Page 5 of Manic

He screamed, throwing his head back with his eye screwed shut, breath ragged in his throat. He fought his restraints with a weak tug, his body tensing against the rope. I devoured his screams like they were delicacies, and the tightness in my chest loosened.

“Which organization sent you to follow Sutton Hale?” I asked, flicking my cigarette to the bloodied concrete and snuffing it out with my boot. “I won’t ask again.”

The bounty had been in our territory, and I’d been asked to look into him by Father as he assumed the bounty came for one of the Crimson Crowes. But after tracking the man down, I’d quickly realized that he’d been following Sutton during her daily coffee shop routine.

I crouched and tilted my head to meet my captive’s blood-shot stare. His lip curled back before he spat all over my chest in a rain of red. I looked down.

I liked that shirt.

The air whirred as my fist connected with his nose, and I let out a low laugh at the sound of it cracking. “No one follows her but me.”

“It’s just me,” he croaked, voice shredded from screaming. I twisted the blade until he sang in pain again. “Ah! It’s—it’s just me following her I swear! There’s a price on her head.”

I blinked. If there was a price on her, my father knew about it and hadn’t mentioned anything yet. Not good. That also meant others were likely following her despite his claim.

“How much?”

“Two million. That’s all I know, I swear,” he said breathlessly, then groaned. “I’m a private contractor, you fucking dick. The instructions were to have her dropped off north of the city. No one gave me the name of who wanted her. I didn’t know you…” He sucked in a breath. “...followed her. I wouldn’t have done it if I did.”

Liar. “Alive or dead?”

“Alive.”

The door creaked open behind me. I shot to my feet and whirled around with my pistol aimed at my brother’s head.

Grave only stared, lingering in the doorway as if it were normal to have a gun in his face. Short pale-blond hair—almost white—dusted his forehead, much like my own. His name was tattooed on his fingers, a common theme among the Crimson Crowes, matching the same style of ink that crawled up his arms.

I swallowed an annoyed growl at the interruption, dropped my arm, and turned my gaze back to my captive.

“Manic,” Grave said gruffly. “Father wants you.”

“Be right there.”

Grave shut the door with a sigh.

“Anything else?” I asked the bounty.

The man choked out a wet laugh, remnants of his blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. His lip curled as he said, “You’re all the same. All you mafia cunts are all the same.” He turned sideways to spit on the concrete and lifted his one remaining eye. “You swing your dicks around, get high off your drugs, and throw money in whatever direction that will pull you out of your fuck ups.”

“And who do you run to when you fuck up? From what I saw, someone has bailed you out more than once.” Which meant he was lying, and he likely knew who paid him to kidnap Sutton. “I guess it doesn’t matter; you won’t be their problem much longer.”

He chuckled again. “Get it over with, then. I was going to have my way with her, anyway.”

I lifted my arm, my vision blurring, and aimed the gun at his head. “Well, then. Have a good sleep.”

I pulled the trigger.

As soon as the shot rang out, he slumped against his restraints, his chin dropping to his chest. Blood poured from his forehead, pooling in his lap until it seeped through his clothes. With a sigh, I turned on my heel to go meet my father, Ronan Mortaine—the leader of the Crimson Crowes.

I ran a hand through my hair and strode past the two security guards posted outside the office doors to the warehouse. One of our nicer buildings.

Father sat behind his desk, his arms resting on the polished wood as he leaned forward, eyes fixed on me. His blond hair was slicked back, save for the single strand falling over his brow. He wore a fitted blue suit with a white undershirt, his thousand dollar watch glimmering in the warm light.

His office smelled of leather and luxury, built on the deaths and contracts from Vancouver’s darkest criminals. He could control everything from the inside without being directly in the public eye as their trusted city manager. Everything was at his disposal—the police, hiring and firing department heads, and the power to stall ongoing investigations.

The perfect cover.

Mahogany bookshelves lined one wall, the other holding an intricate gilded fireplace with its own luxurious leather seating. Two guest chairs sat on the other side of his desk with one pulled out as if waiting for my arrival.