Page 1 of Power Twist

Prologue

Kyle Birmingham

Iflick the end of the half-smoked cigar, the ashes floating to the balcony floor before being swept away on a bitter winter wind. Even with the thick cashmere overcoat, a deep chill has seeped through to my bones. I tuck my free hand into the soft silk-lined pocket and ball it into a tight fist to warm my stiffly frozen fingers. Elbow against the stone railing, I stare out into the night, my focus zeroed in on the White House, my home in less than a month.

“Congratulations, motherfucker.”

I shake my head. A small smile creeps up my wind-burned cheeks, stretching my dry lips. Lifting the Cuban, I take another long puff before turning to acknowledge the asshole standing just outside the balcony’s double doors.

“No thanks to you, asshole. I should kick your ass for pulling that stunt with Walmart’s background.” I turn back to the spectacular view, dismissing Shawn and his cocky-ass smirk. “You had no way of knowing which way the poll would swing with her real background known.”

The sharp click of dress shoes against the tiled balcony floor signals his approach. Cutting my eyes in his direction, I watch Shawn thumb through the box of cigars still open on the stone ledge. The fucker doesn’t say a word as he snips off the tip and lights the end. After several puffs, the end glows red with the hot embers.

“We needed to know how she'd react under pressure,” he finally says.

“That's bullshit and you know it,” I bite out. The fucker was pissed I selected Randi as VP instead of him last year. I'm an opportunist at heart, so when Randi fucking Sawyer suggested the crazy-as-hell idea on how to win the White House, I went with it. Except that means I’m stuck with her—for now.

The dickhead simply shrugs like he didn’t almost make me lose the goal I’ve been working toward my whole life.

“It all worked out. Don't get your thong in a wad.” The cigar crumbles in my tightening fist. “You won. That's what matters. Move on. We have new shit to discuss.”

I shift my focus back to the glowing White House in the distance. My future home. Two weeks from now, I, Kyle Birmingham, will be President of the United States of America. The most powerful man in the world.

Me.

I smile into the night, momentarily forgetting all the promises that were made to help me secure this seat and now need to be kept.

“I know what needs to be done,” I say. “I have a plan.”

“Does that plan involve taking Trailer out of the picture? She needs to be dealt with for me to claim my rightful seat as vice president. Her sideshow act is done. You got the sympathy votes needed to win. Now we get her the fuck out of our city.”

I chuckle at Shawn's favorite nickname for Randi. I'm partial to Walmart, but Trailer is a great representation for the trailer trash she really is at the core. Once trash, always trash in my opinion.

“It does.” Probably not the way he's hoping. He'd love to see her six feet under just because that’s the way his evil mind works, whereas I have a less murderous plan. One that will drive her from this town and back to that dump she came from. I'm a conniving, deceitful bastard, but I'm no killer.

Not that I can say the same for Shawn.

I toss the ruined Cuban to the balcony floor and reach for the highball glass filled with my favorite scotch sitting on the metal side table beside me.

Shawn curses. “Details would be great right about now, fucker.”

I laugh. “In two weeks, you'll be assigned your new role as secretary of interior. That's all you need to know right now. I have a different idea on how to handle our bleeding-heart VP to keep her off our tail.”

“I'd love to make her bleed,” Shawn says under his breath with a hint of hope in his voice.

“No,” I state hopefully cutting off his mental planning of Randi’s assassination. “I need you to be hands off. No more attacks, no more stunts.” The cold stone digs into my hip as I shift to face Shawn. “I get you’re pissed, but if something happens to her, there will be a fucking revolt. You releasing her background to the media only made the voters love her more. She's like their fucking Princess Diana now, you idiot.”

He grumbles something before taking a puff from his cigar. “Sure, you're the boss.”

An icy chill stiffens my spine. He's lying, no doubt about it. A slice of pity carves into my heart for Walmart. She has no idea the type of things he's capable of, that he enjoys.

“I won't lay a finger on her,” he continues.

Like he ever would. No way in hell would he get his hands dirty like that. That's not his style. No, he prefers to stay back, to watch from a distance with his fucking cock in his hand. Creepy, sinister son of a bitch. If it weren’t for our childhood, our family connections, I’d distance myself from him as quickly as I could. But it’s too late for that. I’m stuck with the psycho from now until one of us is dead or I’m deemed no longer useful in his eyes.

“What’s the motherfucking plan?” Shawn asks as he relaxes on the outdoor couch, his arms stretching wide along the back.

The plan.

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