Page 23 of Power Twist

“Move,” T shouts before reaching back and wrapping an arm around my waist. Hauling me close, he lifts me off the ground, practically carrying me like a football. Eyes wide, I try to take in the blips I get of the chaotic scene. Four men run ahead of us, guns at the ready, while T takes the stairs two at a time, flying down each floor faster than I ever could. Trey stays beside us, handgun drawn, face fierce.

My body bounces with every step T hops, my neck snapping up and down at the strange angle. When we finally reach the bottom, after what felt like a billion floors, everyone pulls to a stop. Arms swing in every direction, guns raised with their fingers close to the trigger.

I swallow against a dry throat, my breaths more wheezes due to my rapid pulse and T's tight grip. I open my mouth to ask what now when everything stops. The red flashing lights cease, leaving behind the normal glow of artificial light. The blaring alarm cuts off with one last low squawk. Yet everyone stays tense, their shoulders brushing their ears as they remain positioned for an attack.

“T,” I whisper while trying to angle my neck up to look at him. “T.” My voice trembles. Dark brown eyes pause their back-and-forth scan of the stairwell to lock with mine. “I. Can't. Breathe.” In fact, talking just made it a hundred times worse. Black spots dance in the corners of my vision as the panic and lack of oxygen catch up to me.

A flick of a wince mars his face before he schools his features and slowly lowers me to the ground. The moment my bare toes press onto the cold concrete, a strong arm wraps around my waist, tugging me backward to lean against a broad chest. Trey's signature scent of citrus and spices fills my nose, calming me enough to catch a full breath. Seconds tick by turning into minutes, turning into hours. Okay, maybe not hours, but by the time T gives the all clear and everyone relaxes, my toes are frozen solid and shock has set in, making my entire body tremble.

“What… what happened?” I say between chattering teeth. Fuck, it's cold down here.

“Fire on one of the lower floors triggered the fire alarm.” I raise both brows at T in a silent question. “It could've been a ploy to get you outside, exposed. We weren't taking any chances. We’ll never take chances on something not being a threat when it comes to you.”

Aw, T likes me and doesn’t want me to die.

“You're my favorite agent,” I say with a smile, knowing full well what will come next.

“Hey,” all the other guys chirp in near unison.

“Yeah, Mess,” Trey says at my back, his warm breath pushing through my loose hair. “Careful or you'll start an all-out war between us to try and win that favorite role.”

I roll my eyes and wrap both arms around my waist. “Whatever, you all know you're all my favorites. Trying to pick my ultimate favorite would be like picking your favorite kid.” I smirk, lips trembling and no doubt a blueish tint at this point. “It's Taeler. She's my favorite kid.”

“Isn't she your only kid?” Grem pipes up.

“Yeah, that’s why it's an easy choice.” A full-body shiver racks my body. “Can we go upstairs now? It's fucking cold down here, and I can't feel my nose.” To prove my point, I tap a finger to the rounded tip. “I hate being cold.”

“Oh we know, Mess. We know. We sweat through our suits daily making sure you stay comfortable.”

My mouth pops open in surprise. “Guys,” I admonish. “You don't have to do that. I'm thankful that you do and would really like for it to continue being toasty in the house and hotel rooms, but we can turn it down… like half a degree or something.”

The guys snicker, a few rumbling chuckles echoing through the concrete stairwell.

“Grem, Champ, you move ahead and clear the stairwell. Play, you get up to the room and clear it while the rest of us make our way up with Randi here,” T orders.

“I still need to hear that story,” I say, turning to look up at Trey. “Playboy, seriously?”

His arm slides from around my waist, leaving a patch of cold in its wake. “One day, Mess. One day.”

With that, he whirls around and bolts up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Within seconds he's so far up his once thundering footsteps have turned to faint taps.

“Come on, Randi.”

I follow as T leads everyone up to the stairs.

“Where's Todd?” I ask, suddenly remembering I'm not the only US representative here in the building. “Shouldn't he be down here with us?”

“Mr. Secretary was down at the lobby bar when the alarm went off. The agents assigned to him got him to a different secure location.” Ah. “I wouldn't forget about him,” T says with a smile. “I am good at my job.”

“Yeah you are. Nice moves, by the way. Never been carried like a football down several flights of stairs before. Kind of fun even though I'll be sore tomorrow.”

His deep chuckle vibrates along the bland cinder block walls. “It was easy, since you weigh nothing. Speaking of that, remember how you said you wanted to learn some defensive moves, know how to fight back?”

“Yeah,” I say, eyes on the stairs. With my toes so cold, I've already stubbed the left big one twice not judging the steps height correctly.

“My wife, Sarah, she agreed to help—to coach you, I guess.” My focus shifts from the stairs to T only to immediately whack the top of my right foot against the step’s edge. I stumble forward, my fingers grazing the gray concrete before T hauls me back upright. Without asking for permission, he swings me around, draping my legs over one arm and tucking the other under my back.

“Thanks. I think I have frostbite on my toes. We might need to see a doctor to get them removed before gangrene sets in.”

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