Page 5 of Room Ten: Praise Times Three

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REESE

Iwake up to my phone ringing from one of the handful of numbers allowed to alert me audibly to an incoming call.

“Yeah?”

“Krushner, Kilo-Romeo, Epiphany and Leticiana. Grab your team, find out everything you can, and meet me and Lee’s team at the father’s Barrington Hills estate in one hour. I hope none of you had late nights.”

“Roger that.” I hang up the phone. One thing I love about my boss—Victor is a man of few words. Direct and to the point—get the fucking job done. That’s his motto and probably the only reason I can handle working for him.

I roll out of bed with my cock at half-mast—like it always is—brush my teeth and take a piss, before I open my bedroom door and yell down the hallway, “Rise and shine, motherfuckers. We got a job.”

There’s grumbling coming from down the hall. Most likely, it’s Caiden, who is not a morning person.

Except it’s not morning. It’s almost noon. But it is also Saturday, and we were up late last night dicking around with our vehicles downstairs and contemplating a visit to the club tonight.

Jumping in the shower, I take a quick three minutes to rinse off and really wake up before donning my suit, which is the only thing I don’t like about this job. I’d rather live in tactical gear or joggers, but there are a few things in life that require a suit—meeting a client for the first time being one of them. The other is a night at Club Sin.

Sliding the end of my silk tie through the Windsor knot has an almost Pavlovian effect on me, my dick hardening for all the wrong reasons. “Down boy,” I grumble, thoughts of the last time I wore a suit and the things I did with my tie to our willing and able woman that evening, causing my blood to stir.

Walking out of my room, I catch Soren in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of fresh coffee. He’s already dressed, most likely because he was up hours ago. He greets me with a raise of his mug and then walks over to his bank of computers along the wall. “Who am I looking up?”

“Epiphany and Leticiana Krushner.”

“Okay. Why?”

I cast him a look that tells him how stupid I think his question is. “Dude, you know Victor and his stance on brevity. I have no fucking idea, but I’m going to assume kidnapping as that seems to be our forte lately.”

“It’s better than babysitting pop princesses and pampered princes.”

I nod and sigh. “Ain’t that the goddamn truth?”

“All right, let’s see what I can find.”

I grab my cup of coffee and stand over Soren’s shoulder, at the same time looking at the address Victor texted me. We need to leave in ten because it will take twenty-five minutes to get there. I yell over my shoulder, “Hurry up, asshole!”

From down the hall, I hear Caiden respond, “Go fuck yourself, Reese.”

I chuckle, returning my eyes to the computer screens. On one screen, the program Soren designed to scour public records pops up dozens of windows with Ms. Epiphany Krushner.

“Fuck, she’s hot.”

Soren nods. “She’s trouble. Owner of Krushner Kosmetics, she’s got five million followers watching her every move. She’s a social media influencer and worth a couple million annually by herself.”

A collage of photos of her in a bikini pop up on the screen. “Is she also an Instagram model?”

“Looks like she’s done a bit of everything, to include a few international incidents with the richest of the rich. These pictures are from some Arab prince’s yacht off the coast of Abu Dhabi.”

“Fuck,” I slide my hand down my face. “Another pop princess.”

“Leti—which is the only name I can find her by—I can’t find shit on via the normal channels.”

“No shit?”

I hear Caiden approach from behind, cursing under his breath. “Fuck, is this a suit event?”

He’s wearing standard gear to include a tight black Under Armour T-shirt and black cargo pants.

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