Page 68 of Power Term

Tank nods and reaches for the accelerant-filled canister. Smith grabs the other container and leaves the room. Heavy feet against the wooden stairs followed by a few curses about the stench of death grow distant as he descends to the basement.

I meet Tank’s worried dark eyes from where I’m still posted up against the wall. There’s a strong possibility that if I move, I’ll fall to the floor and never get back up.

“You look like shit.”

“I look better than Whit.”

Tank’s lips twitch. “Not sure that’s much of a positive, Playboy. You’re comparing yourself to a dead man.”

“It’s been a hell of a day.”

He nods. “One for the books, that’s for sure. You worried?”

“Because that fucker who planned and executed the kidnapping of the president for money is still out there and wants me dead? Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Me too. But we’ll find him.”

“And we’ll kill him too.”

“Bloodthirsty?”

A cruel smile pulls at my lips, the skin along my cheeks stretching under the dried blood. “Only for those who deserve it.”

Smith stomps into the room and eyes the still full can. “You two are worse than any woman I’ve ever known.”

“You should see our pillow fights.” The words are more of a moan as I push off the wall to stand on my own. The room sways, darkness encroaching in the corners of my vision.

“Come on.” Without invitation, Smith ducks under my arm and lodges himself beneath my shoulder, supporting my weight. Halfway down the hall, I part my lips, readying to thank him, when he shoots me a sharp look. “Don’t make this fucking weird or I’ll drop your ass.”

Stepping out of the death, blood, and fuel stench in the house, the fresh air smacks my face, revitalizing some of my depleted energy stores. Behind us, the smell of diesel grows stronger, even out in the open. Smith leans my weak ass against a support beam of the small porch before releasing his hold to go help Tank.

At the threshold, Tank upturns the fuel container, using every last drop before tossing the empty canister back into the house. Both men turn to face me, Smith with the matchbook between his outstretched fingers.

The edge of the two-by-four beam digs between my shoulder blades as I use it for leverage and shove off. The first step toward Smith brings a hiss of pain from between my clenched teeth.Fucking hell, I need a good fuck and an ice bath.My thigh muscles tremble under my weight.Okay, maybe ice bath first, a nap, and then a fuck.Wouldn’t want to smother Randi because I physically can’t push myself off her.

I snatch the thin flexible cardboard from Smith’s outstretched fingers and hold it toward the light to read the writing and brand on the front. Even this exhausted, I somehow bark out a laugh. I arch a brow at Smith. “Seriously, Tails and Twats?”

His eyes roll to the night sky. “Not mine, remember? Sounds classy though.”

“Randi will never believe you’ve said two jokes in one day.”

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Turning back to the still open door, I toe the threshold and stare down the hall. An emotion I can’t pinpoint swirls within me, tightening my chest. Once I light this match, it’s over. Today, tonight, all of it done.

The cardboard flap bends back under my trembling fingers. I rip three matches from the booklet and pinch the flap to the back with the flimsy matches against the flint strip. With a quick tug, sparks flare and a minor bright flame bursts to life.

I stare into the flickering flame, watching it creep closer to where my fingers pinch the ends. Heat bites at my skin as the flame draws nearer. With a deep inhale, I flick the three nearly spent matches toward the shiny liquid puddled a foot from where I stand.

Two flicker out before hitting the accelerant, but the final match hits the mark.

The sudden flash of blistering heat has me stumbling backward square into a solid chest. A rolling roar grows, chasing away the quiet night as flames race down the line of diesel, igniting the rest of the house. Within seconds, the heat from the intense flames forces all of us off the porch.

“Benson.”

I don’t turn, mesmerized by the red-and-orange glow lighting up the surrounding area.

“Benson.” I reluctantly turn to my friend, who looks just as mesmerized as I am by the destruction we’ve left in our wake. “Randi is at the hospital and asking for you.” I blink, tilting my head to understand what he’s talking about. It’s only now that I notice the heavily armed man standing beside Tank. “They’re concerned about her mental stability.”

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