The Siren Job (Stolen Hearts Crew Book 1)

  Copyright © 2019 by Katya Moore

  Cover design by Jacqueline Sweet

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To Steffanie, Brianne, and Elaina

  for your moral (and immoral) support.

  Thanks for keeping me on the right path!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Alex

  Fuck this fucking day right in the fucking neck.

  I hit the service door of Mother Glory’s mansion hard enough to make an entrance. I saw the security guard’s eyes widen in surprise. I knew how I looked. Hair ruffled on the side that wasn’t shaved, eyes just smoky enough to hide the bags beneath them, tattoos on full display under my silver tank top, tight jeans hugging my curves, and resting bitch face shifted to active bitch face.

  “Jesus, Alex, who are you here to kill?” Mario asked as he buzzed me in.

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, then forced a smile. “Just a rough night.”

  He took one look at my smile and winced. “Well, if you need help hiding any bodies…”

  The smile became a little less forced. “I know who to call.”

  “Have a better one.” I could feel him watching me as I walked down the hall to the office suite.

  I felt even more conspicuous as I walked into the main office. Raul, the administrative assistant, gave me the once-over as I slouched toward my desk. His Mother Glory Absolution Tour t-shirt was a bit brown-nosy, but it was a gorgeous design, so I couldn’t fault him for wearing it.

  “Walk of shame or just in need of coffee?” he asked snidely.

  I flipped him off and walked toward my desk. Professionalism be damned. In the House of Glory, business casual was banned, and we were encouraged to speak our minds freely. I’d been resistant at first, but today…today I could buy into it. At least for Raul.

  I ignored his snickering and a few curious stares and flopped into my Aeron chair. Mother Glory took care of her support staff. The best chairs, big desks, top-of-the-line SparxWorx computers, ergonomic keyboards. The walls were painted a warm marigold and dotted with concert posters, photos of Mother Glory, and a couple spare platinum albums from some of her better-known pop hits. It was a nice office. Welcoming. She wanted us to be one big family. I glanced around the room at my coworkers, all trying not to look at me. One big in-your-business family. Nosy bastards.

  The one person in the room I couldn’t ignore sat next to me. Trixie Raymond, the social media manager, had a vested interest in my appearance. And my mood. She tossed her long purple pigtails and grinned a lilac-tinted grin my way.

  “How was the date?” Trixie leaned in conspiratorially. “Did ya get some?”

  My jaw clenched despite my best efforts at being chill. Her eyes widened and she sat back sharply.

  “You didn’t get some,” she said, her voice full of concern.

  “Oh, I got some, all right,” I growled. “I got some asshole with a wife in another country.”

  Trixie blanched.

  “Oh…oh Alex…I…how? I had no idea,” she stammered, horrified.

  I sighed. Hard. “We’re sitting at the café and things are going well enough. He’s smart, he’s funny, and you weren’t kidding about those blue eyes of his. Then, he gets a call. Answers it at the table…a little rude, but I’m willing to overlook it. He starts speaking Russian. Calls the person on the other end ‘my darling.’ No big deal, he’s an affectionate sort, cool. Then he asks about ‘little Anya.’ Okaay. Then he promises her that he’ll be home soon for their anniversary and promises her a special gift.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. “Then he winks at me, hangs up the phone, and tells me that his business partner in Moscow needed some guidance on a deal. ‘Absolutely useless without him.’”

  Trixie made a strangled noise. “Oh, sweetie, what did you do?”

  “Told him khoroshey nochi, mudak and dumped my drink in his lap.” I snorted softly. “He looked like I’d just told him I was with the mob. Thought he was going to pass out.”

  Trixie narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you tell him you were with the mob? Korochy…”

  “It means ‘good night, asshole.’ I’m not that mean.” I rolled my eyes at her.

  Trixie arched a brow.

  I chuckled. “Okay, I’m that mean. I just wish I’d thought of it. Hindsight, y’know?”

  Trixie laughed at that, then sobered. “Are…are we still cool?”

  I chuffed under my breath. “Yeah. We’re cool. It just… you know my baggage, right? It just confirmed my stance on men.”

  “Oh honey, not…”

  I met her eyes with a firm gaze. “Men lie. They just do. Always, always, always. And I’m done. I’m not going to trust them. Hell, I don’t even know if I want to fuck them anymore.”

  Trixie’s lower lip jutted out in a forlorn little pout. “You are way too young for the celibate life.”

  I shrugged. “They’re doing amazing things with technology these days. Did you know there are vibrators that you can program with an app? Variable speeds, pulsing, custom intensity. Very advanced.”

  Trixie let out a snort, then covered her mouth with her hand as she saw Mariana’s eyes widen at the next desk over. “Oh my god, Alex. You are something. I’m not sure what, but you are something,” she whispered. She sounded delightedly scandalized, and it brought a smile to my face. A small one, but a smile nonetheless.

