Page 56 of Manic

Perhaps I should tell him what his father had on me—if he had anything. My doubt about Ronan having anything at all still crept in, and exchanging that information for only a name seemed naïve.

I wanted to leave this place—was determined to—so incriminating myself, something that could be used for more coercion in the hands of Manic, was not worth a name.

A shudder ran through me at the brutal memory, confronted with a past I was too afraid to bring forward, fearing what it would mean if I did. If Manic really wanted to know the truth about me, he could continue pestering his father.

I glanced at my door, cracked just enough to see someone walk by. Only silence greeted me. I stared and stared, as if someone—anyone—would stride down the hallway. I hated the silence, that low hum between my ears. All it did was drive me insane.

By this hour, Manic was usually awake and making breakfast, but I hadn’t heard him rise. Now that I thought about it, did he even come back last night? Worry dug beneath my skin, and I wondered if I’d pushed him too far.

Somewhere along the way, in this god forsaken penthouse, my fear of Manic turned into an odd amount of fascination.

I hated that I wanted to see him.

I hated that I felt guilty.

The man might be wildly confusing and impulsive and a little scary, but his self control was… admirable. Fascinating. It was the same feeling I would get while watching documentaries about psychopaths and true crime. The compulsion to dig deeper flared in my chest.

He could have killed me in a room full of people, but he let me walk away. Why?

Even though I’d fought my own fear with his hand around my throat, I’d hoped for him to squeeze—to rid me of my situation with the mafia. But he didn’t fall for it. It would have been easier for me to let him do it, rather than trying to pry open a window and working up the courage to jump.

What did I have left to live for, anyway?

After last night, it was clear my father didn’t care. My mother might, but not enough to step in or attempt to reach out. Had she reached out? Would Manic let me see her if I asked? If I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see them at all. As soon as I left this penthouse, I’d take my newfound freedom and never look back.

The silence pounded harder between my ears, and I wanted to scream. That was until the elevator’s chime rang through the penthouse, and I perked up.

My feet touched the floor before I realized I’d moved, abandoning the papers strung across the bed. I stepped into the hallway, my pulse too fast as I rounded the corner and entered the kitchen within a single breath. The swoosh of the elevator doors graced my ears, alerting me of his arrival.

I squared my shoulders.

For whatever reason, an apology rested on the tip of my tongue, but it dissolved as soon as Naomi walked in. His sister. My lips parted as a rush of disappointment crept in. Shit.

Naomi wore tailored jeans and a tan cashmere sweater. I’d hardly spoken to her over the years as she usually kept to herself. Well, except for when she had a slew of men hanging off her arms at the mansion.

Wait, what was she doing here? Where was Manic?

“Oh,” Naomi said with a glowing smile, talking a million miles an hour. “You’re awake. I’d been ordered to deliver these, and I hope you like flowers. Do you like flowers? Looks like you already made coffee. Have you eaten yet?”

I stood frozen in the kitchen, entirely too confused. My eyes shot to the bags in her hands. Groceries. She set everything on the counter, her back to me, and emptied the bags one by one.

“Why… were you ordered to deliver groceries?” I asked.

“Well, the maids are stopping by shortly. But Manic can’t stand waiting around for them to finish, so he’s off… doing other things. Do you want something to eat? I’m starving.”

Things. Like what?

“I’m not hungry.”

“Nonsense.” Naomi smiled over her shoulder then pulled out a pan. Her blonde hair fell into a silken waterfall down her back.

I wanted to protest more but decided against it and slid into a chair, my hands splaying on the island. Even if her visit was an order, Naomi was at least talking to me.

For a moment, I wondered how much information I could squeeze out of her. So while she pulled out eggs, bread, and an avocado, I tried my luck.

“Other than the maids, is there a reason Manic isn’t here?” I asked.

As soon as the question left me, Naomi gave an awkward chuckle. Maids hadn’t stepped foot in the penthouse since I’d arrived, so hearing about them now came as a shock. Still, I doubted Manic hated maids enough to leave the penthouse. I had a feeling it had to do with me and what I’d said.