Page 22 of Power Twist

“Don’t even think about asking, Mess. I cannot sneak you out of here for a smoke.”

My lower lip juts out in a dramatic pout. “Fine.” After another couple sips, the effects of whiskey's magic elixir take hold, heat coursing through my veins before settling in my belly and warming my core. “What did you need to talk about?”

Peeking one eye open, I watch Trey as he tugs his earpiece out and does something with the cuff of his dress shirt. Today he's back in the normal secret service getup. I’m honestly not sure which I prefer more.

Yesterday he was all Rambo badass, looking like he could take down a freaking country if I were threatened. Today he looks no less badass, just a little smoother, like James Bond. Both are a great look on him, though no clothes at all is my ultimate favorite. His rippled abs and cut chest, those muscular thighs that flex as he pounds between mine….

I squeeze my eyes shut and tap the back of my head against the hard headboard. Fuck, why does my mind always go there? Every day at some point I picture the man butt naked. Sometimes on top of me, sometimes just watching from afar while he strokes himself.

Heat builds beneath my skin, warming my cheeks.

“I'd love to know what you're thinking about,” Trouble says, his voice a deep rumble.

Peeling my eyes open, I flutter my lashes to clear my vision. Across the room, he leans a shoulder against a wall, brows furrowed, all focus on me.

“Go on, then,” I say after clearing my throat.

“Keep that fucker’s hands off you or I will.”

“What?” I gasp.

His features harden as he takes a calculated step closer. “I can't take it, Randi. I can't sit back and watch him touch what's mine and do nothing about it. That idiot almost died yesterday.”

“Todd?” I squeak. “Seriously, you're jealous of Todd?”

“Protective of my girl is not jealousy.” Aw, his girl. I like the sound of that, even if we are a secret affair. “And next time, tell him to stay in his own damn seat.”

I smirk behind the highball glass. He's not fooling me. He’s jealous.

“And, pray tell, how did that weak man almost die yesterday?”

“Did you see my big gun?”

“I love your big gun,” I say, waggling my eyebrows.

He shoots a cocky smirk. “Not that one, the one I almost aimed between his brows and pulled the trigger on.”

“You being this obsessive and violent shouldn't turn me on, but fuck, does it.” I swipe my tongue along my lower lip. “There is something seriously wrong with me.”

“I'm—”

A high-pitched screech pierces through the room, overtaking his words. Drink forgotten, I let the glass fall to the bed, dark liquid spilling onto my clothes and bedding, in order to suction both palms over my ears to save them from bursting.

The door bursts open. A serious-faced T barrels through, shouting things I can't make out over the constant blaring noise. Both he and Trey lunge for me, gripping tight under my armpits and hauling me off the bed. My heels kick in the air, unable to touch the hotel room carpet as they carry me into the living room.

A nude heel slides off my foot and dangles from my toes before falling to the floor. I crane my neck backward, trying to see where it landed in order to grab it when we get back. Odd that the lone shoe is what I'm focused on in this moment, not the horde of men shouting and running frantically around the room.

I flinch, their tight grips finally registering, as we advance through the door and down the hall.

“What's going on?” I ask, my head on a swivel, but neither of them pays me any attention. Hell, they might not have even heard my shaky voice over the noise. The two shout, barking some kind of commands. T slams into the stairwell door, shoving it open. Gun drawn, he clears the space before nodding to Grem, who's positioned on the opposite wall, automatic rifle poised ready to fire.

My teeth rattle as we take the stairs, my toes barely scraping the cold concrete. We stop suddenly, my neck snapping forward as I'm jerked backward and shoved into a corner. T and Trey press their backs against the front of my body, officially boxing me in and cutting off my line of sight. The awkward stance of one heel on and one heel off throws off my balance. Leaning my weight against the wall, I trail a hand down my right leg, skimming my calf before flicking off the remaining shoe and allowing it to drop to the floor.

Pressing up to my tiptoes, I attempt to find an angle to see over the two men's shoulders.

“Get the hell down,” T says, not taking his eyes off the stairs leading up, whereas Trey's focus is on the stairs going down.

Red lights flash, giving the whole stairwell an eerie feel. A slight tremor shakes my fingers as realization of the situation settles into place. Careful to not startle him, I dip a hand beneath Trey's suit jacket and grab a fistful of dress shirt. More men pour into the stairwell, all wearing huge guns strapped across their chests. Their voices mingle, not making sense as their yelling echoes in the concrete stairwell.

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