Page 70 of Power Twist

“Can you sort through your feelings in the safety of the—” He cuts himself off but immediately recovers with a shouted “Cover!”

Before his bellow has stopped ringing through the parking lot, another sound bursts through the night. The distinct bang of a gun shoots panic through my system, forcing me to my knees. The asphalt bites into the skin of my knees and palms as a heavy weight presses on top of me, nearly folding me in two. The glass above my head shatters, showering the ground with tiny shards of glass.

“Get her out of here,” T barks near my ear. Another set of arms slides along my back, hooking around my waist and hauling me upright.

A second shot booms through the night, eliciting a scream from deep in my throat. The person holding me grunts, his body slamming into me. My hip and shoulder collide with the unforgiving metal of the SUV. I cry out as pain sparks at each point of contact. Still the agent continues forward, practically dragging me to the other side of the SUV. Two more shots ring out, one splintering the side of the SUV inches from my face. Eyes wide, I glance from the bullet hole to across the street, where it seemed to have come from.

Another agent grips my arm. My eyes fly up to Trey's profile.

“Move your feet, Randi,” he barks, yanking me behind him. The metal digs into my back as he presses his full weight against my chest. “Get to—” He grunts before sliding to his knees, leaving me exposed.

“Trey!” I yell, falling to the asphalt with him. Hands roaming his chest, I search for where he was hit when another set of hands grab under my arms, hauling me into the air. I scream for whoever is holding me to let me go. Legs and arms flailing, I try to break the person’s hold to get back to where Trey lies still on the ground, his eyes locked with mine. Before I can escape, I'm thrown into the back of the third SUV, my head smacking a hard-plastic cup holder.

The SUV accelerates immediately. I roll backward, almost sliding into the next row before my ragged nails gain traction on the soft leather, halting my fall. Left and then right I roll as the SUV takes turns down various streets, bolting from the ambush.

Arms trembling, it takes two attempts to push upright into the seat and another few to fasten my seat belt.

“We're secure, ma'am,” says a voice up front.

Too dazed by shock, I fail to place the voice of the driver, but looking to the passenger seat, Champ's good-looking profile affirms I'm in good hands. I slide my slick palm through my hair, over my blouse, and down my skirt, making sure everything is where it should be and there aren't any gaping holes I've somehow failed to notice up to this point.

“Trey?” I rasp. “The others?”

Champ swallows deeply. Gaze fixed out the window, gun at the ready, he shakes his head. “Let's get you home.”

Not the response I was looking for.

Chapter Eighteen

Randi

Thumbnail between my teeth, I watch the closed bedroom door, begging for it to open. My feet bounce along the soft carpet, making the entire bed frame shake beneath me. What the hell is taking them so long? Sighing, I switch nails, hoping maybe the middle one will ease the panic building in my gut.

Two hours ago, I was rushed inside the house and up to my ‘secure’ room. Which it is, I guess, but secure doesn't mean shit when I have no clue what's going on.

I'm not crazy enough to not realize what happened tonight, but everything still seems fuzzy. I was set up, that's clear, but by whom and why? What would’ve happened if I had gone inside as planned? Would I even be here right now? My safety is the last thing on my mind, coincidently. More than anything I need to know all my guys are safe, especially one mischievous man I can't get enough of, even though he's on my shit list for keeping stuff from me.

Seriously, how many times were we together the past few weeks where he could've told me what was going on behind the scenes?

I shake my head, causing the makeshift towel turban to loosen and tumble to the bed. Gripping the damp towel, I shuffle into the bathroom and toss it into the hamper.

Instead of retreating to keep my vigil from the bed, I pause in front of the mirror. My dark, damp hair hangs in disarray around my face, cascading over my shoulders. I slide my fingers into the terry cloth robe, brushing along my collarbone and pulling the soft material away as I go. Lifting it, I inspect the already deep purple and blue bruise that's forming.

Carefully I trace along the edges, feeling the swollen muscle beneath. It could've been worse. A lot worse. Like the guys. Damn, where are they?

My eyes flick to the bathroom door, hoping Trey will materialize and tell me everything's okay. But the doorway remains empty, the bedroom just beyond quiet.

I tug at the ends of the robe's sash, allowing the two sides to part. Skimming my fingertips down my belly, I move the right side of the robe and pop my hip to see the bruise in the mirror. From hip bone to midthigh, another dark bruise has already formed. I'd be sore as hell if it weren't for the pain meds the annoying doctor made me take before she left an hour or so ago.

I close the robe and cinch the sash tight before turning from my disheveled reflection. Worry clenches my lower belly for my guys. Where the hell are they? A wide, open-mouth yawn escapes as I trudge to the soft bed. The fluffy duvet rustles as I pull it and the top sheet back. Snuggling into the covers, I fluff the pillow and angle it so I can lie downandhave a good view of the door.

Resting my cheek on the pillow, I tuck my arms beneath it and draw my knees up close to my chest. Soon my eyes grow heavy, my slow blinks turning into minutes of darkness behind closed lids. Each time, I fight to reopen them, determined to keep my vigil for when he'll bust through the door and explain everything.

After several attempts at fighting the inevitable, I lose the battle, slipping into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

“Mess.”

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