Power Switch (Power Play #3) - Kennedy L. Mitchell Page 0,92

A slight whirring sound comes from my government-issued, state-of-the-art laptop before the external drive pops up on the screen. I steal a quick look at both men before clicking on the little icon.

I hold a shallow breath as it opens.

A small blue folder is all it contains.

The label of that folder causes my eyes to widen. I hover a finger over the mouse, not clicking on it just yet.

“The favor,” I breathe out. A heavy weight seems to settle in the office. Once again, pressure builds behind my chest. Warmth seeps over my shoulder just before Trey's face aligns next to mine.

I swallow, waiting for him to give me the go-ahead to open it. Not because I'm worried that Vlad put some kind of malicious software in there but because whatever’s inside this folder could change Trey's life. Forever. This folder could condemn his parents and/or Jessica.

Once we see what's inside, there's no going back.

“Open it,” Trey says, his breath brushing against my cheek. I hesitate. Without looking away from the screen, he covers my hand with his own and clicks the mouse for me. “Let's take a look at what my parents have been hiding.”

Sometimes the truth hurts.

And what pops up on the screen confirms that theory.

23

Trey

The vibrations between my thighs and the rumbling of my idling bike cut off with a flick of my thumb. Not ready to view the home I was raised in just yet, I lock my gaze on the glossy black paint of my bike. It's strange the number of warring emotions that churn inside me. Agony, anger, sadness, hate. There isn't one that outweighs the other, each taking a few seconds to wrap around my heart and soul before shuttering to the next. It’s fucking exhausting. I’d ask Randi if this is how women feel most of the time, their emotions all over the place, except I don’t want to die, so I’ll keep the thought to myself.

I wish there was only hate and anger to deal with since there isn’t any love lost between me and my parents. But yet they are still my parents. Even with Mother's manipulating behavior, a small part of me always wanted just a portion of her love, for her to love me. I shake that thought out of my head and tug the tight helmet off. Immediately the sweat that was trapped beneath slides down my neck and jaw.

Being raised privileged came with high costs, and not being loved was one of them. I did have Gerard and his wife filling in some of the gaps, but the hole left behind by an absent and cruel parent is nearly impossible to fill. Maybe that's why I fell so hard for Randi. I saw that she gave that love willingly and without strings, even giving up a piece of her soul for the millions of Americans she’ll never know personally.

Fuck, do I have mommy issues?

A few chunks of damp dark hair shift into my line of vision. Maybe I should see a shrink after all this. If I can afford one, that is.

My gut bottoms out at the thought of my cushy lifestyle going away. Swallowing, I look to the massive estate. If I go through with confronting them, all this will be gone. My trust fund, the safety net, everything. If I truly thought this day would come to fruition, I would've invested the monthly income from the trust. Done something smart with it instead of spending it on… well, everything but saving.

I'll have to figure out that part of this fucked-up situation later.

At my back, an engine cuts off, settling a heavy silence around the quiet estate.

With a groan, I hike my leg over the bike and rest the helmet on the seat I just vacated as I turn to the two approaching men. Both wear the standard-issue black suit and typical grim face of a federal employee. The one on the right nods, indicating they're ready.

“Wait here a minute,” I say, glancing back to the house. The front door opens, Gerard stepping out, his weathered face full of worry. “I want a word alone with them first.”

Both nod and retreat to their dark SUV, no doubt ready to get out of the heat. I wait until they’re back in the Suburban before I move toward the house.

“Gerard,” I say, unable to keep the sadness from my voice. “Where are they?”

“In the sunroom, as you requested.” I move past, not meeting his eyes, only to