simple word, one thing is clear—American.

  “You know why.”

  Hope bubbles as the silence stretches. If he'll talk, maybe I can gain some information before Trey attacks. Fuck knows we need any help we can get, even if it's off this fucker. Who sent him, for starters. The list is growing on who I could guess, with Shawn Whit at the very top.

  The hand holding the gun twitches. Slowly it rises in the air, the barrel aimed at my forehead. All hope drains, leaving devastating emptiness.