Page 18 of Psyop Kings

I replay each step, conversation, and face from the CUP even last night. My thoughts linger on Isla and her sleazy husband. Rewind. Me and Isla discussing the Crowne family.

One man had his back to us.

The younger one.

Same hair. Same build.

Holy crap!

Theo is a Crowne. And somehow, he managed to get me here. How? I try to piece together our conversation, but it’s messy. Finally, after minutes or hours of stewing, it begins to form clearly.

“This seat taken?” a deep voice with a playful lilt asks.

When I turn to see the guy standing near me, heat floods my cheeks. He’s hot. Hotter than the barista near Megan’s dorm. Green eyes that practically glow devour me like I’m something savory he’d like to eat. Normally, that’d creep me out, but when the guy is drop-dead gorgeous, all intelligence flies out the window.

“Sure,” I say, annoyed with the fact I changed back into my regular clothes. This guy is dressed impeccably and I’m wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a USC hoodie. “I’m meeting someone, though.”

The beautiful man juts out his bottom lip in mock sadness. It brings an instant smile to my face. Jeez, he even smells good too. His cologne cuts through the heavy tobacco scent thatpermeates the air. Because I like it, I lean slightly toward him to have a little sniff.

“Your boyfriend?” the guy asks. “Lucky guy.”

Again, my cheeks blaze hot. It’s not that I’m not used to getting hit on. It’s just that typically I have no interest in whomever is flirting. This guy, however, is exactly my type—tall, playful, boyish good looks, lovely green eyes, and a killer smile.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say too quickly. “Just waiting on a contact.”

“You’re a journalist?”

“No.” I let out a small laugh. “Just looking for a friend.”

“Is she lost?”

Before I can answer, he waves to the bartender and then holds up two fingers. The bartender gives him a small nod before he starts making drinks. I’m curious as to how the bartender even knew what to make this guy.

“Your friend,” the guy says. “Is she lost?”

“Someone kidnapped her,” I blurt out. “At least that’s my theory.”

His eyebrows lift. “Why aren’t the police looking for her then?”

“Because they don’t care,” I declare with a huff. “No one cares. I’m Romy, by the way.”

The man takes my outstretched hand and gives it a warm, firm shake. “Theo. Nice to meet you. And why don’t they care?”

The bartender sets down two shots in front of us. Theo nudges one my way and grins. “For you.”

Just thinking about the worthless detective back in LA has me grabbing the shot glass and knocking back the fiery liquid just to erase his ineptness from my mind.

“Thanks, Theo,” I say with a smile.

He reaches for me with his thumb and wipes my bottom lip. A thrill of fiery heat races through me, pooling at my core. “You had some on your lip,” he says, a devilish smirk on his handsome face. “I took care of you.”

I can’t help the stupid grin that makes its way across my face. Then I lick my bottom lip where his thumb touched me. It tastes…bitter.

“Tell me more about your friend,” Theo says before downing his own shot. “Maybe I can help. I have connections everywhere.”

Bile creeps up my throat. Everything got blurry after that. I thought I was getting drunk from one shot. When he practically had to help me off my barstool with the promise to take me back to my hotel, so I’d be safe, I stupidly let him lead me out of there. I willingly crawled into the back of his black SUV and passed out almost immediately.

He had something on his thumb.

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