  I winked at her and turned my attention back to my monitor. “Feel free to Tweet that. I can send you the link.”

  She cackled at that. “Yeah, I’m sure Mother Glory would love me giving vibe recommendations on her official feed.”

  I shrugged again. “She might. You never know with her. She is all about loving yourself.”

  “Dude, that’s just wrong,” she chuckled, wiping away a mirthful tear. “But seriously. I worry about you. You don’t date, you don’t even come out for drinks with us after work, you don’t go out…”

  I rubbed my eyes wearily. “I like being alone. I’m used to it. I spent my grad years buried in books. Peopling is hard. Silence is golden. I’d rather be buried in a book than slapping hands off my ass in a club.”

  “You just need to find your people,” she insisted. “A book club. A language club. Something. Anything.” The corner of her mouth turned up hopefully. “People need people, Alex. I hope you can find your tribe one of these days.”

  I sighed. “I’ve got you, Trix. You’re worth a dozen
people.”

  “Aww.” She turned back to her computer.

  “Or one nagging mom, which I already have.”

  She pouted, then glared at her monitor. “Shit fuck damn. Dex Ward’s still spamming my inbox. And my DMs. And my everything. This little weasel is not getting an interview in this or any other lifetime if I have my way.”

  “Who the hell is Dex Ward?”

  “Some rich kid who thinks he can podcast. Wants to be an influencer, claims he can get interviews with anyone, living or dead.” She rolled her eyes. “Batshit insane, total stalker, but his show is curiously intriguing.”

  “You listened?”

  “Know thy enemy. Also, I was bored.”

  I shook my head and opened my email.

  Ugh.

  Over a hundred emails stared me in the face. Just glancing at the subject lines, I could see at least ten different languages and three different alphabets, and that was just the first page. They were all languages I knew off the top of my head, so that wasn’t the problem. Switching between them fast enough to get through this pile before lunch was a headache waiting to happen.

  “I need more coffee,” I muttered, half to Trixie, half to the waiting emails. I knew there wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to deal with the headache to come, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

  Trixie gave me her best puppy eyes. She fondled her mug. “Alex, sweetie, love of my life…” she began.

  I rolled my eyes hard and reached out a hand. “Yes, I will get you a cup. Yes, I will despoil it with an insane amount of cream and sugar. Yes, I am the best and you owe me eternally.”

  She smirked and handed over her cup. “You get me.”

  I shook my head and rose to my feet. “I get you coffee, at least.”

  “Close enough!”

  My employer took her coffee as seriously as she did her music. Our break room had three French presses for people who liked to put work into their coffee, and two Javert Z7 automated barista-bot technological wonders. Calling them coffee makers seemed like an insult. The things could make thirteen different types of coffee, customize your milk temperature, practically drink the stuff for you. I am not a spiritual woman, but if I were, these things would be as close to gods as I’d worship.

  I arrived at my temple and set the pair of mugs I carried beneath the spouts. Trixie took hers light, creamy, and sweet, much like her. I took mine as dark and bitter as my soul. With a satisfying hiss, the barista-bots began to work their magic, and I could just lean on the counter and empty my head of all thought for a few moments.

  Or I tried to, at least.

  It was so much easier in academia, or at least the problems were all my own. I had to research. I had to publish. I had to do that damned defense. When it all came crashing down, when I failed, the only person who suffered was me.

  This time, though. This tour had so many people counting on me. Not just Mother Glory, but her manager, her road crew, her venues, everyone who was working so hard to make this tour a reality. It was up to me to keep the lines of communication open. The pressure was palpable. I could feel it in my temples. I rubbed them gently, silently begging the barista-bot to work faster.

  “COME ALONG, BOYS!” I heard an ostentatious bellow from outside the break room. “Don’t you DARE drop those! They’re worth more than your LIFE!”

  Look, a distraction!

  Curiosity got the better of me. I peeked out the door and was rewarded with a truly lovely sight. Andres, Glory’s new wardrobe manager, was leading a parade.

  Andres himself was something special to behold. Sparkling blue eyes full of wonder at the world around him. Movie-star handsome, all blond perfectly coiffed hair and just the right dusting of barely perceptible stubble. A smile that could melt your panties clean off. Tailored shirt, tailored pants, tailored to spark more than a few fantasies that I tried hard to repress. Damned shame he was so blindingly fabulous.

  Then, there were his two assistants, struggling under the weight of garment bags and cases of jewelry and makeup.

  There was the tanned, brooding one, obviously a gym rat with his impressively sculpted build and tight bounce-a-quarter-off-it ass. He was less showy than Andres, but still exceptionally nice to look at. He’d only looked my way once, but those soulful golden eyes cut deep. His short black hair was mussed, possibly from the garment bags that slipped this way and that in his strong grasp. My mind wandered to what it would be like to be in that grasp before my senses took hold again.

