Page 45 of Power Term

“I won’t ask again.” My voice is cold, calm, deadly. “Release the president.”

“The president or your girlfriend, Benson?”

“They’re one and the same. Drop her.”

“Not a chance.” For emphasis, he tightens his hold, adjusting her limp body tighter against his. A whisper of a pain-laced whimper reaches me. I grind my teeth, tightening my jaw from the force to keep my eyes on Whit. “How does it feel, rent-a-cop? Knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop the inevitable?”

“Half the military is on standby just a couple miles away, waiting for my command. Three helicopters, a few fighter jets, and more guns than in all of Russia are ready to blow you into dust, yet you think you’re the one holding the cards.”

“Ah, but they won’t attack, just like you, with her in the crosshairs.” Her grip on his arm tenses at his demanding shake to my girl. Breaking our stare-down, he surveys the abandoned building. “Now where’s your friend?”

“Didn’t come.” He knows it’s a lie, but I have to give Tank and Smith time to get into position. Even if that means having to keep hearing this fucker’s annoying-ass voice.

A harsh laugh rattles in the emptiness. “Lie. You two fuckbuddies never go anywhere alone.” An evil glint flashes in his eyes as he leans forward, putting his lips beside her ear. Fury builds, fighting for escape as his lips move, his malicious gaze locked on me. “Call out for him.”

Randi shakes her head, then winces as Whit jams the barrel of the gun harder against her temple. “No.”

Whit tsks. “Wrong answer.”

A broken scream erupts from her parted lips. Unable to fight it any longer, I steal a glance down at Randi’s battered face. Eyes sealed, a pain-filled grimace scrunches her features.

What the hell is he doing to her?

“Stop,” I shout, the word out before I can hold it back. “Stop whatever the hell you’re doing.” Sighing in defeat, I call out to Tank. “Davis, come out where he can see you.”

Randi pitches forward with a relieved gasp only to be snapped against his chest once again. Her head lolls to the side, but still that gun stays firmly held to her head.

To the left, several feet from where I stand, a shadow shifts. Davis moves into the light, his own gun raised and trained on Whit.

A commotion in the back of the warehouse catches my attention. The way Tank inclines his head in the direction of the new voices suggests he hears it too.

“Ah, perfect timing.” From somewhere in the back, coming out of nowhere, a group of men dressed similarly to me swaggers closer. “Now. You two will put your guns on the floor and kneel.”

“Fuck you,” I seethe, but my confidence is waning as more men pour into the room—none of them ours. “Let her go, Whit, and take the last few minutes of your life like a man not hiding behind a woman.”

“Hmm.” The sound and sight of him running his nose through her hair makes every muscle twitch in eagerness to wrap my hands around his throat. “For a trailer park whore, she’s a damn good fuck. I don’t mind being behind her.”

No. I don’t dare search Randi’s face to see if his words are true.

“Get on the floor and remove all your weapons. She and I have some… unfinished business.”

A pitiful whimper and string of begging pleas snap my full attention to Randi. Pain laces her features, and tears streak her dirty, bloody face.

Desperate to find the cause of whatever excruciating pain he’s causing, I scan the two. The gun barrel hasn’t moved from her temple, still digging into the tender flesh. The other arm is wrapped around her ribs, Whit’s forearm and bicep flexed.

“You don’t have long,” Whit says, snapping my attention away from his hold. “I’m assuming it’s a broken rib that’s on the verge of puncturing a lung based on her excruciating pain and short breaths. It hurts, doesn’t it, Trailer?”

Those split, bloody lips press into a thin line in defiance before parting for another pain-filled scream.

“Stop. Fucking stop,” I shout. “Fine.” This is a mistake. He’ll have me shot the second I put my gun on the floor. But maybe that’s the opening we need. If he moves the gun to shoot me, Tank can take his own shot. Then there’s also Smith out there somewhere who can pick off the group of men watching, waiting.

If I die for her to live, that’s fine. She’s the one who matters. She’s all that matters. No one will miss a disinherited playboy like me. But millions would miss her. Taeler would be devastated, and that sweet baby needs to know her grandmother.

Me, no one will miss.

Her, the world would tip on its axis with the loss. Not because she’s the president but because she’s Randi Sawyer. Crazy, beautiful, foul-mouthed, and heart of gold. The impact of her death would be a ripple spanning out from this warehouse to the world.

“Don’t,” Randi pleads. “Trey, don’t.” The last word is more of a sob.

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