Page 28 of Power Surge

New Randi can't even blink too long or everyone will know I'm dying on the inside.

Of course, that's not what he meant earlier, and sure, he was slightly right about me blowing things out of proportion. But it’s been too long since I've seen him, since he’s wrapped me in his protective hold and held me together in a way only he can. I need him near as my balance. The calm to my sometimes dramatic thoughts and fears.

Since the night he walked out of my room, I’ve felt adrift. Those few hours we shared reminded me of how amazing it feels to have someone near who actually cares about you, not the role you currently fill.

A burst of repetitive vibrations against my side shifts my thoughts back to the present. After clearing my throat, I continue to move with the mass of men toward the limo while reaching inside the bag hooked over my shoulder. My fingers shift through the contents until I locate the vibrating phone.

“Blake,” I say in non-greeting. I learned the first day that no one wastes time on pleasantries.

“We have a problem.”

Clenching my teeth, I shut down the urge to scream and heave the phone at the hot cement sidewalk.

“Of course we do. Be back in ten.”

Bending at the waist, I fold into the limo and wait for the agent to shut the door before chunking the annoying device as hard as I can against the leather seat.

I fucking hate my job.

Chapter Eight

Trey

“Take your giant fucking mitt of a hand off me,” I complain as I stumble behind Tank, who’s still dragging me like I’m a disobedient toddler. At the door to the SUV, he chucks me forward. Reacting fast, I catch myself on the hard metal before my face can collide with the dark-tinted window. A sudden pressure between my shoulder blades keeps me against the hot metal.

“I just saved your damn life, you motherfucking fool.” If Tank presses any closer, the bystanders will think he's about to Mike Tyson my ear. And he’s cussing. This is bad. He’s hot about something, and that something seems to be me. “You do not, under any circumstances, tell a woman to calm down during a fight.” With a firm shove, he removes his hand from my back. Not wasting the newfound freedom, I flip around, pressing my ass to the door to bend forward, hands on my knees, listening as he continues his lecture. “And you do not ever,ever, say they're blowing something out of proportion. That's asking to be smothered in your damn sleep. How in the hell are you still alive is what I’d like to know.”

I gesture over my face. “Money, good looks, and a fat dick.” My lips tilt south as my new reality reminds me that’s no longer true nowadays. “At least I still have the last two.” Randi still doesn’t know, nor will she if I can keep it from her. Unease tenses my gut, making my chest constrict.

“You're a lost cause.”

“She loves it,” I say, forcing the same fake smile I’ve worn for weeks now.

“Not currently.”

The frown on my lips deepens. “You don't think she loves me anymore?”

“Get in the damn truck.”

“SUV,” I correct.

“Get. In,” he bellows while thrusting a finger against my breastbone. “I'm done pussyfooting around your pansy ass. We're dealing with your shit right now.”

“Now?” I ask, hesitating over the door handle, the scorching chrome heating my already sweaty palm.

He ignores my question as he rounds the hood, making his way to the driver side. I consider the busy sidewalk in search of a rapid departure. The mention of working through my fucked-up head ignites my fight-or-flight instinct, insisting I run from my friend.

“Don't even think about it.” I choose not to turn toward Tank’s deep voice. “I know where you work and live. I will find you, and I will make you deal with this. It's time, Benson. She needs you, and you're too messed up in the motherfucking head to see that. Pull your head out of your ass for one minute and stop being a spoiled, selfish bastard.”

I huff, my lips parting to disagree, but he slams the door after sliding inside the car, preventing me from defending myself unless I climb into the SUV too. Groaning combined with a fragment of whining, I yank the door open and fold myself inside. The arctic AC immediately greets me, chilling my heated cheeks and sweat-dotted forehead.

“Where are we going?” I cross both arms over my chest and slouch in the seat like a pouting teenager.

Not deeming me worthy of a response, Tank ignores me as he presses a button on the steering wheel. The speakers crackle to life, and the distinct ring of an outgoing call pours through the small space.

“Hey, baby,” says the one voice that can be loving and terrifying as fuck in the same breath.

I sit up straight and uncross my arms. “Why are you calling her?” I hiss.

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