Page 24 of Manic

The moment I stepped into my room, bile shot up my throat and I sprinted to the toilet.

7

SUTTON

I remained like this for an hour: hunched over the toilet, face clammy, hair sticking to my temples, and absolutely spiraling.

I rose with shaky legs, my body sore from emptying what little contents sat in my stomach. Though now, my stomach grumbled in hunger. I brushed my teeth—as my toiletry bag had apparently made the trip—and curled my hands around the counter. My knuckles throbbed from the punch to Manic’s cheek.

I clenched my jaw.

Now that I’d processed my situation fully, I wouldn’t be making this easy for him. None of it. No, I’d be his worst fucking nightmare.

I briskly entered my room again, reaching for a pair of loose grey sweats and a soft shirt from the dresser. I pulled them on, ensuring every inch of my body was covered if only to keep the unnecessary stares off me.

And those books—those neatly stacked books on the dresser. Heat climbed to my neck, and I ground my teeth. All they did was remind me of how I got here.

When my trembling finally eased, I steeled my spine and swallowed the remainder of my emotions. I willed myself not to give into the fear. The panic. Rage could fuel my survival.

Manic entered without knocking and shut the door before casually sweeping across the room. My blood boiled at the sight of him.

He wore a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, paired with black slacks as if dressed for an important meeting. His hair still sat in controlled disarray, brushing messily along his temples. A sparkle of light bounced off metal as he faced me, and I stiffened from the gun in his waistband. Noticing my reaction, he smirked, and I held back a scowl.

“There’s breakfast prepared, and we’ll discuss⁠—”

“Why you?” I interrupted, folding my arms. “Why were you sent to kidnap me and not someone else?”

It could have been anyone, and yet Manic was sent to capture me. Why? Was it because he had made it a point to pester me every year? Was it easier for him?

A genuine smile graced his mouth, practically splitting his face in half. His smugness was irritating.

“I’m the heir and head of surveillance,” he stated, as if it were obvious. I let out a silent breath, lips tugging up, and his eyes narrowed. “What’s funny?”

“Oh, I just—it’s shocking that someone who’s apparently as smart as you resorted to kidnapping. It’s just hard to believe, that’s all. I figured you would have found another way.”

Our banter from the mansion resurfaced as I recalled how he’d said that he wanted to fuck me. A manipulation tactic perhaps, but his heated stare last night said otherwise. I was banking on it. Besides, Manic was one for blunt honesty, and he wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it.

Manic tensed his jaw, eyes cold. “And what other way could I have gotten you here, hm?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said with a menacing smile, striding toward him until only a few inches separated us. I fought the pounding of my pulse as I brushed my fingers along his open collar, his smooth chest. He stiffened.

“I bet if you had asked me last night,” I said softly, “I would have come here all on my own. But now that I think about it, I might have preferred to go home with Grave. He seems more interesting.”

Hit him where it hurts—his ego. I was sure he’d wither away if he didn’t have it, and knowing that warmed my insides.

“Is that so?” he asked.

A flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher blazed in his eyes. Was that jealousy? I’d find it amusing if someone like him could feel such a thing. Doubtful, though.

“Or maybe not.” I shrugged, dragging my finger down his chest and over his torso, closer and closer to his groin. Closer to that gun. If I could just grab it⁠—

“Maybe you can show me what you’re really like…” I offered with a slow grin. His pupils dilated, breath cutting short. I went lower, and his chest rose with a sharp, hissing inhale.

“Don’t,” Manic gritted.

I ignored him and smiled as I skimmed over his cock, pressed firmly against his slacks. Just as I assumed he would be. Sick bastard.

If I wasn’t trying to get his gun, I might have dwelled on how hard he was at my touch. Or I might have dwelled on how big he felt against my palm. But I needed to get out of here, and if this worked, I could shoot the other two men and escape down the elevator. I believed I could do it. Hopefully. My life was worth the effort.