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Poor timing for a joke, Sutton.

Regardless, he chuckled softly, and warmth sank low into my stomach. I liked the sound of his laugh, mysterious and dark like the rest of him. Perhaps it was the alcohol and unknown drugs that caused my blood to simmer in delight, not the sound of his voice.

“Yours. Would you like to go to mine instead?”

I knew he was teasing, but his question made my skin flush. I’d probably regret it in the morning, but a drunk and drugged Sutton had a different personality than the sober one. And the thought of doing that now? Well, that didn’t sound so bad. In fact, I didn’t quite hate Manic as much as I thought I would right now. Treacherous subconscious.

I gave a weak, sarcastic laugh. “Could be fun.”

Silence filled the car, and when he didn’t reply, my eyes lazily fluttered open. The glow of the dashboard highlighted his face, his expression much softer than before. Like maybe, for a moment, the controlled mask he usually wore had slipped off.

Then I glanced down at the feel of his thumb grazing the back of my knuckles, his hand lightly curved over mine. My pulse climbed, my heart jolting, and the urge to pull away rose with fierce intensity. But the longer his thumb swiped over my skin, the more an odd level of comfort crept its way to the surface.

It was… soothing.

His hand dwarfed mine in comparison, sending a barrel of heat up my arm and to the center of my constricting chest. Against my better judgement, I ignored the instinct to tear my hand away and closed my eyes again.

The next day, I wondered how I’d gotten into bed and how Amelia had gotten home as the sun spilled through the windows. And for some odd reason, I wondered where Manic ended up because I remembered seeing him at one point.

When I went to send a text to Amelia, dread seeped into my bones. My admirer had left me a slew of angry messages, but it was the most recent one that made my blood run cold.

A photo was attached. A photo of those lawyers who had lured us beneath the club, dead in a nearby alley with their eyes cut out.

11

SUTTON

I tracked the single raindrop trailing down Manic’s living room window like it could personally pull me from my thoughts. And yet, I stood there with a cold numbness, my arms crossed, and watched that tiny drop disappear before another took its place.

Two weeks of being his captive, and I’d said very little to Manic.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know what to say as he showed me how to clean their money. It wasn’t as complicated as I thought it would be—simple mathematics and strategy. No different than what I did at the university, just more illegal.

In those first few days, I tried to distract myself, but heartache and rage buried deep. It was all I could focus on.

After day four of wallowing, Manic had dragged me from my room to show me the proof he’d promised days before. Kicking and screaming, I had told him to fuck off, but he’d only growled at the insult and pushed me into the dining room. I didn’t exactly agree to his offer, so he’d forced me to see what he had on my father as if it would urge me to make a decision.

I still hadn’t answered.

Not even when files and files of my father’s history laid flat on the dining table and betrayal dug deeper. Photo evidence of handshakes and deals my father had made in the shadows. Deals with Ronan.

Numbers and photos didn’t lie, but could they have been fabricated? Was everything Manic had shown me just one elaborate lie? One question, however, stuck out the most: Was the mafia the reason my father never wanted me interning at the casino?

For days, those files sat on the table, waiting to be sifted through and looked at again. I hadn’t touched them since because I’d been too focused on my new tasks, but when Manic wasn’t teaching me how to launder money or hounding me about what Ronan held over my head, I was left alone.

Axell and Vince took turns standing outside the elevator, preventing any means of escape. I typically retreated to my room, too conscious of their stares when Manic left. So far, he’d left every single day, gone for hours, only to return late into the night smelling of cigar smoke and whiskey. The scent of his club.

I usually rifled through the kitchen drawers for knives—all of which remained hidden—when security swapped shifts and Manic was gone. It only took two times for me to realize that when I searched the penthouse, Axell received a phone call and I was locked in my room again. I tried picking the lock with a bobby pin a few times, but it was somehow managed electronically, and only Manic had a way of opening it.

The rain picked up, and I ground my teeth at my current circumstance. My life had completely crashed before me.

I’d missed my interview with the library, and every dollar I’d spent from my father’s fortune had been tainted by crime. By now, I would have already been preparing for my last two classes by downloading the syllabus from my professors. I should be packing boxes to leave this place, to live my life in the walls of some random library, not helping the mafia launder money.

Distant honks echoed beyond the windows as I stared off, my breath stuttering in my lungs.

I had no status updates on my parents or those in my life before. Not that I wanted to hear about them. My parents and Amelia, of all people, had lied to me. Lied by omission, but still, they were lies nonetheless.

In some ways, I expected my parents to withhold information as I was their daughter, but not Amelia.