Page 111 of Manic

“Nothing?” I questioned. “Is poker not fun? Or reading, maybe? Do you have friends?”

“So many questions.” Manic chuckled, then rubbed his jaw. “Are you trying to get to know me, Sutton?”

“Maybe.”

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Poker is fun, but I’m usually making business deals when I play. Reading, yes, but my free time is limited. Friends, no. I don’t trust anyone enough to befriend them.”

“Not even Axell?” My forehead creased, my heart sinking.

He paused, opening his mouth before closing it again. By the look on his face, I knew he trusted Axell.

“If you trust him, he’s probably a friend,” I mused.

“Hardly,” he grumbled. “But if that’s what it means, then I’d consider Axell a friend. Everyone else can fuck off.”

“Hm,” I said, and pushed off the counter with a smile. “You know, psychopaths don’t have friends.”

“Are you saying I’m not a psychopath?” he asked, his voice throaty and low. “Don’t get it twisted, Hale, I’m just as bad as the day you met me.” His eyes dragged over me. “Are you ready?”

I hardly believed a word he said. Either way, I let out a breath and nodded, following him out of the penthouse and into his car. He drove again, and that nervousness in my chest returned.

When we arrived, every muscle in my body tensed as I stared up the mansion steps. There was a time when I’d been in awe of the beautiful, intricate stone building. But now…

Now all it brought was a shudder of unease.

It was like I was thrust back to the gala, mesmerized by what I saw glimmering at night before I’d been kidnapped by the man I loathed. If only I had just skipped the event like I wanted to, then perhaps I wouldn’t be here right now, eating up what freedom I did have.

And those feelings were conflicting.

I glanced at Manic, and all those thoughts drifted away, replaced with desire and emotions I didn’t want to feel. Warmth traveled up my stomach, the kind of heat that made me uncomfortably aware of how striking he was. He smiled tightly, then led me up the steps.

“Does Naomi have a family dinner every year for her birthday?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“And is that why you always deliver her gifts a day early? So you don’t have to come?”

He slid his eyes over, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He didn’t need to say anything for confirmation. I saw it in the strain of his shoulders and the hardness of his icy-blue stare. He hated being here.

“You need to be ready to play the part,” he said. “Ronan will be here, but if I need to…”

I knew what he meant. He was warning me of the potential shift in his demeanor, should it come to that. Did he hate that, too? Did he hate putting on those masks of evil and manipulation? Did he hate being rough with me in front of his father?

I pulled my purse higher on my shoulder and exhaled, preparing for the doors to open.

“Making coffee,” Manic mumbled.

I blinked and looked over again, confused.

“A hobby I enjoy,” he explained, casting me a sidelong glance, though I swore his cheeks deepened in color.

I grinned just as a servant opened the doors, and Naomi greeted us with a squeal and a wide smile. She wore a blue dress with frilled sleeves that complimented the pale sheen of her blonde hair.

“I knew you’d come, big brother,” she said.

Manic groaned, and Naomi snickered as she led us past a sitting room and toward an elaborate dining area. Our shoes clicked softly against the marble on our approach, and I could almost feel the tension pulling at Manic’s shoulders.

Glasses clinked, and music filtered throughout the room, soft and honeyed. A long dining table sat in the center, decorated with crystal glasses and fine porcelain. Maids and butlers passed out wine and a variety of cheeses from serving trays.