Page 8 of Power Twist

Once we’re all inside the library, T quietly closes the newer-looking double glass doors behind him. Across the room, Trey leans against a window, focused on the winter wonderland that settled over DC last night. The snow is beautiful, making everything it touches glisten in the sun, but I’m not a fan of the stupid bitter-ass cold that accompanies it. I predict I’ll never grow accustomed to the north's version of winter. At this rate, I might never be warm again.

Trey’s honey brown eyes slide from the white scenery to meet mine. My breath catches and my stomach tenses with the intensity I find. Shrugging out of the coat, I break his stare to lay it over the back of a padded leather armchair. I have to stop letting my body react to his presence. We’re friends now, nothing more. He's made that clear, being hands off and distant the past two months. There’s a line in the sand—or snow, rather—now.

Friends.

Just friends.

No matter how much I hate it.

Chapter Three

Trey

Muscles tense, rage at the boiling point, I stare out at the snow-doused lawn, hoping the serenity will calm me.

It doesn’t do shit.

I shift my weight, fighting the urge to glance at the beauty only yards from where I stand. But I can't. If I see those distinct red marks around her neck again, there isn’t anyone who will stop me from racing out of here to murder that fucker Kyle Birmingham. My fingers tighten into fists, my blunt nails digging into the skin of my palm. But I relish the prick of pain. It centers me, grounds me to the present, calming my heavy breaths. Keeping me from doing something I'll regret, like tugging her close to wrap my arms around her and never letting go.

That's a lie. I wouldn't regret it, but yet I would. I love this job, love working with my best friend and the other boys. But I also grieve her touch, her laugh and smile that only I can conjure. Every day since we ended, being near her but staying away, has been torture. Everything about her makes me weak, urges me to say fuck it all and devour her whole no matter the consequences.

I close my eyes and massage the bridge of my nose, hoping to alleviate the initial tingles of a headache. She needs me, and here I am reminiscing and brooding.Get your fucking shit together, Benson.

“What happened, Mess?” I ask, finally gaining the courage to look her way again. I curse at the glistening of her eyes. “Talk. Now.” Yeah, I'm being rough, but what else is there to be? I can't hold her, can't comfort her. I'm fighting all the shit I want to do, which leaves me fighting a fucking never-ending battle inside my head.

I couldn't bring her into my family unaware of the shit show we are, couldn't do that to her career or mine. It's fine. We're fine. We can keep doing this 'we're just friends' dance for the next four years, then act. If she still wants me by then.

I wince and rub a fist against my chest right above my heart.

Fuck, this hurts.

Tank eases her into one of the chairs and drags the matching leather armchair directly in front of hers. My attention locks on where their knees touch. My skin flashing hot, I take a menacing step closer, ready to do whatever it takes to break the contact.

“Stand down, Playboy,” Tank grumbles, his dark eyes locked on me. He turns back to Randi, his features softening. “Go on, Randi. What happened? You're killing us here.”

She nods, looking everywhere other than me. I swallow back the hurt her avoidance triggers.

“Kyle's proposing a change to the voting law. One that will prevent anyone below a certain yearly income level therightto vote. Taking away their fucking constitutional right to vote on who will lead this motherfucking country because of their financial status.” Her voice rises with every word, ending in a high-pitched panic tone. I turn from the window as she shoots from the chair. Using the backrest as support, she reaches down to yank off a black heel and chucks it across the room with a scream of rage. “That motherfucking cuntcake.” She yells again, repeating the process with the other shoe. “He fucking used me!”

Randi steps toward the desk, Tank’s fingers barely grazing her wrist in an attempt to stop her. She lays her forearms on the shiny dark wood, ready to demolish the stacks of folders and papers on top.

“Randi, stop.”

She stands tall, her hazel eyes locked with mine. Her chest heaves at a rapid pace while a bright red flush stains her cheeks and chest.

“I did this,” she whispers, never breaking my stare. She jams her finger into her breast. “I allowed this. I let my stupid wants get in the way. I should've seen it, should've seen his evil plan and stopped it then.” My feet move on their own accord, stepping closer. Randi's head dips, her arms wrapping around herself. “I am his pawn like everyone knows I am. I let this happen. It's all my fault.”

Before I can comfort her, Tank's there, standing between us. His massive hands rest on Randi's slim shoulders and give her a little shake, drawing her eyes up to meet his.

“If you believe that, then youarean idiot.”

She blanches.

“Watch it, Tank,” I nearly growl. I can't take him, but I'll fight to the death against the person who put that hurt look on her face.

He shrugs me off, keeping his focus solely on her. “What I'm saying is this isn't your fault. You had no idea this was the first thing that bastard Birmingham would attempt to push through.”

“I should've seen it.” She shakes her head.

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