Page 92 of Manic

Fuck, that did something to me.

The world around us instantaneously quieted, my heart thumping erratically in my chest at the sound of her obedience. I released her hair and shoved my sweats down. The moment our eyes met in the mirror, I gripped her hips, and the sound of her pleasured cries split the air as I plunged into her.

After countless late-night visits to the ports, one would think I’d be used to the adrenaline running through my veins. Some would even speculate that I’d search for it—eager for a fight or something to go awry just so I’d have an excuse to torture a poor soul.

Perhaps I did at one point.

Yet as I stood here with a cigarette between my lips, that familiar feeling was now laced with pure annoyance. It coursed through me, ending in a cold, unwelcome shiver that curled around my boots.

In some ways, I liked the adrenaline and how alive it made me feel. But the aftermath? I was always exhausted, and tonight would be no different.

No, I didn’t want to oversee a shipment.

What I actually wanted was to spend my night with Sutton, curled around her body until we both fell asleep. An odd feeling, but a settling one. A comforting one.

I wasn’t used to the sensation tugging at my chest, but for the first time in my life, I traded chaos for comfort. I exhaled and rolled my neck, a cloud of thick smoke curling around my face as I tried not to focus on my throbbing muscles.

My cock actually ached, raw from earlier’s activities.

We didn’t just fuck in the bathroom, we’d spent the remainder of the day tangled in each other’s limbs. It was only until Sutton had begged me to stop, sweat coating her brow and breathless, that we took a break. Afterward, she’d insisted on making dinner, pairing it with a glass of wine before we were forced to get ready.

I made her dress comfortably, then slipped a spare protective vest over her frame. Even if it were too big, something was better than nothing. I wore my own beneath a hoodie, my loaded gun secured in the waistband of my black pants.

My back prickled with the sensation of being watched.

I left Sutton in the car with Axell, parked directly behind us. Smoke exhaled past my lips again, and I blinked at the sky, refusing to lay eyes on her. If I did, I was positive my cock would stiffen, and I couldn’t handle that unbearable, bruised ache right now.

“You’re awfully calm,” Grave mentioned beside me. “Did you finally end that private investigator? I’m tired of feeding the fucker.”

A cool smile played on my face.

Grave held his own cigarette between his tattooed fingers, his blond hair raked back. The tip glowed red in the midst of darkness, ashes falling to his boots as he flicked it.

Vince and Axell wouldn’t have mentioned anything to Grave about Sutton, so I ignored his speculation and passed it off as genuine curiosity about my demeanor.

“No, but I will soon.”

“Has he sung yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I said, which was true.

Regardless of how I tortured, the investigator had kept his mouth shut about what Luka had sent him to do. Two weeks of it, and he was as silent as the shadows at night. At this point, I hardly cared what he was sent to do; I punished him because I wanted to. Even if it didn’t satisfy me like it had before. Second nature, and all that.

My guess was that Luka sent his investigator to take care of Sutton by snuffing the light from her eyes. The thought of that alone sent a heated shudder through me, and I balled my hands into fists.

The faint buzzing overhead swept my attention toward the black, star dusted sky. Aiden sat in a van somewhere, scanning the area with a drone using thermal detection. Its blinking light pulsed a steady rhythm, and I counted until my breathing slowed.

“Any sign of the Irish?” I asked Aiden, and his voice cracked through my ear piece. A breeze shoved my hair back, bringing the scent of saltwater and diesel fumes.

“No sign of anyone besides our men,” he answered.

I discarded my cigarette, stepping on it as Crowe members circled the port. They inspected every square inch of the worn concrete, their silhouettes illuminated by the light posts ahead before walking toward the edge of the casino docks.

The docks sat behind the glittering building as the lights hummed and buzzed, the fluorescent bulbs a broken flicker in the night. They painted the concrete a dull amber while the water lapped at the sides. When our shipment finally arrived, Grave and I walked over to help them unload. We discreetly stacked our crates in neat rows near the loading platform.

“Incoming,” Aiden warned.

“Where and how many?” I reached for my gun, the metal cool in my grasp as we scanned the area.