Page 10 of Tortured Tones

“Good.” Wells clutched and rubbed his hands together. “I trust each one of you has studied our intel material and know these guys’ moves inside and out. You’ve memorized the way they walk, talk, and hold themselves. You know every measurement and detail of their physique. They’ve raised concerns about the increased number of people and paparazzi hanging around outside their homes. I read your reports after you went to assess their houses for security and surveillance upgrades. No issues were found, which makes our life easier. Correct?”

We all nodded.

Beckett and I had visited Cole’s and Slip’s house up in Laurel Canyon to evaluate their home security. Neither of the guys had been present. April had shown us around. That woman was a marvel. How she coordinated four guys’ lives and managed their publicity and promotional schedule was beyond me. I thought I was efficient, but April was organized on a whole new level I didn’t know existed.

“Ava? Did you sort out a schedule with Mr. Tanner to shadow him on his runs?”

“Not yet. But I will after I meet him.” I looked forward to exercising. Running helped clear my head. After the day I’d had, I needed to run a marathon...maybe two.

“Make sure that happens. We don’t need someone knifing him on some unknown track.”

I’d go down before my client. That was what I was trained to do. “That won’t happen on my watch.”

“Excellent.” Wells straightened and buttoned his jacket. “So tonight, we’re escorting the band to The LA View Bar on Sunset.” We’d taken other celebrities to the popular joint before and knew the layout well. “It’s going to be busy as always. I’ve contacted the venue’s security team. They know we’re coming.” He glanced at his watch. “The band should’ve finished their photoshoot by now. If there are no other issues, it’s time to meet The Flintlocks.”

When we did one-off events or escorted a high-profile person or celebrity to a function or outing, we rarely had much interaction with them. We were just assigned to the job, sometimes with a driver, and took them wherever they needed to go, watched them, and returned them home. But for an assignment like this where we would be shadowing someone for months on end, we always met our clients.

“Alright.” Wells waved toward the door. “Let’s do this.”

I wished I could catch his enthusiasm. I was sure once I met the guys, got them to the venue, and focused on the job at hand, I’d be fine. I’d stop wanting to taser every asshole that came across my path. Easy, right?

After checking our gear, plugging in our earpieces, and making sure our comms connected, we filed out of the room.

We piled into the elevator and headed up to their suite...on level ten. That’d be right. The floor that had held up the elevators before. The tangled knot that had been twisting in the base of my neck all day tightened. The tension in my jaw ached. What had they been doing to hold up four elevators? Ergh. I didn’t want to know. I’d seen a lot of shit in my time. I was sure I was about to see a lot more while touring with the band.

Wells knocked on the door to the suite. Seconds later, Blake, their manager, opened it and waved us inside. “Evening. Nice to see you again. Come on in.”

The seven of us shuffled into the room and took position, standing in a row along the main wall. After studying our intel material, I knew everyone present. The band—Flint, Cole, Lewis, and Slip—and two stunning women—Sutton, Flint’s girlfriend, and Tia, Lewis’s girlfriend who was also Cole’s sister and one of the band’s sound engineers. They lounged on the sofas, drinking alcohol. April was on the phone, pacing in front of the doorway to one of the bedrooms.

But the moment I laid eyes on Cole Tanner, the hairs on my arms stood on end. His electric green eyes drilled into me as he swigged a mouthful of vodka from the bottle, then handed it to Flint. Great. Those fuckers were drunk before we’d even stepped outside.

I straightened my stance, clasped my hands behind my back, and lifted my chin. I was on duty. Time to focus. But there was no denying that Cole was much better looking in real life than in the pictures and videos I’d studied.

Blake rested his butt against the arm of the sofa chair. “Hi y’all.” His Texan drawl was as smooth and sleek as his expensive gray suit. “We’re looking forward to having you work with us over the months ahead. I hope the guys don’t cause you any grief, but their safety is top priority.”

Standing with his feet shoulder-width apart and ramrod straight, Wells nodded. “Understood. That’s why we’re here. ”

“You ready to match these folks up?” Blake jerked his head toward the band and the girls. “They’re getting edgy, so let’s make this quick.”

“Certainly,” Wells stepped toward the band. “Evening, everyone. Your safety is paramount. So please, follow my team’s directives, and be mindful of your surroundings, and if you have any concerns you can contact me directly.” He waved at us. “These men and women are half your security detail; you’ll met the rest on our next roster rotation. They will be with you for all work-related matters, travel, and special circumstances we’ve discussed. From the time you step out of your front door to the time you go back through it, they’ll cover you. During the tour, that means to and from your hotel room or tour bus, and to the venues and publicity appearances. Ultimately, for the next ten months, you do not shit without these guys knowing about it. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” Flint raised the bottle toward us, then took a sip. The other guys grumbled and nodded.

Wells continued. “Based on your profiles and requirements, Flint, you are assigned Sloane Sturgess.” Sloane dipped his chin. Flint half-heatedly waved. “Sebastian, Beckett Rivers is your man.”

Beckett bowed.

“It’s Slip.” Their lead guitarist’s lips twitched into an almost there smile. “Don’t ever call me Sebastian. Got it?”

“Understood, sir.” Beckett dipped his chin.

“And no fucking sir shit either.” Slip growled.

“Yes, sir . . . Slip.” Beckett’s eyes glinted as he nodded.

I pursed my lips, trying not to laugh.

Wells just drew his shoulders back and let out a deep breath. “Lewis, you’ve been allocated Mr. Wyatt Johns.”

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