Chapter Twenty-Eight
Caius
“N othing,” the man says, shrugging. “Just regular people. Maybe you should call the police or something. I’m no professional.”
A professional would ask questions.
“You did fine. Exactly what I asked for,” I tell him with a grunt, fishing out my wallet. “An extra hundred as a tip.”
The man eyes the money with hesitation but finally takes it out of my grip. “Thanks. ’Preciate it. But listen, if whoever did that to your face is coming for you, you really ought to hire someone for protection.” He stuffs the money into his coat pocket and then holds up both palms. “To be clear, I’m not that guy.”
“I’ll consider it,” I lie.
With a nod, he disappears into the crowd. My phone buzzes with an incoming text. I half expect it to be Romy wondering where I went. I’d thought I could run my errands before she awoke, but it’s getting late in the morning.
It’s not Romy who texted me.
Bald Guy: Building lobby across from the hotel. Creepy ass motherfucker watching you right now.
The man I just gave money to is only one of the few I hired after the strange guy found Romy and Eva in the café. After last night’s bullshit, I wanted to check in to see if the people I’d hired had anything to report. Bald Guy, as saved in my phone, must have had his ears ringing.
Me: Headed that way now.
As I wait for a stream of cars to pass, my mind drifts to Romy. I couldn’t keep my dick out of her. It feels like a fever dream, but it’s real. I still smell like her. It wasn’t some fantasy. No, we have officially moved into a real relationship. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
And yet, I am eager to get back to her. I want to forget everything for a full day, focusing only on her and her sweet, receptive body. Hell, I’ll even cash in on the blowjob she promised.
My cock twitches at the thought of Romy on her knees, sucking me off. She’d said I could teach her, which meant she hasn’t performed it on anyone before. For some reason, the idea of instructing her on how to gag on my cock is a hot fantasy I never knew I needed.
A car honks at me and I jolt, having not seen him. I give him the finger because he should learn to slow down. He gives me one back—a proper New York City greeting. I hustle across the road and up the steps of the building in question. When I reach the glass doors, I peer in and can see the creep standing in the middle of the lobby, staring right toward me.
Before I can enter, Bald Guy slips out and immediately lights a cigarette. He takes a long drag, then points at the creep.
“Been like that for a while. I was tied up with a phone call, but as soon as I was free, I texted you.” He takes another hit of his cigarette before forcefully blowing out a plume of smoke. “Two different people stopped to ask him if he was okay. He didn’t answer them, so they kept on going. It’s like he’s in a trance.”
Because he is, Baldie.
Bald guy gestures at my face. “He do that?”
“Nah. Some guy thought he could put his hands on my woman.”
“I’m guessing he looks worse?”
“Hospital.”
Bald Guy smirks. “Right on. If we’re done here, I’m going to head out.”
“Yeah, man, we’re done.” I pull out another handful of bills, making sure to give him double what I gave the other guy. “Thanks for the intel.”
He takes the money, pockets it, and then says, “Good luck with that dude in there. Probably has bombs strapped to his chest or some shit. It’s always the quiet ones.”
Indeed, it is always the quiet ones.
Once he heads down the steps and takes off, I make my way into the building. It’s not super busy. I’m unsure what sort of building it is. The lobby is nondescript and has no signs or markings.
The man who stands in the middle, staring out the windows toward the hotel, is none other than the asshole from the café. He’s back and in super soldier mode.
“Supernova,” I say firmly.
Nothing.
I go through several other variations of commands we’ve used on the CUP Stars. He doesn’t respond to any of them. Last time, he’d snapped out of it after someone called him. Carefully, I approach him, and keep my voice low.
“I’m taking your phone,” I state, eyes boring into him. “I’m not asking.”
The man says nothing. Just stares like a fucking robot.
I pat him down until I find his phone. He has several missed texts and calls from “Wifey.” From the preview, it sounds like she’s freaking out that he hasn’t come home. I use his face to unlock the phone and skim through his call log and messages.
Sure enough, there’s an unknown number that called him around the time I’d encountered him. There aren’t any other calls from this number.
This doesn’t feel like the work of CUP and my father, but I could be wrong. I need to get this guy to snap out of it so I can drill him with questions.
Could VEIL be responsible? They’re into their own stream of shit with the media. Maybe they’re upping their game, trying to become more powerful. I need to get both Dad and Gideon in the same room so I can get to the bottom of this.
The phone in my hand begins to ring, a strange sound that I wish I’d thought to record, and the man jolts into awareness. He swivels around and glowers at me.
“You again,” he growls. “You fucking stalking me, man?”
“Other way around,” I snap back. “Who did this to you? Who sent you?”
The man snags his phone from my hand and takes off. I curse, rushing after him. It’s evident he works out and keeps in shape because the second we make it outside, he launches himself down the steps effortlessly before shooting away from me like a rocket.
I’m fit, sure, but I’m not built to chase soldiers through a city in fucking loafers.
