Page 22 of Manic

A flicker of irritation marked his face before he exhaled, his hard expression sending my pulse racing. Within seconds, last night crashed back into me with force, reminding me just how terrifying Manic could be when provoked.

“You should be grateful I didn’t tie you up and dump you in one of our warehouses,” he said coldly. “I could have, you know.”

He casually walked around the island as the espresso machine hissed behind him. I backed away, my eyes flaring when I was stopped by the back of a couch.

“In fact,” Manic continued, stalking closer, “my father’s exact words were: fuck her, beat her, drug her. Make her your whore if you want—just keep her alive.” His voice deepened like a poor imitation of his father as he closed the gap between us, mockingly waving his hand.

My heart froze. “That’s what he said?”

Did Ronan order Manic to kidnap me over something my father did? Why? Actually, I didn’t care. I just wanted to leave and wake up from this nightmare.

Manic smiled tightly, but his tone softened. “Technically, I can do anything I want to you, but…” He sighed. “…I only drugged you because I knew you’d scream the moment we left the car. I won’t beat you, I won’t make you my whore, and I won’t fuck you. Not unless you wanted it of course.”

He smirked before tenderly sweeping the strand of hair off my face, and my breathing cut short. Seeing the terrifying and soft side of him within only a few seconds was quite jarring.

“So, tell me,” Manic continued, “will you part those pretty thighs for me and sit on my face?”

“Only if it’ll suffocate you,” I clipped, unable to decipher why my whole body just flushed.

He laughed, a grin splitting his face—a grin so wide it showed all his teeth. His hand lingered on my skin, a soft caress of his fingers. Then a glint shone in his eyes as he lifted a shoulder.

“Couldn’t hurt to try.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I whispered.

“A lot of things, apparently. I’ve done far worse things than kidnapping, but I must admit, the chase is exciting. Sit down, and we’ll discuss why you’re here.”

He was so close that the smell of him flooded me. Warm spices, the rugged scent of his cologne. And yet my knees wobbled. The thought of him doing this to someone else had my stomach twisting into uneasy knots.

How many people has he kidnapped, exactly?

“I—I don’t care why I’m here,” I said quietly, wringing my hands, though my eyes flicked to the lit hallway beyond the kitchen. Was that the exit? Fuck, it could be. I glanced back at him.

“I’ll forget all about it if you release me,” I declared. “Please, Manic. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “No, but I do enjoy the sound of you begging.”

His words only angered me. A growl crawled up my throat, my lip curling. Without thinking, I threw my fist into his cheek and forcefully shoved him.

Adrenaline raced up my spine as I sprinted toward the hallway. I was halfway across the kitchen when Manic’s dark laugh and calm footsteps echoed behind me. But the moment I turned the corner, I yelped and skidded to a stop. My eyes widened as the cold steel of a gun pressed right between my brows.

A large man in black combat gear stood outside the entrance to Manic’s penthouse elevator. The man grinned, slow and cold, tilting his head to the side as he gave me a once-over. Curiosity blazed in his stare, but he said nothing.

“I knew you’d run,” Manic said behind me. “Put the gun down, Axell. This is my guest. Say hello to Sutton.”

Guest? Was he unstable?

Yes, he’s fucking unstable, Sutton.

I released a ragged breath when the gun lowered, though my pulse still thumped between my ears as I stared at the unfamiliar man. How many times was a gun going to be pointed at me this week? I supposed I could start a tally—see how many I could rack up before I inevitably died here.

“Hello, Sutton,” Axell said, voice gruff. He pointed to the brown-haired man behind him—someone I didn’t notice—and my heart stopped. “That’s Vince. We’re here to make sure you don’t leave.”

My stomach hit the floor. Fuck.

Axell gave me a surprisingly warm smile and placed the gun in the holster at his hip. He was tall with wide shoulders and dark hair that was cut short on the sides. I had no doubt he’d be able to squash me between his palms. It was then that I noticed his name was inked on his fingers, similarly to Manic and Grave. His other hand came into view, and together, the letters spelled Axell Crowe.

“For your entire life, you’ve been unaware of what your father does, which is launder our money through his casinos,” Manic explained and planted himself in front of Axell before turning to face me. “We could have discussed this over coffee, but you decided to be a brat, so the hallway will have to do.”