Page 102 of Manic

Not knowing when I’d be punished would drive me insane—more than not knowing exactly what he’d do to me. Manic was nothing short of unpredictable, but I had a feeling it was going to be drawn out—something that brought me pleasure and pain.

I held back a shudder.

He was sadistic enough that there was a good chance it might only bring me pain. Would I end up liking it?

Manic reached behind his head and swiftly pulled off his hoodie. The vest came off after, and he tossed it onto one of the cushioned stools in the kitchen. My face flamed, but I took that as my cue to leave and turned for my room.

I wanted that chess piece—to look at it. To confirm.

Weeks ago, I didn’t suspect him of being my admirer, and so I stuffed it back into my dresser, too afraid he’d see it lying around. I wanted to read those books he gave me in peace, not be questioned about some random chess piece I rolled between my fingers.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Manic called out, the sound reverberating off the walls. Shit.

I slowly turned and said, “To my room.”

He shook his head and pointed to his door. “My room, or I’ll add it to your list of punishments.”

I blinked, my mouth falling open as more of that disbelief flooded me. Pure delight filled his eyes as if he were waiting for me to snap and argue. I snapped my jaw shut, my nostrils flaring. He’d drag me there if I refused, and I didn’t want him suspicious.

“I hate you,” I said through gritted teeth.

With a grunt of annoyance, I stormed to his room without a second glance, swallowing the urge to throw a fist in his direction. The only reason I didn’t was because the asshole would probably enjoy it, and I’d endure my punishment early.

A low chuckle followed me all the way to his bedroom, the sound of his footsteps echoing behind me as he said, “And don’t you forget it.”

26

SUTTON

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

I ran my fingers through the tangled mess of my hair and blazed a hole into the back of Manic’s head.

He leaned back in his office chair, folding his arms behind his head as though he didn’t hear me. Or he refused to. He stared at his computer monitor, one of four rotating camera screens. Music sang softly in the background.

Like today and the five days before this one, I had risen from Manic’s bed only to find him already up. After preparing coffee for the both of us, he would disappear and I’d wander around in search of him.

Every morning, I’d find him at his desk, scrolling through pages and pages of Vancouver’s most recent intake of prisoners. And every day I’d lose the courage to confront him. I hated myself for it.

The weight of that chess piece in my pocket made my palms sweaty, reminding me that it was a perfect match for the board in his room. I confirmed it days ago.

I glanced past the glass railing. It was mid-day now, though the sun fought to show itself through the clouds. Snow was on its way, it just hadn’t appeared yet.

Just like my punishment.

The constant reminder drifted through the cracks in my mind like a memory I couldn’t forget. I wondered if today was the day I’d be punished, sensing it in Manic’s swift, yet calculated movements and in the suffocating feeling of the walls closing in.

The anticipation was torturous.

As was the ticking clock of me leaving this place.

Would Dmitri come after me, or would I be safe once I went back to my parents? Freedom dangled in front of me like a treat I couldn’t quite reach, and bitterness coated my tongue. Wherever I ended up, I didn’t want it to be with my parents. Or the mafia.

I was truly, handsomely fucked.

I pushed those worrisome thoughts aside and impatiently drummed my fingers along the wooden table resting on the second floor, casino papers and reports splayed before me. We’d been at it for nearly twenty minutes, arguing about why the casino reports appeared too clean and why it was a problem. Only Manic didn’t think there was a problem, because they’d been getting by this way for weeks.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said without looking, and clicked off another inmate. My eyes narrowed. So he did hear me. “I’m telling you that you’re wrong,” he added.