  The one struggling with the cases was wiry and thin, pale-skinned and gothic. His jet-black hair cascaded over one eye in an asymmetrical cut not unlike my own. He wore elaborate eyeliner, stark black against his skin. Today, it was a cascade of elaborate curls and waves over his right cheek, a Celtic masterpiece. His features were delicate and androgynous to the point that I hesitated to use pronouns with him without asking. Trixie had filled me in on that front, as she’s far nosier than I am and did the legwork. I think she was hoping I was interested beyond academic curiosity.

  Andres started to turn around to face his assistants, and I ducked back in to the safety of the break room before he could see me ogling them.

  What has gotten into me today? I pondered as I retrieved the two coffees from the barista-bot. Maybe my near-miss with Dmitri had set some hormonal time bomb ticking inside me. Maybe it was Trixie’s lecture. Maybe they just seemed safe to ogle as they were very likely not interested in me in the least. At any rate, no. Just no.

  I got as far as the door to the office when I heard soft footsteps behind me.

  “I’ll take care of Lachlan personally. Probably just wants to steal nudes or something. He won’t get far. I’ve got someone I need to talk to. Kisses.”

  I turned and almost dropped my cups.

  She was shorter than she seemed on stage, but I could feel the power in her presence. Her elfin features were accented by her facial tattoos, a mask of delicate green vines and white morning glories curling around her eyes and along her high sharp cheekbones. Her yoga pants and sports bra hugged her wispy frame, giving her the illusion of curves. Even in her workout gear, she wore her trademark necklace, a pair of brass hands holding an inverted crescent with blood-red teardrop crystals hanging from the points. Her “soul’s tears,” she called them. She tucked her cellphone into a pocket and smiled at me serenely.

  “M..ma’am?” I stammered, not quite knowing what to say. I’d never actually met Mother Glory in person before. Few of us had. Only Raul, and he was all the more insufferable for it.

  “Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see.” Her voice was soft, mournful. I realized she was reading the tattoo on the inside of my left arm. “What a sad sentiment.”

  My mouth worked silently for a moment. “It’s Poe, ma’am.”

  “Ah. Tortured words from a tortured soul.” A small smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. “I can appreciate that.”

  I returned her smile nervously. I didn’t doubt that she could. Her painful childhood was no secret. She fueled her music with it, pouring a world of anguish into each powerful note.

  “You’re Alexandria Martin, correct? My brilliant linguist, the one who is making this whole world tour a reality?”

  I forgot English. I nodded emphatically.

  She smiled at my silence and reached out a hand to gently touch my forearm. “Relax, Alexandria. It’s only me.”

  It’s only the biggest pop star on the planet. The queen of the stage. Many Grammys. Much wow.

  I swallowed hard and forced words out of my mouth. “Yes, ma’am. And please, call me Alex.”

  “Alex. I’d love a chance to speak to you in private. Do you have a moment?” She cocked her head inquisitively.

  “Of course, ma’am.” Coffee mugs still clutched in my numb hands, I followed her into the main hall of the mansion.

  Chapter Two

  Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod…stop it.

  Stop.

  She’s just a person.


  She’s just the most famous person in the world.

  And she knows my name.

  Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod.

  As I walked behind Mother Glory into the upper part of the mansion, it was as though I was ensconced in her aura of power. Housekeepers scattered. Some bowed to her. The rest averted their eyes, as though she was too bright to look upon.

  Others flocked to her. I could see her manager heading our way from the lobby, intent on intercepting us. Glory waved him off. His brow furrowed and he returned to the lobby, giving me the side-eye the entire way. She repeated the process for her publicist, her personal secretary, and, most satisfyingly, Raul, who had followed us without me noticing. The look I received from Raul could have scalded the hair off my head. I’d relish it for the rest of my days.

  Ahead, I could see it. The door to her private chambers. She was taking me to the Inner Sanctum. My breath caught in my throat.

  This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.

  A door opened next to the Sanctum. I heard Andres before I saw him, squealing excitedly. “Your Gloriousness! I have a present for yooou!” he crooned.

  “Not now, Andres,” she sighed, giving him the same wave she’d given her manager.

  Andres was not deterred in the slightest. “It’s the latest Ia Picmont! Thousands of hand-selected canary feathers, Swarovski for days, it’s magnificent. You need this on your body yesterday.”

  “Not now, Andres,” she repeated emphatically.

  Andres looked at her, looked at me, looked at me again with a smile that ignited places in me that I’d been studiously ignoring for years, then shrugged. “It’s waiting anxiously for you, then. We need it fitted for your shoot tomorrow, along with the other five.” He sketched a deep bow, winked at me, then flounced back into the wardrobe room.