Page 1 of Power Term

Prologue

Randi

Asharp, high-pitched screeching in my ears threatens to rupture my eardrums and liquefy my brain. Combine that with the pounding in my skull that’s nearly as brutal as the ringing, and my thoughts scatter as I try to decipher what the hell is going on and why I can’t move.

Something happened to me.

What happened to me?

Fucking focus, Randi. Get your shit together.

But I can’t. Nothing makes sense through the all-consuming pain keeping me from processing what the hell is going on. A memory flashes through my mind like lightning, there and gone quickly but enough for me to remember one thing.

A car wreck. I was in a car wreck, and now… now I can’t move.

Panic races through my veins, skyrocketing my pulse to race faster than humanly possible as heat swells beneath my skin. Anxiety festers, generating fears of paralysis and dangling severed limbs to be the only logical reason for my immobility. Willing all my focus to one simple move, I slowly lift my chin from where it rests along my collarbone.

The simple movement rips a gasp from me as agonizing pain blazes down my neck to my lower spine, like hundreds of tiny knives stabbing those sensitive nerves repeatedly. Every movement is worse than the last, but a nagging sense of foreboding urges me to keep going.

Finally my head meets the back of the seat. I gasp a full breath as hot tears drip down my cheeks. Teeth clamped hard, I swallow a cry of agony and seal my lips to keep from calling out. Chest heaving from the exertion of that simple movement, I take a moment to let the pain ease to a manageable level.

The ringing in my ears and throbbing in my head continue, but it’s a fraction less with the new position. I could easily give up in this moment, stop refusing the intense need to drift asleep. Abandon this mad idea of consciousness. But I won’t.

I don’t know how, but I know one thing is for certain.

I’m in danger, and I need to stay awake to fight.

Digging my teeth into my lower lip, I fight my lids to open. Slow at first, my lashes flutter as I blink past the haze clouding my vision. A sticky glaze makes each slow blink more difficult than usual to peel my lids apart once again.

As my vision sharpens, I observe my surroundings without moving. The back of a black leather seat is unmistakable directly in front of me, and just beyond that is a shattered, splintered windshield with something sticking through it from the outside.

Yells and gunshots sound in the distance while long shadows flutter outside the smashed tinted window on my right. Sucking in a breath for courage to take stock of the damage to my lower half, I slide my gaze lower. Yellowed light filters through the fissures of the town car’s various broken windows, offering enough illumination from the streetlamps above to highlight the awkward angle of my legs and torso. But it’s what Idon’tsee that causes a swift wash of relief. No dismembered legs or arms, no gaping holes in my torso, no rushing blood. Besides my throbbing head, which probably caused the spiderweb-looking crack in the window, I’m unharmed.

The ringing in my ear seems to swell, cutting off what minimal outside noise I could hear before. Pressure builds in my skull, causing my stomach to roll with nausea. Surrendering to the demanding fight to close my eyes, I rest my lids, dousing myself in darkness once again.

Focus, Randi.I’m a sitting duck wherever we are. I have to move, have to fight to find Trey.

A renewed sense of urgency blooms at the thought of Trey. I have to get to him, or get somewhere safe so he can find me.

But to do that, I have to move.

Fuck, this is going to hurt.

A pitiful whimper breezes past my dry lips as my fingers shift along the seat. The smooth baby-soft leather brushes beneath the tips, the texture a complete contrast to everything else in this moment.

With every move, pain infiltrates each cell and nerve, but I push through the agony. The leather sticks to my slick palm as I seal it to the seat and slowly rotate my upper body to align with my lower half. I sink my teeth into my upper lip to stifle the cry of pain that wants to escape.

I slowly peel my skin away from the leather, each square inch sticking from blood or sweat—I’m too chicken to glance down and find out which. The muscles of my right arm burn in protest as I reach out to grope along the door, fingers desperate in their search for the handle. The tremble in my arm turns into a quake before my muscles give out, slapping my hand back to the seat.

A low groan fills the air.

A groan that was not my own.

Forcing my eyes back open, I scan the inside of the town car once more, slower this time to pick up any movements. Nothing. I didn’t imagine that sound, did I? Or maybe it was my own and the hit on my head has caused temporary hallucinations.

My nostrils flare as I inhale deeply; the heated air burns down my windpipe and scrapes through my raw lungs. I release it slowly through pursed lips as I rotate to face the window. Bones creak, tendons along my neck and upper back tightening and stinging with the movement. Tears well, making the cracked window swim before I can blink them away.

All of a sudden, the entire car shifts. I slide to the left with the movement, almost as if someone’s rocking the wreckage.

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