Page 2 of The Brat Tamers

Quiet as a church mouse; sweet, innocent, perfect little Leti doesn’t do or say anything to cause anyone to pay her any mind—so how the hell did she get herself kidnapped?

I slip on a pair of shorts and my trainers, tuck my phone into my pocket, and jog to the house.

My sister and I are not close—despite the fact we are identical twins. Don’t get me wrong. I love her, in a distant relative—the one you only see on major holidays—kind of way. We just have nothing in common and haven’t spent a lot of time together in the last eight years.

I toured the country and then the world, modeling.

She, for all I know, sat in her room and did homework.

I became a brand spokesman for a cosmetic company and athletic wear before branding my own makeup and clothing lines.

She graduated high school early and then went to a local college. I still don’t know what her degree is in—business, maybe—but I know she works for one of our father’s many companies.

Doing what? I have no idea.

She’s my polar opposite in so many ways, but that doesn’t mean I want to see any harm come to her.

This doesn’t make any sense. Who the hell would want to kidnap Leti? Unless it is for our father’s money? Maybe a business deal gone bad?

Ohhh. Maybe this is revenge for one of the hostile takeovers Walter’s executed over the years?

I run up the back stairs and through the kitchen, ignoring the house staff—then around the stairwell, through the foyer, and into a large group of people.

No, not people.

Men.

Large men.

Massive men wearing suits and earpieces and, are those bulges in their jackets?

It’s only when they turn their eyes on me I remember I’m wearing a bikini top and very short shorts. I’m used to walking around near naked on a catwalk and on a bar top, a dance floor, a yacht deck and of course, on stage, but for some reason—and maybe it’s the way these men’s eyes flash wide when they turn to face me—I feel exposed.

I search each one of their handsome faces—seven of them in total—and realize how serious this situation must be.

One man’s jaw tightens as we lock gazes. His eyes are shrewd. His expression dismissive. Which, in any other situation, would piss me off.

“Epiphany Krushner?” One man steps forward to acknowledge me. He looks to be about twenty years older than the rest of the pack, but no less handsome and obviously in charge.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Victor Townsend, owner of Townsend Security. These men are members of my team.”

“Where is my father?”

“He’s in his office with the FBI and his lawyers.”

“Wait. What? How long ago—”

At that moment, my father walks out of his office. He looks like hammered shit—like he hasn’t slept in days—and I notice the gray stubble peppering his cheeks. “When did you get a phone call asking for ransom?”

“Let’s go into the library.” My father grips my upper arm like he used to do when I was a kid and escorts me across the foyer into the giant library he had built for my mother over twenty years ago.

I don’t think I’ve been in this room since she died.

I pull my arm out of his grasp and turn around with my hands on my hips. “How long have you known Leti is missing?”

“Six hours or so.”

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