Page 47 of Manic

The noise grew louder, like a crispy leaf scraping across the sidewalk. I frowned, my curiosity getting the better of me, and reached over. I peeled back the cover of the first book. A single piece of paper was wedged into the spine, folded neatly in half.

Before I could stop myself, I pulled it free.

The paper crinkled as I unfolded it. I expected an old bookmark, or maybe some forgotten notes about the novel itself. What I didn’t expect was a note from Manic.

Read this one first - M

My heart thundered as I glanced at the book it came from.

Before I’d been kidnapped, I enjoyed a variety of genres, but my favorite books were thrillers and mysteries. And what sat on the dresser, on top of the other three, was a romance thriller. One I hadn’t read before.

I reluctantly skimmed the synopsis and thumbed through the weathered pages, my mind spinning as I recalled what Manic had told me at the mansion—that he’d read them before. Manic has read a romance thriller? Did he like it? What else has he read?

I blinked and shoved the paper back into the book, ignoring the way my insides burned with curiosity. No, I wouldn’t read them, even if they were a genre I enjoyed. What I needed to do was focus on tonight and the task at hand. That camera.

I scrambled through the room again, continuing to feel up the items on the tables and the frames on the walls as my time to get ready dwindled.

Pretty soon, I’d be seeing my father.

The thought of seeing him turned my stomach. I hated that I missed my parents, wishing I could speak to them regardless of what they may or may not have done.

And now I wanted my phone.

I’d love to search for that too, but I assumed Manic kept my phone in his bedroom which was locked when he wasn’t here. Plus, Axell and Vince did nothing but breathe down my neck when he did leave. Vince sort of creeped me out, but neither man had attempted to touch me. Their conversations were always short and clipped, as if Manic had ordered them to leave me alone.

I almost groaned and lifted a picture frame to inspect the back.

At this point, I think I’d beg for any sort of conversation. The isolation was getting to me. Even Manic was starting to become intriguing to talk to, and I found myself seeking out his presence during the day. And the longer I remained here, the more I wanted to be around him. I bet if I could properly gauge his moods, I could get him to talk for hours. I hated to say it, but his mafia life interested me. I’d also like to know where he disappeared to at night.

I frowned, brows creasing.

Wow. Two weeks as a captive and I was already starting to get Stockholm Syndrome. That was the last thing I needed.

Bang, bang! I jolted upright, swallowing a shocked yelp, and stared at my door with wide eyes. Adrenaline flooded my veins when Manic’s voice bellowed from the other side.

“Hurry up!”

“I’m almost done,” I called back.

I was definitely not almost done—I hadn’t even showered.

He only grunted, and I released a breath when his heavy footsteps faded down the hall. Just as I moved to walk to the closet, the clock glared at me again, as if reminding me what little time remained.

Then a red light blinked, and my mouth fell open. No way.

I squinted and inched closer, careful not to step directly in its view, and studied it from the side. The light blinked again, awfully similar to those cameras plastered in the local coffee shops I used to frequent. I’d bet on my life that it was a hidden camera, and it was aimed right at my fucking bed. Manic was smart though, and if there was one camera in here, there had to be another one higher up. High enough to catch the view of the entire room.

I just had to find it.

I made a mental note, pushing that problem aside for later even though the direction of the camera grated on my fucking nerves.

But—I lifted my brows, pausing—if I played it right, I could use this to my advantage. If Manic was keen on watching me, then maybe I could give him a show when he least expected it. I’d take a move out of chess’s playbook and stay two moves ahead—pretend to be oblivious. It would drive him up the wall, and knowing that brought a smile to my face.

Quickly darting to the closet, I rifled through the hangers in the large walk-in and searched for anything remotely decent to wear to the club. I smiled, spotting a tight black dress that had been in my flat. Funny, because I’d hardly remembered it existed until now. Either Manic took his time going through my things, or he simply grabbed what he could find to toss into a bag. Except this particular dress had been hidden at the back of my closet.

I had a hard time believing that he didn’t meticulously plan what he’d be bringing to his penthouse, considering my entire makeup bag and a variety of paired heels sat in the bathroom. He even brought my curling wand.

How the hell did he know to grab that?