He runs quickly, but he’s definitely confused. As in he has no idea in hell where he is or how he got here. Each time he stalls at a street corner, figuring out which direction to go, I gain on him.
He has his phone out as he runs, furiously mashing buttons. Then he watches as cars drive by. With a risky move, he darts out in the middle of traffic, narrowly missing getting hit by a huge bus. I nearly ram into the side of the bus that screeches on its brakes as it nears a car stopped in front of it. I bark out a curse and rush around the damn thing. Across the road, the soldier guy is slipping into what must be a Lyft or Uber.
And then he’s gone.
Dammit.
I’m panting hard and can feel blisters forming on my feet because these shoes aren’t meant for running in. All that for nothing. I start walking back the direction I came in, dreading the several block walk back.
Buzz.
My phone alerts me to a text. It’s a good excuse to take a break. I sit down on a raised concrete planter, my ass already hating the cold concrete.
Unknown Number: Things seem to be unraveling for you.
I snap my gaze up and scan the area around me to see if I can spy this asshole who’s watching me.
Me: The elusive S.
Unknown Number: You haven’t forgotten me. I’m flattered.
Me: Cut the shit. What do you want?
Keep him talking…
While the dots move as he formulates his reply, I flip over to one of my apps I’ve tweaked to triangulate a number. It won’t tell me exactly where this person is, but it’ll give me an idea.
Unknown Number: To talk about last night.
Me: What about last night?
Unknown Number: Did you know she was there? Right under your nose and you missed it?
My blood runs cold. It’s a lie. If Calista had been there, I’d have been able to sense it—to feel my sister’s presence.
He’s taunting me, distracting me from discovering who he is and where he’s at.
Me: Bullshit.
Unknown Number: I don’t lie.
Me: I don’t know you, therefore I don’t believe that.
The app spins slowly after I paste S’s number in. Since he appears to be watching me, I don’t think he’s using a computer program this time. I think he has a bag full of burner phones he uses and tosses after our texts.
My bars are low in this area. I stand and walk a few steps to see if it helps. Another bar forms, so I stay in that spot, waiting for the app to pinpoint his location.
Unknown Number: You know me, friend.
A chill that has nothing to do with the icy weather freezes me to my marrow.
Me: I’m not your friend. Why hide behind anonymity?
Unknown Number: I know how much you love games, Caius. Isn’t this fun?
Me: Toying with me isn’t fun.
Finally, the app stops spinning. Dozens of possible locations begin to populate. While it does that, S replies again.
Unknown Number: Don’t worry. All will be revealed soon.
Me: Not soon enough.
Unknown Number: I know where she’s at. Do you want to know where?
Of course I do, but I don’t trust S. He can’t even show himself.
My phone buzzes, but this time alerting me that all the possible locations have been added. I press the “triangulate” button and wait for it to make a likely determination of where the phone is at.
I need to keep him talking.
Me: Tell me.
Unknown Number: I don’t have to. You’re hot on the trail.
Buzz.
Two blocks north.
I start jogging in the direction of the address while continuing my conversation with S.
Me: What does that mean?
Unknown Number: I know you’ve discovered something. I’ll be waiting, but not for long. Don’t worry, though. I’ll leave you a parting gift.
This unnerves me. Does he know what I’m doing on my phone? How? That would mean he has access to it.
The only people who realistically have access to my phone who would have the capability to do this would be Dad or Theo. I’m still trying to figure out what their angle would be.
Maybe S is right in front of my face.
Solomon?
Solomon didn’t have access to my phone on the yacht, per se, but it doesn’t mean someone couldn’t have hacked it anyway. Gareth was on that trip as well. I know what a piece of shit he was. It wouldn’t surprise me if he, who was skilled with technology like myself, gave information to Solomon. He’s hated me ever since I insisted on him having a nanny for Kaitlyn. When Romy came along, he fucking lost it. It’s definitely a possibility.
If Solomon has Calista, I’m fucked.
That bastard is sadistic.
Was he at the event? I didn’t see him. Supposedly, Calista was there, but I’m not sure I believe S or Solomon or whoever the hell he is. This could all be an effort to confuse me.
Unfortunately, it’s working.
I’m closer to the location, so I pick up speed despite the raw pain from my blisters on my feet.
The location leads me to a bustling restaurant. My stomach growls upon smelling the greasy food. I scan the building front, peering through the windows before rushing inside.
A waitress holds up a finger to let me know she’ll be with me in a moment while she takes an order. The place is full of people, but there are a few empty tables. One particular dirtied table catches my eye.
Beside a full, still steaming cup of coffee, is an abandoned old phone, probably a burner. The phone is most likely missing its SIM card, though I’ll take it anyway just in case, but it’s the other thing that chills me.
His parting gift.
It’s a doll—one that wears a custom-made dress. Her nails have been painted a hideous blue color.
It’s not just any doll, though.
It’s the same one Calista had that day.
He wasn’t lying. Whoever S is, he either has her or knows where she’s at. I’m so fucking close to finding her.
So close.