Page 75 of Power Surge

“Where is the doctor?” I don’t recognize my own voice. Cold, focused… determined. The sinking feeling in my gut fans the guilt already flaming inside me.

Not a single agent responds. A few share worried expressions. They must see the edge I’m teetering on.

The crutches creak beneath my weight as I pivot to face Trey.

“Nothing was life-threatening. We’ve patched up what we can, cleaned the wounds. We'll get detailed medical attention once we land.” I try to shove down the ire rising in my chest at hearing they have to wait when medical attention was so readily available to me for a fucking sprained ankle, but it still pours into my narrow-eyed glare. Wisely, Trey retreats a step, his hands raised in surrender. “Don’t kill the messenger, Madam President. It wasn’t my decision.”

“Bert! Ernie!” I bark over my shoulder, directing my voice back the way I’d just come. When the sound of hurried footfalls doesn’t immediately come, I mumble a string of curses and hobble out of the room, heading for the small medical office where I last saw the two puppets.

“Hey,” I shout once I’m close enough to see inside. Their heads snap up from whatever they were studying. “Get your asses down there and patch them up.”

“Ma'am—”

“They are my responsibility. I don’t give a rat’s fat ass what their roles are, their titles, or their damn income bracket. You get your asses over there now and take care of my guys,” I grit out, thrusting my pointer finger in the direction of the injured agents. “You will give them the same obsessive attention you gave me. Every medicine, every bandage is available to them. What's mine is theirs, do you understand?”

Their heads bob up and down, but they still don’t move.

“This is not a request. Go.Now.”

Their chairs clatter together as they shove to attention. Eyes downcast, they sidle past me and rush down the hall.

Satisfied they’ll do exactly as I ordered and the agents who made it back to Air Force One before we took off will be taken care of, I wobble back down the hall toward my office.

Tank and Trey stand waiting just outside the doors, heads together, whispering conspiringly. I failed to notice earlier how both are freshly showered and in clean suits. I take in my own disheveled appearance and wince. I’d love to get out of this pant suit that reeks of sweat and is dotted with Champ’s blood.

But no rest for the weary in this job.

“You two, my office.” Not waiting, I ignore their shocked expressions and hobble inside the office. Holding back a cringe, I ease myself into the unforgiving desk chair. Try as I might to conceal the pain, a slight wince stretches my features as I relax back.

Trey's laser focus from across the room takes notice of the quick pain-laced expression. The corners of his lips dip in a deep frown. Hands balled into fists, he strides to my side. A bit alarmed at the irritation somehow directed toward me, I shy away, sealing my back against the hard leather. He drops to a low squat, balancing on the balls of his feet. Like my injured ankle is made of glass, he gently lifts until it’s level with the desk’s polished surface.

“Pillow,” he commands over his shoulder. A split second later, a decorative throw pillow from the couch zooms through the air. Trey catches it before it can smack me across the face. The rough material snags the bandages as he slips the pillow beneath my foot and gently rests my ankle on top. I hiss at the instant freezing sensation as Trey drapes a gooey ice pack directly over the injury. “It needs to stay iced and elevated or it won’t heal.” A sadness lurks behind his eyes as he says, “Give us a second, Tank.”

T silently slips through the closed doors and seals them shut behind him.

Reaching across the small distance between us, Trey cradles my face between his calloused palms, the rough skin scraping along my cheeks. For a perfectly silent moment, he searches the entirety of my face, studying every detail before pitching forward to press his soft lips to mine.

One simple kiss from the man who owns my heart and all the overwhelming, terrifying, conflicting emotions from this awful day vanish. I’m lost. Lost in him with zero desire to ever be found.

The kiss turns desperate as we attempt to merge our souls into one with our lips. Too much happened today; this is the way for us to drain the emotions to see clearly later on.

Trey's talented tongue controls my own, lapping me into submission. Seeking hands delve into my hair, fisting at the base and taking a chunk between his fingers. I sigh against his lips at the dominance in the hold. Him taking my control is exactly what I need to feel centered and capable to take on what needs to happen next. A harsh tug snaps my neck back, our lips breaking apart. Our chests heave as we attempt to calm the raging desire he conjured with a single kiss.

Without a word, his grip loosens. With a groan, he stands to full height and retreats a single step, then another, adding unwanted distance between us.

“I don't know how many more instances of your life being in immediate danger I can take, Mess.” His raised hand trembles before it glides through his disheveled hair.

“I know, Trey, and I… I know this, what happened today, is partially my fault. I didn’t listen to Vlad’s advice before, but today… today that changes. Grab T, will you? He needs to hear this too.”

With a furrowed brow, Trey turns and moves the few feet to the door. Even with the world literally falling apart around me, I can't help but take notice and admire the way his ass looks in those slacks. Somehow the draping material accentuates the flex of his delectable backside with every step.

A large shadow snaps my ogling from Trey’s ass to T, whose intense face appears over Trey's shoulder as he joins us in the office.

“I’m sorry, first off. I know today wasn’t my fault, but it feels like it was,” I say through a deep breath. Their lips part, chests expanding, but I hold up a hand, stopping their rebuttals. “I should’ve listened to Vlad when he told me to listen to my advisors, but I didn’t, and now we’re here. Men lost their lives today, others hurt because someone out there thinks I’ll run scared or am an easy target. Well, guess what? Fuck them.”

With the excitement of my speech, my foot had slipped off the pillow. I finagle it back on top, hoping for a more comfortable position.

The two share a confused glance.

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