Page 129 of Manic

Loose ends.

More like the loose end locked in one of the warehouses. Or in other words, Luka’s private investigator he’d hired weeks ago, barely hanging on to his life thanks to mild starvation and blood loss.

His rap sheet was as long as a fucking grocery list without a spending limit, meaning the world would be far better off without him. Especially for his crimes. I’d have no guilt ending his life, and I couldn’t formulate a solid plan with someone like him hanging over my head.

“Now?” she asked.

“Yes. Be in bed when I get back. I won’t be long.”

“Are you leaving me alone?”

I nodded. I needed Axell with me. “The elevator can’t come up unless someone has a key to the floor. It’ll stay locked.”

“Will you watch me?” Her mouth turned up, and I breathed a chuckle. Damn, she really wasn’t going to run.

“You know I will.” I kissed her again. “You have your phone, so keep the sound on in case I call.”

I gave it to her days ago, and knowing she had it eased my worry of leaving her alone. Vince had his suspicions with my involvement with Sutton, but as far as he knew, she was someone who had helped me pass the time. A quick fuck. I felt better without him here, though. One less loose end to worry about.

“Okay,” was all she said.

She plopped back down and yanked the comforter up to her chin, her eyes fluttering closed. I took a deep breath and stared at the single chess piece on her nightstand, reminding me why I gave it to her—why I followed her in the first place.

Then I turned on my heel, exited the penthouse, and met Axell in the car with my gun secured in my waistband.

“You call the coroner?” I grunted as we moved the body toward the trunk. Even starved, the fucker was heavy.

The body thumped inside, bent to fit the cramped space.

“Yeah,” he breathed, then shut the trunk. “He said he’d meet me there after spewing a few colorful curses my way.”

Not surprising, but at least he answered at almost four in the morning. He was going to be pissed when we arrived.

The Crimson Crowes had a personal coroner on call, one we used for our crimes and killings to ensure we weren’t tracked down and questioned if evidence was left behind. He didn’t typically cremate bodies, but he had a cremator nobody knew about. He was loyal to my father—whether by choice or coercion—I wasn’t entirely sure.

My guess, he’d likely been paid off to keep his mouth shut. Money would continue to do so, unless someone stripped him of it. In my time as a Crowe member, I quickly learned that money was a motivator to do a lot of fucked up shit, just as long as they were paid.

We stood in the shadows near the back of the warehouse with one of the doors propped open. This one in particular was off grid, bought under an alias and appeared abandoned. Its brick walls flaked, the concrete stained, reeking of sweat and death.

“I’m going with you,” I said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. Smoke wafted between us, but I still caught Axell’s arched brow of curiosity. I typically let the Crowes handle the bodies, but not tonight.

“You sure?”

I nodded. Cold air bit through my hoodie, clinging to my skin as we lingered another minute. I took one last drag before snuffing my cigarette on the gravel. Once we locked the warehouse down, entered the car and took off, I drummed my fingers against my knee.

“What’s your family like?” I asked, feeling Axell turn my way.

His eyes beat into the side of my face. Not once in three years had I asked him about his family, but I knew he had some.

“I’m not sure,” he answered cautiously, one hand on the wheel as we turned down the dark road. He cleared his throat. “After I was incarcerated, they left Vancouver. I, uh… send them checks every month. They haven’t reached out, but I know they cash 'em.”

Axell committed armed robbery at seventeen, sentenced as an adult for fifteen years since it was a first offense. He claimed his driving factor had been to steal food for his family before getting caught. It was why I paid for his release, offering him money in exchange for his loyalty and commitment. And if he sent money every month, that meant he still cared about their well being.

“Will you ever talk to them?” I asked.

“No. I was the one who fucked up, plus I made a commitment here. If they wanted to, they could reach out, but there’s no reason to get their hopes up in thinking I’d come back if they did. Sending them money is enough for me.”

I hummed in answer as darkness pooled over both sides of the road, practically swallowing our headlights.