Page 28 of Power Term

I stare at the covered face still kneeling in front of me. His dark eyes narrow, no doubt waiting for me to attempt an escape. Lucky for me I’m not that stupid. My hands are still fucking tied, which means I’d get nowhere fast. Plus with the exhaustion and dehydration, I’m in no condition to run or fight or even stand on my own.

A tightening followed by a rush of blood shoots to my fingers at the loss of the zip tie. Leaning forward, I shake out my hands before bringing them up to inspect the damage.

I cringe at the slices of ruined flesh marking my wrists and shy away from looking at my ankles. A tight grip under my arm hauls me upright before I’m immediately released, like he can’t stand the thought of touching me longer than necessary. Each step is agony, but I rejoice in the freedom of walking free.

Bright sunlight assaults my sensitive eyes as we stumble out of the windowless room. I squint to ease the pain, using the brief opportunity to take in some of the details of where I’m being held—but there’s nothing. Just the same abandoned warehouse as before. It seems I wasn’t moved at all, just relocated from one open space to a more intimate one.

A finger pokes between my shoulder blades, urging me forward. I stumble, barely regaining my footing before I fall forward and slam against a wall, my shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.

“There’s your bucket.” He hitches his chin toward a rickety plastic construction bucket. “Piss.”

“Fucking animal,” I grumble. “Turn around, at least.” My shaky fingers are already working the top button of my jean shorts as I survey the damage. As expected, both ankles look as sliced and raw as my wrists. Both legs have long-dried red streaks crisscrossing the skin, along with some that still weep crimson, possibly injuries from the wreck and the broken glass. The jean material of my shorts is stiff with dark red. I pause the inspection and shoot my captor, who’s still facing me, a questioning look. “I asked if you’d turn around.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Madam President. Piss with me watching or don’t piss at all.”

“Don’t watch. That’s fucking creepy,” I snap.

“Not a chance.”

“Creep,” I mutter as I place my back to him and tug the stiff shorts and underwear down to midthigh. Palm pressed against the cracked drywall, I balance myself as much as possible and squat, then focus on peeing. At this awkward angle. With someone watching. Hell, I can’t perform like this. A burning sensation radiates in my bladder, an urgent demand to pee. “Can you hum or something?” I huff over my shoulder. “I can’t pee when it’s this quiet.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You’re the one who took me, so don’t get all pissy that I ask for a little tune to help me pee.”

“I could always stab you in the thigh. I’ve found excruciating pain triggers the release of all bodily functions.”

Almost like my body understood the threat in his deep tone, the barrier holding me back vanishes. I nearly groan at the delightful sensation of my full bladder releasing. By the time I’m done, both thighs tremble from the exertion of squatting, and the pain in my side and neck have gone from ouch to debilitating.

All thumbs and no fingers, I work the top button of my shorts, failing three times to push it through the small slot before giving up. I turn, mouth open to tell this asshole to kill me or leave me be, when a groan of metal has both of us turning toward the sound.

I stagger back, my backside pressed hard against the drywall as I dart my gaze around the warehouse, desperate for an exit. A sinister smile plays on Shawn’s handsome face, the promise of pain brightening his eyes as he strides to where we stand.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s on her feet. So glad you’re awake for this. Now the real fun begins.”

My knees wobble and give out. Sliding down the wall, I sink to the floor, unable to do anything other than make myself as small as possible.

“I’ve waited too long for this, Trailer.” Hand raised, he gestures back toward the windowless hellhole I just walked out of. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

I swallow hard, relishing the burn along my dry tongue and throat. This cannot be happening. I thought I’d have more time, a chance to escape.

Now, with both men and the wicked gleams in their eyes, I understand the gravity of the situation.

This is the day I die.

Chapter Eight

Trey

“Fucking hell,” I mumble under my breath as I methodically creep toward the slumped body of Todd Rosen, checking each small section of the floor for evidence before stepping closer. “What the hell happened here?” I rake trembling fingers through the longer part of my hair and yank the ends.

The metal desk within my reach, I pause my careful steps to stare at the dead body. It’s slouched, somehow still sitting in the leather office chair, head tossed back, jaw slack, and mouth open wide, the expression resembling ecstasy, as if someone unseen was blowing him off beneath the desk. Well, it would look like ecstasy until you took in the one-inch blackened hole between his thin brows and fragments of brain and skull splattered over the back of his chair and wall.

Shaking off the disturbing scene, I shift my focus to the desk. A single black laptop sits open. Not able to see the screen from this angle, I tilt over the desk and find the screen is black. A single cell phone lies haphazardly nearby, plugged into its charger with another exact replica charger a few inches away. Odd. Why would he have two chargers for the same type of phone? Unless he had two, one conveniently missing from a room with a dead shady politician.

Nothing seems amiss, no signs of a struggle happening here or anywhere around the spacious office. Leather armchairs are upright, magazines and papers neatly stacked on top of the glass coffee table, and even here on the desk, the pen holder and other small objects sit undisturbed. In fact, the only thing in this office that looks out of place is the body, blood, and gore.

Bending at the waist, I put myself closer to the desk’s surface, looking for… fuck, who knows. I’m an agent, not a detective. The surface shines, minimal dust gathered around the unused areas, but a large area around the laptop seems smeared. As if a dirty cloth was used to clean instead of one with polish or cleaner.

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