Page 44 of Power Term

“Know what?” he huffs, crossing both arms across his chest, careful to keep the knife he used to cut my restraints away from his skin.

“You’ll know no one cares enough about you to even attempt to find you. No one will care when you’re lying broken and rotting somewhere. Because your whole life has been about manipulating those around you and lying to get your way, leaving you unremembered and forever forgotten.”

It could be the light playing tricks on my tired eyes, but I swear a hint of color leaches from his unnaturally tanned skin. His throat bobs with a hard swallow.

Well, shit, that even left a chill slithering along my spine. Guess my hate for the man runs deeper than I ever knew. The last few hours have really driven those feelings home, though it’s not like I’ve carried this hate and loathing baggage with me since day one of meeting Shawn. “I’ve got enough baggage on my own without adding that asshole.”

“Not if he kills Benson first. ” Rolling his shoulders, Shawn looks down his nose with an evil gleam. “Or maybe he’ll do me the favor and kill himself after he sees what I did. How you begged for me to stop, to kill you and end the pain.” Heat singes my lungs as my breaths turn to short gasps. “I wish I could be there when he sees the recording you and I will do together. What he’ll think when he sees his trailer trash girlfriend fucked in every hole until only a sliver of life remains.”

“Why?” The word leaves my lips before I can stop myself.

Shawn rolls his eyes. “Because I can’t deal with this heat. And I never planned for this to end here, Trailer. We’re going somewhere far away, where they will never think to look.”

“He’ll find me no matter where you take me.”

“Maybe, but it’ll be too late to save you.” He bends closer, fingers delving into the thick of my hair and tightening into a fist. There’s zero warning before he yanks hard enough for several chunks to rip from my scalp. I scurry along after him, attempting to alleviate some of the pressure as Shawn drags me toward the door.

A cracked shriek erupts from my throat. Wrenching my arms up, muscles screaming in protest, I clumsily smack at his forearm and wrist before wrapping it in a tight hold to help support my dragging weight. Bright sunlight sears into my overly sensitive eyes as I’m hauled from the small dim room into the main warehouse. Bare heels scrambling to gain traction on the dust-slick warehouse floor, I thrash from side to side, struggling to dislodge his grip.

Each of his steps is slow with my added weight and the fight I’m putting up. Shawn yells over his shoulder for me to stop, but that only reinforces my efforts, knowing it’s causing him more work.

My cracking voice is barely a whisper as I try to call out for help while also cursing Shawn and his pencil dick.

Between shallow inhales is when I hear it. It’s faint, but I’d know that sound anywhere after riding in Marine One so many times.

Helicopters.

I hold in my loud breathing, straining to hear the sound again, hoping like hell I didn’t imagine it. This time the distinct rhythmic thump of the blades sounds closer, like they’re flying as fast as they can in this direction.

Shawn’s hurried steps halt as if he also heard the sound.

Releasing my held breath, I pant, joy and relief now flowing through my veins.

They found me.

Despite the pain I know the movement will cause on my scalp, I twist to watch an army of soldiers and agents bust through the door and high windows. Frantic, I flick my gaze around the empty warehouse, but no one crashes through armed and ready.

“You won’t get away with this. They’re here.” I fight Shawn’s grip, this time digging jagged nails into his skin, ripping and shredding as I scratch like a deranged kitten. “Get off me, you psychotic freak,” I snap at the top of my lungs, which comes out more like a rasp.

Instead of releasing me—let’s be honest, that was a false hope anyway—Shawn raises the fist wrapped in my hair, hauling me upright. The concrete slides beneath the soles of my feet as my noodle-like legs scramble to find footing.

The deep groan of heavy metal scraping against stone halts my frenzied attempts to break free. A furious curse vibrates in my ear as my back seals against Shawn’s chest and hard, warm metal digs into my temple.

Scanning the desolate warehouse for whatever made him tense, my eyes land on a man dressed in all black, an angel of death, standing in front of a closed metal door, gun raised, the barrel pointing slightly above my head.

“I suggest you drop my girl.”

Chapter Fourteen

Trey

The fact that I haven’t pulled the trigger and splattered the bastard’s brains against the dingy warehouse wall is a testament to my willpower. Before Randi, I would’ve fired without thinking of the consequences. But now, my life literally stands between me and the man I want to slowly torture to death.

The gun grip digs into my palms, my fingers aching at the firm hold.

I could take the shot. I wouldmakethe shot. But that slim chance Whit could move, putting Randi in the direct path of my bullet, keeps me from pulling the trigger. The odds of that happening are slim, butifit happened, then the next bullet fired from my gun would be lodged in my own skull.

I wasn’t prepared for the first thing I saw after slipping through the door being fucking Whit himself dragging her behind him by her hair. I almost lost it then, almost went apeshit like Tank was adamant Inotdo. Since that one glimpse, I haven’t dared look at her again. That was enough to recognize the treatment she’s received up to this point in her captivity.

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