Page 17 of Power Surge

“Mess, you can't just agree with what I'm saying,” he states, his tight voice revealing the underlying frustration that’s desperate for an outlet.

“Yes.” Pushing his buttons is fun and simple when he's obviously already sitting at the eruption point.

“Damnit, Randi, I said stop it,” he grits out. The muscle along his jaw twitches as he keeps it tightly clamped together.

“Randi, is it?” I snap. I shove his shoulder a bit harder than he’s expecting, causing him to step back. “Talk to me, Trouble. What’s going on with you? Something is obviously wrong.”

“I'm fine.” Right, and unicorns aren’t the coolest magical creature. “Let's talk about you.” He shifts the hand holding the cigarette in my direction.

Now it’s my turn to be confused. “Um, okay. But what about me are we talking about?”

“You're as stressed as I am, for fuck’s sake.”

“Um, yeah, because I have a fucking stressful job as president, Trey.” I spread my arms out wide, indicating the expansive kitchen we’re standing in as a reminder of my current job.

“Thanks, but I don't need a reminder,” he hisses under his breath.

Stunned, I stagger back a step, bringing my hand to my chest. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh hell no. This”—I flick my index finger between us—“is not nothing, you asshole.” There’s a high-pitched hiss as I drop the spent cigarette into the bowl of water we’ve been utilizing as a makeshift ashtray. This time I slam both hands against his muscular shoulders with each word for emphasis. “Talk. To. Me. Damnit.”

His own cigarette falls into the water, extinguishing on impact. Rotating, he places his back to me, shielding me from the array of emotions I swear just flashed across his tense face.

Once, twice, he rakes his fingers through his hair as his shoulders rise and fall at a rapid pace with deep breaths.

After a moment, he clears his throat but still doesn’t turn to face me. “I should go. Now seems like a bad time for both of us.”

Desperation, dread, and anger battle for dominance inside me. Before he takes a single step, I clasp one shoulder to halt his retreat.

“Hell no, you're not walking away from me. From us. What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Trouble?” My voice cracks. He can’t go. I’ve waited three weeks to see him in private, to feel somewhat normal again, and he’s acting like an ass and about to leave.

This isn’t my Trey. Whatever is going on with him runs deep, deeper than T or I realized.

“Let me go.” The warning in his voice is palpable. Sensing the threat, three agents step from their invisible posts along the wall, their focus solely on Trey.

“Everyone out.” My words are soft with the worry clogging my throat. No one reacts. Trey stands taller, readying for a fight as one agent advances another step. “For fuck’s sake,” I shout, stomping my bare foot on the tile. “I said get out!”

Shock registers on the approaching agent’s face before he glances to his team members. One by one, they reluctantly file out of the kitchen. The final agent narrows a glare at Trey before trailing the others.

“Fuck you, Trey Benson,” I mutter before slamming the heel of my hand against the center of his back.

Chapter Five

Randi

Trey whirls, strands of hair lifting with the fast move. His fury is palpable. Face flushed, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace with each short breath, he looks terrifying, menacing—deadly. To anyone but me. I don't flinch, don't shrink away even though he has the power to kill me in a single blow. No, I don’t move because in my heart, deep within my soul that’s been imprinted on by this man, I know Trey wouldneverhurt me. The thought would never even cross his mind.

“Back off, Randi. I'm begging you. Back the fuck off.” His words are strained. The vein along his neck throbs at a quick beat.

“No,” I nearly hiss as I dare an inch closer, shrinking the distance between me and the man I love. The same man who is clearly fighting an internal war over things he won't allow me to understand. “I'm not backing off. And you know why, jackass?”

His jaw works back and forth, but he doesn’t respond.

“Fine, I'll tell you anyway. Because I love you, you jerk!” I shove my arms out wide, fingers splayed. “I love you, and I’m dying inside right now not having any clue what you’re dealing with, what you won’t let me see. I want to. Fuck, I want to know, and I want to help, desperately. Don't you see that?” My last word is barely a whisper.

With both our cigarettes extinguished, I flick the vent hood off. The loud hum immediately dies, leaving the kitchen depressingly quiet.

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