Power Switch (Power Play #3) - Kennedy L. Mitchell Page 0,93

have him grip my bicep, bony fingers digging into the exposed skin. “What's going on, Trey?”

I close my eyes and fight the grief pounding through my veins. I'm not only about to alter my life forever but his too. Who knows what will happen to my parents once all this gets out? At least they didn't skip town after I called yesterday to schedule this meeting. That alone confirms they have zero clue as to why I’m here.

After reading through the files in the “Favor” folder yesterday, I was ready to storm over here and beat my dad to a pulp. Randi and Tank held me back long enough to calm my rage and form a plan. A plan of action, really.

First, I confront my parents, and then we tackle confronting Birmingham later this evening. One fucker at a time.

“Please tell me you didn't know.” My voice cracks. Turning, I search his confused face. My heart breaks a little more. “Tell me you didn't know about my dad, about what he does outside the house.”

His bushy white brows draw together. “I don't understand.”

A bit of the tension releases from my chest. I knew deep down Gerard didn't know, but still I had to ask to know for sure. Reaching out, I grip his thin shoulder and give a gentle squeeze, not wanting to break the man in two. The scratchy material of his uniform scrapes against my palm as I pull away.

Only the heavy thump of my boots sounds down the long dark hallway. Normally when I’m in this house, a type of darkness encases me. Maybe it’s from all those years of this being an estate, never a home; it made every inch cold and in turn froze me for nearly two decades. But today is different. Today I hold all the cards, and I know who they really are. I no longer want their approval or their love.

The closer I get to the sunroom, the more anger trumps the other emotions. Who cares what happens to me? Fuck their money that they’ve held over my head. I'll land on my feet. But my father… that’s a different story. Today he’ll be exposed and held accountable.

I swear steam sizzles off my palm as I tug the gold metal lever down to release the door latch and push it open. My steps falter at the normalcy I’m about to explode into chaos. Everything looks as it should, as it always has. Sparkling clean, sun pouring through the thick windows. The AC on full blast so the room remains cool unlike the hot summer temperatures outside.

“Trey, darling.” Mother reclines on her favorite chaise, a glass of champagne in her hand. Jessica sits at her feet, a full glass of bubbling liquid between her fingers as well. Mother tilts her head, catching my scrutiny of their drink of choice at ten in the morning. “We're celebrating, of course.”

“Celebrating.”

She nods as that snakelike smile I've loathed my entire life, a little plumper nowadays, spreads across her wrinkle-free face.

“Yes, it's why you called us all here. To finally accept your role in this family, leading the Benson name into political fame, and to set a date for the formal engagement announcement with the lovely Jessica and her family. And hopefully narrow down dates for the wedding too while we’re all here.” Reaching out, she clinks her glass against Jessica's.

I ignore her and glance around the room. “Where's Dad?”

“Behind you, son.”

His voice triggers the building agony and rage to let loose. I don’t think about my actions, only react to my exploding emotions with a bellow as I twist around, putting all my strength behind the sailing knuckles. His eyes widen in pure shock before cringing shut as my fist slams against the side of his face. He stumbles to the side, arm out in a desperate move to catch his balance before his knees buckle under the pain and he falls to the floor. A high-pitched scream pierces the room from behind me, either Mother or Jessica, I don't give a rat’s ass.

“You sick motherfucker,” I spit. His face pales, no doubt seeing I’m on the verge of killing him with my bare hands. Palms smacking the hardwood floor, he scurries back, hands and feet slipping beneath his weight as he retreats like the damn coward he is. “You perverted son of a mother-fucking bitch.”

Someone grips my arm, urging me back, but I fling it off. Pausing over my cowering father, I funnel all