Page 140 of Manic

36

SUTTON

“I hate it,” I said.

We stood in a gas station bathroom—the kind you need a key to get into on the side of the building. It was cramped but mostly clean, save for some writing on the walls.

Shadows sat beneath Manic’s eyes, highlighted by the dull light above us. It hummed faintly, like it was seconds from going out. I frowned when he met my stare in the cracked mirror and ran his fingers throughout his freshly-dyed, damp black hair.

“It’s only temporary,” he said, his voice flat. “Just until we can fly out.”

The hair color matched his passport photo, but we were too wary to catch a flight. He’d apparently had an alias and a new passport since he was nineteen. Something his father was unaware of.

My new passport, however, looked just like me with a different name I kind of hated. I didn’t ask how he’d gotten them, but they were real and what we needed to leave this place for good.

We had no solid plan, not even a set location, just a simple goal of getting as far away from Vancouver as we could. Just until the news died down about a massive explosion, and we knew the mafia wasn’t tailing us.

Axell would discreetly call Manic’s burner phone when the coroner did his job in the next few days. Anything before that, and shit would hit the fan. So we would wait.

My eyelids drooped, and a yawn breathed past my lips.

It felt like we’d been driving for weeks and weeks. In reality, it had only been twenty-four hours. Over those hours, we’d taken turns driving while the other dozed in the passenger seat, gaining mere minutes of rest at a time. We needed a place to sleep.

Manic turned me to face him, then lifted me onto the counter. I sighed and buried my face into his neck, encircling my arms around him as the urge to close my eyes overcame me. His fingers threaded my hair, and my stomach dipped.

“We’re really doing this,” I said into his neck.

He pulled back, cupping my face. “Do you regret it?”

“No.” My answer came easy, because I knew this was our only way. If this was how we earned freedom, I wouldn’t regret anything.

Manic held my gaze, smiling sadly.

“You are my life,” he said, his words strangled. “You’re everything to me. We’ll run forever if we need to.”

I nodded, returning his weak smile. We hadn’t talked about what he’d said before—that I was his to cherish and love and protect. Though my heart swelled because I believed him.

“We need to find a motel,” I said finally.

“We’ll find one tonight.”

“You sure?”

He nodded.

Manic had been tense since we left the city. Even though his arms were around me, I knew he was struggling to keep it together. He constantly checked his phone, and each time we stopped for gas, he would search for cameras.

After covering his hand tattoos with what makeup I had, we left the gas station and set out to find a grocery store. We both wore hats and loose clothing. It was getting late, though, and by the time we found a decent motel, the moon had already settled in the sky.

We stepped into our tidy room with beige, carpeted floors and a single bed. The comforter was white with a grey blanket folded near the edge. A low purr filled the room as the heater kicked on.

Manic dropped our bags to the floor with a thud, but the moment the door clicked shut, he peeled the curtain back and glanced outside. Every muscle in his body tensed like he was expecting our door to slam open.

Yet nothing happened.

Not in the first few seconds, or the five minutes he kept his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the dull glass.

Blinking hard, he turned from the window and pulled out his phone. Even from halfway across the room, I knew what he was checking. Like a habit refusing to die, he did what he always did—he checked the cameras. My brows furrowed, but I walked over and stopped at his feet.