Page 6 of Power Twist

Mental note: dig into that oddity at a later date.

“Let's transition to the voting bill,” Kyle says, shooting a sly smile in my direction as he rests on the edge of the enormous dark wood desk.

Max Holster, House minority leader, leans forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. His brown eyes meet mine before flicking to Kyle, who's still wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Your proposal is drastic, but it makes sense,” Max says. He clears his throat and fiddles with the gold wedding band around his left ring finger.

Fucking hell, the suspense is killing me. I roll my eyes and mutter as much into my coffee mug. This meeting could've been over hours ago, but no, they like to make everything so fucking dramatic and gossip like high school girls. At least I know Brad's wife likes it in the ass, because that's information I really needed to be aware.

“We should have the votes in the House, but it will be close in the Senate.”

I hold out a hand, stopping him from continuing. “Hold up there, Maximillian.” Again, not his name. “Let's take a quick step back and go over the details of the voting bill one more time.” Or the first time, since Kyle seems to think it's a fun game to keep me out of the loop. He always did enjoy seeing me floundering in uncertainty.

Max arches a perfectly plucked brow.Seriously, does he get those threaded or something, because I might need to get his girl’s number.

“Revoking voting rights to anyone below a certain yearly income level.”

I forget how to breathe. My gaze slides from Max to Kyle, whose shit-eating grin has turned into a full-on smile.

“Come again?” I say, hoping I heard him wrong. “Surely I didn't hear you correctly.”

“Ah, but you did, Madam VP,” Kyle grinds out, sounding like my title burns his fucking throat. “We've done a study that Americans below a certain income level don't have the intelligence—or mental capacity, rather—required for selecting candidates with the proper backgrounds and experiences to lead them. Present company included.”

The building anger and frustrations from the past year and a half boil over. Red darkens my vision as I narrow my eyes on the man I truly loathe. My fingers tighten around the warm mug. I don’t think just react to the sheer rage racing through my veins. I slam the full mug to the floor with as much power as I can muster. Shards of ceramic splinter around the room, coffee splattering over my pants and the pants of the others. Everyone shouts jumping to avoid the mess.

“What the fuck, Kyle?” I seethe as I shove off the couch. I lunge for the still-cowering president when strong arms band around my own, sealing them to my side and hauling me backward. I fight against the person’s strong grasp. “Get off me,” I yell, anger obliterating any hold I have on decorum.

“Everyone out.” Kyle’s sharp tone cuts through the chaos. I shiver when his ice blue eyes meet mine, rage flickering around the edges. “Now,” he booms, slamming his fist on the desk. Eyes wide in fear and awe, the men shuffle out of the room. “You too.” Kyle's eyes glare above my head.

“Sir—”

“I. Said. Out,” he growls. His knuckles drain of color as he tightens his hold along the desk’s edge.

I gasp in a deep breath when the overbearing hold loosens. Free to move, I turn just as a suited man steps out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

My fingers tremble with rage and fear.Fucking shit, what did I just do? Showed my level of crazy, that's what.

I swallow against a dry throat as I turn back to face Kyle only to stumble back a step. Anger radiates from where he still sits perched on the edge of the desk, his chest heaving.

“You will pay for that little display,” he says. Releasing his death grip on the desk, he shakes out his hands and stands. For each of his steps forward, I take a cautious one back. A solid surface presses against my lower back, my head colliding with the wall.

“You can't do that.” My voice cracks from the fear shaking my insides. “It's their constitutional right.” Dread sinks in my gut. What have I done, helping this fucker get elected? “There's no way—”

My next words catch in my throat when thick fingers wrap around it. His grip tightens, sealing off my airway; only a sliver of air slides through with each desperate breath. My nails dig into the exposed skin of his wrist, clawing for freedom.

“There is always a way.” He leans close. Cold lips sweep along my cheekbone. My knees give out, his hand on my neck the only thing keeping me upright.

“I'll stop you,” I rasp out. Black dots sprinkle my vision.

He scans my face, pausing on my lips. “You think you can stop this from happening? Think you can gain enough supporters to side with your bleeding heart?”

I attempt a nod but whimper as the pain spikes down the back of my neck. The slick soles of my heels slide along the pristine carpet, desperate for traction.

“Challenge accepted, Walmart. We'll see who wins.”

Slowly his fingers loosen their grip. I slump to the floor, gasping for air. Hands gently grasping my tender neck, I tuck into a tight ball. Traitorous tears slide down my cheeks. Eyes sealed shut, I attempt to block out the joy in his arrogant chuckle.

“Pathetic,” he mutters somewhere in the distance. “Get up and get out. Countdown is on, Randi. I'm taking this to vote before the end of the year. Better use your time for gaining opposers to my bill instead of crying on the fucking floor.”

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