Page 112 of Manic

My pulse raced as I scanned the room.

Ronan and Elowen, his step-mother, stood in the far corner, engaged in conversation. His hard stare met us before his attention swept back to Elowen. She wore a fitted blush-pink gown, her soft-brown hair cascading in curls down her back. Other people mingled, most of whom I didn’t recognize.

I expected the mansion to be full of Manic’s immediate family—small and intimate—but not the twenty something guests who all stood around in fine clothing.

“Who are all these people?” I whispered as he placed a hand on my lower back. I refrained from shuddering and the instinct to lean into it.

“Family.”

“You’re… related to them all?”

“Unfortunately.” He huffed and reached for two glasses of wine, handing me one. “Some are Naomi’s friends, but most of them are our cousins. My aunts and uncles are over there. It’s like an over exaggerated family reunion.”

He nodded toward a group huddled around the arched windows, animatedly talking with their hands. Some had the signature Mortaine pale-blond hair. I took a heaping gulp of my wine, feeling its warmth enter my stomach. It was sweet and fragrant, making my head feel ten times lighter.

“Do you… like any of them?” I asked.

Manic shook his head and laughed quietly as he sipped his drink. “They all have money they’ve never lifted a finger to earn and egos too big for the mansion.”

“Hmf. Sounds familiar,” I uttered with a teasing grin.

“Does it?” He faced me with his own smile. “Because I earned all of my money.”

I scoffed. “Illegally, maybe.”

“Still earned it. From your capture, even.”

My lips parted, and I glanced at the smirk plastered to his mouth. “Wait—they paid you?”

“All two million.”

“That’s a disgusting amount of money,” I hissed quietly. “I can’t believe you accepted it.”

“A job is a job.” He shrugged, though his voice dipped as he inched closer. “But it’s yours… if you want it.”

“What?” I rasped, studying his expression.

He looked serious, but… Would he actually give it to me? Two million dollars? That, in all my years, was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard.

Still, a flush seared my face, and I went to take a nervous sip from my wine to hide it when two thudding pairs of shoes yanked my attention towards the entrance. The wine glass stopped halfway to my mouth at the sight of Amelia and Grave entering the dining area. Amelia stopped short, her eyes rounding before they dropped to the floor.

Of course she’d be here, because she would be a part of the family—she’d be married soon. Absolute rage blinded me as I was reminded of how she’d kept her relationship with Grave a secret. She kept everything from me. Was our friendship even real?

“I knew she’d arrive sooner or later,” Manic murmured, a tease lacing his tone. “As much as I’d love to see your little death threat come true, it probably wouldn't be a good idea.”

“Probably not,” I gritted.

Manic ushered me down the room, closer to the lingering crowd. “Do you want to fuck in the bathroom instead?”

I knew he was teasing, but I halted my steps anyway and set my jaw. My pulse climbed. Was that all I was? A quick fuck to pass the time until he left the mafia? A distraction?

I wasn’t sure why, but that ache resurfaced. One that reminded me that being with him, as his captive and short-term whore, was always temporary.

Manic faced me with a lifted brow.

“No,” I answered.

He tilted his head as if waiting for an explanation, and my cheeks burned hotter. I could endure whatever punishment Manic had planned for me as his captive. I could deal with that, but I couldn’t deal with this.