Page 44 of Power Surge

On silent feet, Trey rounds the bed. I track the quick movements, each breath tighter than the previous. Still gloriously naked, Trey yanks one foot and then the other through the legs of his suit pants from where he draped them over the chair before climbing into bed hours ago. Leaving the top clasp dancing open, he swipes the radio and earpiece from the side table.

Time stands still as he fiddles with various knobs and switches. His lips move with a silent curse. The radio is launched through the air, landing on the bed with enough force that I feel the impact. Running a hand through his hair, Trey locks his intense gaze on me.

“Do you have a gun?”

I yank the sheet higher, savoring the false sense of security the thin material offers. “Why would I have a gun?” I whisper back.

“You need a gun.”

“I don’t know how to use a gun,” I whimper.

Even in the faint light, the deep dip of his brows is visible. “You’re from Texas. Everyone there knows how to use a gun.”

A hysterical giggle bubbles past my lips. I slap a hand to my face. “No gun. No radio. Now what?”

The color drains from his lips as he seals them tightly together and casts a look to the door leading to the hallway.

“Something doesn't feel right,” he mumbles more to himself than to me. In a flash, he’s on the bed, a hand pressed to the mattress to lean close enough for me to hear his quiet whispers. “I heard something outside. It could be nothing, but I’m not taking any chances. The radio is fucking dead, and I left my guns locked back in my room.” His harsh tone and annoyance are no doubt at himself rather than me. “Be as quiet as possible. Grab your phone, and lock yourself in the bathroom.”

I snatch his wrist to keep him near before he can stand. “What are you going to do?”

“Go, Randi.” With a fast flick of his wrist, he dislodges my hand and steps back to the chair. “Put this on while you’re at it.” The bulletproof vest that was slung over the chair’s armrest sails through the air, landing on the bed beside me.

“What are you going to wear?” My voice rises with my panic.

A loud thump reverberates from the other side of the hall door, followed by another. Trey’s expression turns grim. “Fucking go, Randi. I can’t handle this without knowing you’re somewhere safe.”

Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Total sense. Except one minor issue.

I can’t fucking move. Nothing wants to obey my desperate pleas to scramble off the bed and race to the safety of the bathroom.

“I said fucking go. Now.”

It's not the words or command that sets me into action. It's the fear laced into his harsh rasp. A fear for me and my safety, not his own. Sweat slicks his forehead and shoulders, glistening in the low lamplight. Forcing my arms into action, I snatch the vest and tug it over my tank top before securing the sides. Inch by inch, I work my way off the bed. Cold stone greets my bare feet, biting into my toes as I tiptoe toward the bathroom.

That’s when I hear it.

It’s barely audible over my thundering heart and pulse pounding in my ears, but it’s there. My steps falter, and I suck in a tight breath as I stand frozen halfway between the bed and bathroom.

Trey pauses in the middle of the room, his head on a swivel, turning from the balcony to the hall door and back again. Dread cramps my stomach. I blindly attempt a step back toward the bathroom, but something snags my heel, wrapping around my ankle. I free-fall, the sheet I stupidly caught my foot in floating down with me. A rattling boom shakes the room as my flailing hand smacks the bathroom door, which slams it against the wall with the force of my body weight.

My ass smacks the floor, my lower back and tailbone nearly breaking with the impact. The white sheet settles around me along the floor, covering my bare legs but leaving the rest of my naked lower half exposed. Ignoring the radiating pain coming from my ass and back, I snap my gaze forward in search of Trey.

Shrouded in the shadows cast by the billowing curtains, he lingers at the edge of the balcony door, worry etched across his features as he stares at my awkward position on the floor.

In a classic Randi move, I raise both hands and shoot him two thumbs up.

A small bit of the worry fades from his pinched features as he shakes his head and turns back to the balcony door.

The balcony door that's now slowly easing open.

Trey retreats a step, sealing his back to the wall. Partially covered by the sweeping tapestries, he keeps his focus trained on the shadow of a man moving into my suite.

I gasp, both hands grappling with the sheet, trying to untangle it from my legs in a desperate attempt to cover myself. Even with the darkened room, the man's unnerving smile is crystal clear. With another step, he moves deeper into the suite. He slides something from around his neck, tugging it over his mouth as the glow of the side table light highlights his features.

A gun dangles from his right hand. Each step brings him closer, yet I can’t move, can only stare wide-eyed, fully entranced by the damn gun. A full-body tremor rattles my shoulders as a sinister chill settles into my bones.

Sarah's training vanishes, wiped clear by the undiluted fear coursing through my veins.

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