Page 40 of Power Term

“You think you’re fucking tough, do you? Have this all figured out how you’re the one with power?” A roaring evil laugh bounces off the walls. The toe of his loafer nudges my cheek until I’m facing the ceiling where his sneering face looms over me. “I’ll have him fuck you in the ass dry, how about that? Make him bleed you from the inside out, shoving in deep until you’re hoarse from the screams.” The slight movement of him adjusting his hardening dick catches my eye. Bile slides up my throat, burning as it settles just behind my tongue before I can swallow it back.

“I’ll even record it for that rent-a-cop boyfriend of yours. Let him relive this over and over again, knowing he couldn’t do shit to stop it. Because I’m the one with power here, Trailer. Not you, not him, not Birmingham. Me. And I will get my way even if I have to fuck it out of you myself.”

The way his tongue swirls around his cheek, I know what’s coming before his lips purse and the thick wad of saliva and mucus splatters against my cheek and neck. Without the use of my hands, I can’t wipe the disgusting glob from my face; instead I’m forced to feel every centimeter it slides down my skin until it drips to the surface.

Chest heaving, he continues to lord over me, contempt burning behind his dark eyes. His lips part, no doubt ready to let loose another stream of hatred my way, when his attention slides to the door. His brows furrow. “Where the hell are the others?” With a quick check down to me, he turns on his heels and makes for the single door.

Only once he’s gone do I give over to the agony pulsing through every part of my battered body and tattered mind. He’ll be back with other men, which means the worst is yet to come.

I swallow back the tears clogging my throat. If I’m to live through this, come out whole on the other side, I have to prepare for the horrors I’ll face under their ministrations.

Focusing on a dark corner of my mind, I feed all the good, happy memories into the tiny corner, shoving them deep and preparing a happy cavern to escape to when the torture begins again. It’s not much, but it’s all I have.

My tiny corner filled with Trey memories will have to work until the real one comes to save me.

Chapter Twelve

Trey

Nowhere. We’re wasting valuable time and getting fucking nowhere. After an hour of calling in every favor to gather information on Whit, all I’ve found is validation that he’s a shady-ass politician who’s used his power and money to escape multiple accusations of assault, extortion, and one battery charge. All those cases were dropped; none of the accusations stuck or saw the inside of the courtroom.

Fucking rich bastards thinking they own the damn world because of what they’re worth.

Sure, I was a rich bastard too, but I never used my family name or money to cover my mistakes. No, I spent it all on clothes, shoes, and fast bikes and cars. But it seems I’m an anomaly.

Midafternoon sun blazes high in the cloudless blue sky, its unrelenting rays scorching the exposed skin of my neck. Even with the material of my T-shirt wicking the sweat from my back as soon as it forms, I’ve sweated through the entire shirt from the intense summer heat. I’ve stood here, feet from where we found the cell phone, calling and digging for information on Whit while waiting for Smith’s Homeland buddies to give us another lead to track.

Tank’s deep voice rumbles from across the street, where he chose to post up in the shade. But me, I couldn’t move from this spot. For some reason, the thought of crossing the street to be more comfortable made me angry. Why in the hell should I be comfortable, not sweating like a pig and dying of thirst, when Randi is out there probably feeling the same way without any option of escaping the heat?

That’s why I can’t bring myself to move. It makes no sense, but in the back of my mind, it feels like I’m betraying her if I search for relief from my discomfort.

The thin, solid metal of the phone slides beneath my tight grip with the sweat slicking my hands. I tuck the device into the back pocket of my cargo pants and wipe both soaked palms down the front of my shirt, which only wicks up the sweat from my chest, dampening the shirt further. I could wring the thing out at this point.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. Drops of sweat sprinkle from the tips of my hair as I rake a hand through the damp locks. “Where are you, Mess? Where the fuck are you?”

A tickle against my ass draws me out of my discomfort. I retrieve the vibrating cell phone, flip it around, and check the screen.

My eyes narrow at the call coming through.

UNKNOWN

A line of smeared sweat is left along the bottom part of the screen as I hastily swipe to answer Vlad’s call.

“Please tell me you have something.” I hold my breath, tugging at my hair as I pace from the brick building to the curb and back again.

“Do not expect me to ever tell you how this information was found.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I don’t give a fuck if you have damn spies lurking around DC and that’s how you got it. Just give me what you have.”

“Coordinates will be sent to this number now. You make him pay for this, yes?”

“Without a doubt.” I growl.

“Good luck, then.”

The glass peels from my ear as I pull the phone forward, eyes glued to the screen. A text flashes, the coordinates Vlad promised. But coordinates to what, he didn’t say. All that matters is this could be the location where I’ll find her.

Gripping the phone so tight the frame bends, I shake out of the stunned stupor I’d frozen into and race across the street toward the SUV. I shout at Tank, yelling at him to hurry the hell up. At the first tug, the chrome door handle slips from my hand, rocking me back on my heels. Narrowing my eyes at the door like it personally offended me, I yank it open with more force than necessary and slide into the passenger seat before slamming the door closed behind me.

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