Page 62 of Mind Maze

Romy has this effect on me.

Me: Duly noted. What’s your real name?

Unknown Number: In due time you’ll know.

Me: The point of these texts?

Unknown Number: I already told you. To warn you. The bad guys are all around you, lurking in plain sight. Your pretty blonde isn’t safe.

Me: No one will touch a hair on her head. I’ll make sure of it.

Unknown Number: I bet you’ll sure try. But don’t worry, Caius. I have your back. It’s in my interest to keep her safe as well.

My hackles rise at that text.

Me: Why?

I want to throw my phone when it comes back “undeliverable.”

Who is this S and why has he decided to infect my life, filling my head with questions and confusion?

Someone nudges me and I nearly drop my phone.

“Everything okay, Son?” Dad asks, frowning at me. “You don’t look too happy.”

I shove my phone back into my pocket and shrug. “Just dealing with something annoying.”

“Care to share?”

Turning, I nod toward the CUP Star. “Is that you?”

“Is what me?”

“Him. Just like the one at the diner.”

Dad narrows his eyes, studying him. “Perhaps he’s just a hot-blooded male who finds yourgirlfriendan irresistible piece of ass.” He smirks. “You know, like the rest of the guys practically salivating over her.”

We both know that’snotfucking it.

Not only do I have to worry about this rogue CUP Star, but S is around here somewhere as well. He’s toying with me, showing me he’s steps ahead of me at all times. To what end, though? What does he truly want? Not friendship, that’s for damn sure.

A man with jet-black hair and a chiseled jaw sidles up next to Romy. He says something that makes her blush. Then he points toward the bathroom. She shakes her head, laughs, and playfully pushes him away.

Is that S?

He slinks back into the crowd. I abandon Dad’s side to follow after him. Whoever the hell he is, he needs to know she’s taken, though she did a good job of sending him on his way.

The fucker is tall and has a long stride. I practically have to run to keep up with him. When he reaches a bar area, I stop him with a hand clamped on his shoulder. He startles at my iron grip and whirls around to face me.

“If you want my autograph, man, just ask. No need to accost me.” He huffs with impatience. “What do you want me to sign?”

“Who the fuck are you?” I growl.

The expression of utter horror is almost comical. I suppose he’s used to people falling at his feet.

“James Clayton.” He crosses his arms over his chest and levels me with a glare. “Ring any bells.”

“What did you say to my pregnant girlfriend?” I demand.

---