Page 2 of Room Nine: For Their Eyes Only

This is an unusual request to hit me out of the blue. He’s right—surveillance is my specialty, but I’m not a private investigator. Boris has billions of dollars at his disposal and can pay for a team of investigators who will cater to his every wish for the right price. I’m not one of them.

“We haven’t seen one other in years, and I have minimal experience tracking people down. Why me?” I question his motives, still unable to decipher why he needs to drag me into his world over something he can handle on his own. “Surveillance doesn’t mean I’m a detective.”

“Because you’re capable and trustworthy. I need this handled with discretion. There’s a rat in my organization. I don’t have any proof, but I have a short list of suspects. Vasily is working on trimming it down. I can’t show a hint of weakness until I learn who’s betraying me to Aleksei Grinkov. You’re on the outside, and you’re one of the best. I’m begging you, Andrei.” Boris’ stern expression softens with vulnerability. We used to be close, and I know how much he loves his children.

I take a deep breath and contemplate a decision that most likely is out of my hands. Boris is asking, but that doesn’t mean he’ll take no for an answer. He’s a relentless bastard. It took a lot for him to lower himself to begging.

“Vasily? You just sent a bull into a china shop.” I make a joke to lighten the heavy mood. “You know better than that.”

Boris chuckles and tops off my vodka, clinking the glass before filling his own. “You haven’t seen him in years. My boy may surprise you. Is he volatile? Of course. He’s a Volkov. But he’s got a good head on his shoulders and almost always does what he’s told.”

“Almost always?” My brow pulls low in a questioning frown.

He offers an unconvincing smile. “Vivienne is different. She’s a good girl who treats everyone with kindness. I fear her big heart will get her in trouble. She’s not like Charlotte. She’s far more like my mother—God rest her soul.” He lifts his glass and takes a long pull from his vodka. “But she’s angry with me. She wants her mother’s approval, and I fear Charlotte took advantage and turned her against me. I’d never force her into an arranged marriage. You know me, Andrei. I indulge my children. Vasily is evidence of that.”

I blow out a heavy breath and remove a pad and pen from my suit pocket. If we’re going to keep this discreet, it’s best not to use technology until I can make sure it’s encrypted. “Tell me what I need to know, and I’ll see what I can do.” It’s important not to make any promises when I’m unsure if his daughter is alive. My heart stings at the thought of Vivi coming to harm. She doesn’t deserve to get caught up in her father’s mess. Boris has more enemies than days of the year, and in his world, missing means dead.

Boris stands and signals his men to put some space between us and them before leading me to a table at the far end of the room. “Let’s have dinner, and I’ll share everything I have. Spare no expense and send me the bill when you’re finished. I’d rather not leave crumbs for my rat until I know she’s safe.”

“No promises, Boris.”

He nods and pulls my chair from the table as if he’s just asked me on a date. “I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Chapter2

“Now, where did I leave off?” I recline against the arm of my loveseat and relax into an oversized pillow, wiggling into the cushion until I find a comfortable position that compliments my figure. Thousands of people watch me at any given moment, and I like to present the best version of myself.

In this business, image is everything.

Comments flood the chat box, reminding me I left off when my heroine, Ellie, was moments away from being railed by two male cult members. It seems like the morning crowd is more restless than usual. Their enthusiasm pads my wallet and I wouldn’t be doing my job well if I didn’t give them what they came for.

Every day, I read snippets from my many works in progress—romantic smut that I plan to one day publish. I started easy, offering slow-burn romance, building momentum, holding out on the graphic details until they were invested enough to come back for more. But angst takes time and the more popular I become the less free time I have for writing. Lately, I’ve rolled out the hardcore sex by the second chapter which has led to more people asking for private sessions. I need to stick with what works, so today’s sample is hotter than usual.

“My horror quickly transformed into lust and curiosity. My pussy was so wet, I could hear it every time I moved, and there was no doubt in my mind they could smell how aroused I’d become. Ian spread my legs, ran his finger down my soaked slit, and watched me react to his touch. I couldn’t help myself. Our lust was palpable, and his gaze kindled a fire threatening to make me go up in flames. Without a word, he dipped his head between the apex of my thighs and buried his mouth in my pussy. These men were strangers, yet I felt no desire to run away.”

I read using my best impression of Marilyn Monroe, low and breathy. It’s ten in the morning, but that doesn’t prevent my thread from blowing up with enthusiasm.

Albert112: Two men at once? Is that something you’re into? I have a few friends who’d love to meet you.

There’s always one in every bunch. While I don't advertise I'm a virgin, I make it clear that these are nothing but lust prose torn from my imagination. Some jerks simply enjoy testing boundaries. Fortunately for me, a few knights in shining armor typically come through to defend my honor.

Gangster431: Cut the crap. Pinky’s a classy lady.

PinkysBedroom: Thanks, Gangster. You’re such a gentleman.

His name should give me pause, considering what my father does for a living, but Gangster is one of my regulars. He never asks for a private session or says anything inappropriate. Not all men want to see skin. Some enjoy watching a woman like me reading naughty stories—giving fuel to their imaginations.

I'd like to think it warms them up for the women in their lives.

I take a sip of water to clear my throat and continue reading from my spicy novella entitled, The Cult, a brief tale of a young woman’s erotic journey from virginity, indoctrination, and her eventual sexual liberation. In part one, she gets involved with a cult leader that marries her off to two men. They both believe their sexual prowess will make her to surrender to a life of domesticated bliss, guaranteeing them a submissive and doting wife. She proves them wrong in part two.

An hour and a half into my live stream, I end with a wave and a kiss, then shut down my feed. I’ve got thirty minutes to change clothes and meet Elsa at our favorite diner on Lafayette Street. I’ll never make it on time, and Lord knows that girl will be pissed. But I couldn’t stop in the middle of a hot scene. It’s best practice to leave subscribers on the edge of their seats and entice them to return for more. But it would have been cruel to depart in the middle of Elle’s first double penetration.

My audience deserves better than that.

Twenty minutes later, I’m racing to catch a streetcar down St. Charles for my three-block trip toward Sunny’s Diner. Walking would have been faster, but my mood makes me lazy. Or perhaps it’s the heat. No one warned me about the crazy humidity so late in the year. It's nearly autumn, and the oppressive heat doesn’t relent until late evening. I swear, most days, I feel like a wilting flower.

As the streetcar slows, I hop off and race toward Sunny’s Diner and find Elsa waiting outside, scrutinizing her watch to point out the exact time of my arrival.

---