Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,91
the look of the no-neck bodyguard blocking it. It took a solid five minutes for Evan to make it through the crowd to the sweeping staircase, and he fought his way up.
The second floor was quiet by comparison, the sounds of sex emanating through a few closed doors. A woman with glossy lipstick looked at Evan from a phone alcove, her mouth parted with pleasure. It took a beat for him to see the man on his knees in the shadows before her, her dress bunched up around her hips, his face buried between her legs. She looked at Evan, panting.
He moved on.
At the end of the thickly carpeted hall, a door, presumably to the master suite, rested ajar. Evan headed to it silently, pressed his glove to the wood panel, and slipped inside.
Dim space, candlelight livening the walls with an aquarium glow. In the center a massive four-poster bed, the canopy drapes pulled wide. On the mattress there were two naked men and five women—no, six. A dozen guests waited half undressed on the dark-upholstered chaise longues rimming the room’s periphery like bleachers. The air smelled of sex, but the couples on the bed appeared to be resting for now, flesh sparkly with sweat.
The women were all substantially younger and more attractive than the men. The vibe had all the subtlety of a Playboy Mansion party. Or a cattle auction.
Three of the men at the periphery had naked women sprawled across their laps. They rested highball or martini glasses on the curved flanks before them, conversing as if the women weren’t there. A few additional girls, no older than teenagers, huddled together on the adjacent chaise longues, grinning nervously. One had long dark hair in a throwback center part. She wore a red off-the-shoulder blouse and aggressively ripped designer jeans, her hands clasped tightly on her bare knee.
The man closest to Evan had an overdone gym body. He ran a hand up his thick beard, holding forth to his comrades. “—got to know your lines. The baseline runs from the jaw corners around the Adam’s apple. Gotta keep that shit clean so you don’t have a neck beard, right?”
The others listened intently. One slugged back the rest of his drink. “We hitting the cocktail festival again this July, Rishi?”
The densely bearded guy dismissively waved his martini glass, filled with an iridescent green liquid. “Fuck that. You know New Orleans has the most cases of STDs per capita of any city in the world? That’s like putting your dick in a roulette wheel. You know one of the best cities? Salt Lake. We’re gonna go there and bang Mormon chicks.”
Evan watched the women giggle. The teenagers joined in on a delay. Except the one in the red blouse.
An electronic chime sounded, and Rishi pulled out his Google Pixel phone and thumbed at it, his log-thick arm flexing. He groaned. The woman in his lap flicked her head to clear her hair over her shoulder and looked up at him. “What?”
“New bullshit out of Sacramento. Look at this shit, Zack.” He showed off the screen to the friend sitting next to him. “Americans love drones. Over there. Kill a bunch of mujis, everyone’s on board. But God forbid a UAV gives you a speeding ticket here. Then it’s all moral outrage and restrictions and the fucking Constitution.”
Evan stepped forward into the guttering candlelight, drawing their attention.
Rishi looked up at him. “No more dudes in our cuddle huddle, man. We’re not turning this shit into a sausage party.”
Evan said, “I’m looking for Molleken.”
“What the fuck for?”
“That’s not your business.”
“He’s my boss. You’d bet your ass it’s my business. Do you know who I am?”
“If you have to tell people you’re important,” Evan said, “then you’re not important.”
The girl in the red blouse said, “I heard someone say Brendan’s prob’ly upstairs in his office.”
“You,” Rishi said. “What’s your name?”
The girl said, “Cammy.”
“I tell you to talk, Cammy?”
She lowered her eyes.
Evan took a step back. Hesitated. Looked at the young woman. “You okay?”
Cammy said, “Yup, fine.”
Rishi laughed. “Got us a nice guy here, boys. A white knight.” He smacked the woman’s ass resting in his lap, and she shifted off him. He looked dense, muscle-bound, a gold s-chain nestled in carefully manscaped chest hair. “These girls are founder hounders.” He spread a hand, a waiter displaying the dessert tray. “They know what they’re looking for.”
“Maybe they don’t.”
“Oh. You’re a mind-reader, right? You know what’s best for the ladies?” Rishi sucked his front teeth, flicked