Page 95 of Manic

For me.

The horror of it all hit me like a lightning strike to my chest, seizing the breath from my lungs. One minute, I had been at Manic’s side, defending their shipments, and the next, I’d been forcefully yanked away by an opposing mafia member.

Tears of terror stung my eyes.

Although my shoulders sagged with relief, I knew Manic shouldn’t have done that. Manic shouldn’t have killed that Russian man for me. They were supposed to have an alliance, and I knew with the visceral twisting of my stomach that Ronan would punish him for it. Surely he would prevent Manic from leaving the mafia.

Nausea curled my stomach.

Manic rumbled a sharp reply to Dmitri, his entire body shaking with it. I looked up and practically watched Manic’s calm, careless demeanor slide into place like a mask. It was terrifying. Unsettling.

Yet I knew who, exactly, I was staring at; I just hadn’t admitted it to myself. Manic was my admirer—my stalker—and I refused to believe it. Instead, I’d shoved it to the back of my mind and spent the afternoon drowning in the warmth of a man I was supposed to loathe. Shock and disbelief had kept me silent when I should have confronted him.

Why didn’t I confront him?

Because I was stubborn. Because I wanted to study him and ask questions, only to end up with a dead man at my feet. Manic’s truth had been revealed, yet I still came to this port willingly—had demanded as much. What was I thinking?

The scraping of metal pulled my eyes from Manic, and I steeled my spine. Dmitri slid his gun back into its holster, his own members putting their weapons away.

“You’re not going to shoot?” Grave asked with scoff. “That’s not very Volkov of you.”

Dmitri only smiled. “No need. Manic here just secured my prize.”

“That,” Manic snarled and pushed me behind him, “will never happen.”

Cold fear crawled into my chest, pressing against my ribs, as I knew who that prize likely was. I fought a shiver, my eyes snapping back to Dmitri as a cool smirk tilted his mouth. Hair rose on my arms.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Dmitri said smugly, “considering you just made it possible. You owe me, Mortaine.”

Two Russians gathered the dead member, pulling him off the concrete until his limp body was held between them. With a swift nod toward his men, Dmitri turned on his heel and followed his members down the shadowed port, disappearing into the night.

“Fuck,” Grave hissed, whirling toward Manic. “What the fuck were you thinking? Do you realize what you’ve just done?”

“Get her to the car,” Manic snapped.

Axell quickly reached for me, his hand curling around my bicep not even a second later. I wanted to protest. I wanted to scream in defiance, but the way Manic twisted with rage, it was best to remain quiet. Axell ushered me away, though his grip loosened once we were close enough to the car.

“Who did he kill?” I asked.

“Another one of Dmitri’s cousins,” Axell murmured. “He was an heir on their side.”

My stomach dropped. Shit, shit, shit.

Manic hissed a few unclear words, followed by Grave’s rage filled ones splitting the air like a crack of thunder.

“All that for some pussy?” Grave clipped. “The Volkovs will start a war over that, you know. We’ll be lucky if we even have an⁠—”

I glanced over my shoulder just as Manic’s fist shot forward. Grave’s head snapped back, and he uttered a few more curses beneath his breath. Grave was silhouetted, so I couldn’t make out his expression, yet the harsh rise of his shoulders and the cloud of rough breaths told me he was absolutely enraged.

The remaining Crimson Crowes hovered around, two splitting off to gather the crates as if nothing had happened. As if this were normal between them.

“Load the crates and deliver them to the warehouses before the authorities arrive. Vince, go with them to make sure it’s done,” Manic ordered, then turned sharply for the car. He stalked toward us, his boots pounding harshly against the concrete, and I swallowed.

Manic had ordered me to stay in the car, and I had told him I’d stay out of the way. And what did I do? I fucking inserted myself when I should have just let them handle it.

I couldn’t, though. Regardless of my recent discovery, the moment I heard shouting and the vigorous clicking of loaded guns, panic enveloped me. I briefly wondered if I would be disciplined for disobeying an order. It wasn’t Manic I feared anymore, but what his father could make him do. My insides twisted at the thought of Ronan ordering a punishment.

Would Manic follow through? Would the mafia keep me indefinitely as a punishment, or release me as promised?