Page 58 of Manic

“Oh, the maids are here,” Naomi said and walked off.

I exhaled sharply and stared at the crystal vase in the center of the island. Stared at the abandoned scissors resting on the counter. I wanted to leap across and snag them, but I knew Vince stood around the corner.

A war of decisions played across my mind.

It would be impulsive to steal them. Stupid, too. Naomi would know who took them, and I wasn’t prepared to fight her or Vince off. I’d either get shot or be held at gun point, and God I was tired of a gun being pointed at me.

Mere seconds ticked by when Naomi’s greeting rose from down the hall, and I snapped out of my stupor. The maids swept through seconds later, but I didn’t have the courage to linger, so I excused myself while they cleaned.

For the remainder of the day, I analyzed those papers on my bed while simultaneously staring at the books Manic had given me, practically begging to be read.

I didn’t give in.

But in the days that followed, Naomi’s company became a part of my new routine. She greeted me with breakfast first thing in the morning, and while I rifled through casino paperwork with my head down, she talked, offering me slivers of their mafia life. Since it intrigued me, her gossip was a welcome distraction.

And yet, every time I saw those peonies on the island, I wondered if my admirer knew where I was. It could have been a coincidence. Or maybe I’d missed him enough to start searching for anything that brought me back to a simpler time.

It was simple, after all… wasn’t it?

Texting and going about my day, wondering if my admirer would leave me more gifts or another hint about who he was. Yet something tugged at me—itched at the back of my mind like I was missing something. A piece to a puzzle I didn’t even know I was solving.

Two nights later, I sat on the bed, rolling the queen’s chess piece in my palm and aching for my phone. It would make my life so much easier if I could just go through his texts one last time.

But that wouldn’t help me. Not here.

Eventually, when the quiet became too much and the ringing in my ears grew louder, I set aside my chess piece and reached for the book Manic had recommended I read first.

15

MANIC

Shadows clung to me, concealing my face while Grave and I crept through a shipment container port. Rows of them lit up beneath the moon, its pale light bouncing off the worn metal. Crowe members hung back until we were ready to use them, the faint crackle of my earpiece letting me know they were still waiting.

Groaning hinges sounded nearby, and our backs hit the container behind us with a dull thud.

Grave wore a tactical belt holstered with guns and ammo, armed to the teeth with a protective vest beneath his combat gear. Much like my own. We wore them for comfort and protection, not fashion. This was no place for suits and ties, but blood and vengeance.

“This is the fourth shipment they’ve intercepted in three months,” Grave grumbled. “I’m sick of tracking these fucking roaches down.”

“If we blew them up like I wanted to the first time, this wouldn’t have happened,” I replied, sliding my eyes over.

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Don’t look at me like that—I agreed with you. It’s not my fault you got voted out.”

“Sometimes, violence is the answer.”

His low chuckle graced my ears as I cracked my neck, ignoring the fact that I was running on exactly four hours of sleep thanks to the makeshift bed at one of the warehouses. My muscles were tense, my shoulders aching with strain. The bed wasn’t the best, but I couldn’t bring myself to head back to the penthouse just yet. Not until this job was done.

I’d take it for what it was though; a distraction.

We spent two days interrogating an Irishman, only for him to immediately give up his mafia member’s location, their current plans, and what they had. He’d cracked so easily, I was almost disappointed. I didn’t even get to pull off his fingernails.

A weak fucking imbecile, if you asked me. The Irish should be thanking us for taking out their traitor trash. But if they had just minded their own fucking business and left our shit alone, we wouldn’t be here right now.

Grave darted to the maroon container across from us, quiet and nimble, and peeked around the corner before throwing me a confirming nod.

“They’re here,” I whispered.

“We’re ready when you are,” Aiden answered through the earpiece.