Page 52 of Power Surge

With a grunt, I throw my weight into the oars, rowing faster in hopes it’ll keep reality away for a few more minutes. But even the trembling muscles and heaving lungs can’t keep it at bay for long. Between the even strokes, slivers of the thoughts weighing on my mind slip through.

Dad’s upcoming plea hearing.

Near assassination of my girlfriend.

An agent missing during the entire incident.

A world on the edge of war with her as the one to keep the balance.

And, of course, the icing on the shit cake, that motherfucker Ben Hopkins.

My lungs burn, each breath like sharp glass gouging my dry throat. A grunt of pain slips past my cracked lips as both thighs, weaker than normal after sitting on my ass for weeks, spasm in exhaustion. The left oar skims off the top, jerking from my hand and nearly taking me over into the water.

I bellow at the top of my lungs, letting loose the frustration and stress as I slam both oars to the scull, tucking them out of the water. A breeze of my own making whips along my neck and back, cooling not only my skin but my boiling temper too. A slow current drags against the scull, reducing the momentum until slowing to a halt several feet from the dock I’ve been avoiding.

“You are a dumbass,” Tank shouts from the dock.

A genuine smile spreads up my cheeks despite my ragged breathing. Shifting in the custom-fitted seat, I press the side of one hand to my forehead, blocking the rising sun's blinding rays. Pierce stretches along the dock, talking to someone I don't recognize, while Tank leans against a support post, eyes only on me. Large drops of sweat drip over my eyebrows and eyelids, preventing me from making out the other people strolling along the wood planks.

Fighting through the pain, I grip the oars once again to pull toward the dock. A deckhand holds the boat for me to stand the moment I pull alongside. I wince at the tightness already stiffening my muscles. Almost the same time I realize there’s no way I’m getting out of this thing without help, a large dark hand dangles in front of my face. Without thinking twice, I smack my hand into his and grip. Tank hauls me up and out with ease.

“Solve all the world’s problems out there?” Tank asks once I’m somewhat steady on my feet.

Snagging a club-provided clean towel from the stack closest to us, I swipe it across my sweat-slick face and dripping hair. “Hardly. Who's that?” I ask, nodding toward Pierce and the man he’s talking to.

“Hell if I know or care. Not my problem anymore. You went twenty minutes longer out there today and cut several seconds off your time. Want to tell me why?”

“I regret ever suggesting you be the one to help me get back in shape.” Unable to continue supporting my own weight, I collapse onto a wooden bench and lean forward. The white terrycloth twists between my rotating hands. “Damn, I'm glad we don't work until tomorrow. I’ll be worthless in a few.”

“Tell me what’s going through that head of yours. This is part of the deal, Playboy. I agreed to help you physically and mentally. Talking this through is part of the latter.”

The soft threads of the towel push against my closed lids as I rest my head in my hands.

“It's nothing. It's everything. Hell, I don't know.” Something cold presses to my thigh. I peek over the towel to see a glistening water bottle offered by one of the helpers. Nodding in thanks, I twist the cap and chug half the bottle before tightening it back on. “I hesitated.” Now my heart thundering against my ribs is for a whole different reason than exertion. I zero my focus on the head of a rusty nail securing a plank to avoid Tank's penetrating scrutiny. “I almost let my relationship with her overpower my training.”

“You were shot. It's natural to hesitate after—”

I shake my head, droplets of sweat raining down around the dry wooden bench and over the bare skin of my shoulders. “You don't understand what I'm saying.”

“Then speak clearly, dumbass.”

My chest rattles with a soft chuckle. “I almost killed him,” I whisper, daring a glance at my best friend. “He threatened her, my girl. She was fucking terrified because of him. My arm was around his neck, securing him.” I let my vision unfocus as I stare out over the water. “All it would've taken was one twist, one flex, and the man responsible would be dead. A part of me knew I shouldn't because he would be worth more to us alive than dead, and still I wanted to murder the motherfucker. I wanted him to die slowly at my hand.”

A board creaks, signaling someone's approach. Shaking out of the memory-filled daze, I lean forward to see the length of the dock. The man Pierce had been talking to passes without a single glance, his dress shoes clicking as he vanishes down another walkway.

“But you didn't,” Tank mutters under his breath. “You knew what needed to be done and fought it.”

“Is it bad to admit I want to punch that fucker Ponder for taking my kill?”

Tank's dark eyes meet mine. “I've been meaning to ask you about that. I read your official report on the incident and his.” He shifts, crossing both arms over his chest. “It didn't seem like you or the president were in mortal harm, so why did he? Why did he shoot?”

“That’s your job to figure out, not mine. What did his report say?”

“That night, he was stationed outside her door along with three other agents. He thought he heard something and went to investigate with another agent. When he got back, the two agents stationed outside her suite were dead, one shot to the head each. Hell, those guys didn’t even have time to draw their weapons. He was checking them when he heard Randi and went inside to investigate. The other agent who’d broken off from Ponder investigated the room next door to the president’s. That’s when he noticed that balcony door ajar. He put two and two together and scaled the wall to gain access to her balcony—”

“Scaled? That was a three-story drop and at least ten feet between the two balconies.”

Tank nods, sunlight reflecting off his bald head. “Seems Wright does some shit called bouldering in his off time. That’s when he entered, saw you struggling with the guy. Back to Ponder’s report. He thought you were injured because you dropped to the floor, heard a gunshot, and that’s why he fired.”

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