At first, Alex didn't think much of it. But as the notifications piled up, flooding his system like a broken dam, even he—cruising along in his sports car—had to pause.
What was up with Eric Vaughn this time? Was it that scrawny, bespectacled creep from the detention cell again, stirring the pot?
Yeah, that guy. Waters had planted him in there on purpose—a twig of a man with thick glasses, meant to keep Eric company so he wouldn't feel too lonely in lockup. Worked like a charm, too. Now, every time Eric spotted a guy with specs, he'd instinctively clutch his backside like it was under siege.
Rounding a corner, Alex flicked his eyes to the side mirror—and nearly choked.
"Holy—!"
There, in the reflection, was a lunatic on a green shared bike, pedaling like his life depended on it. Eric Vaughn, chasing a sports car on two wheels.
What kind of madness was this?
"What's wrong?" Sera asked, tugging at her stockings as she caught the shock on his face.
