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With his body warm against mine, I decided then that I would risk his unpredictable mood and press him for it.

Tomorrow.

20

SUTTON

Morning came with a sudden quickness, but as my eyes peeled open, I quickly realized it wasn’t morning. The sun already blazed brightly through the curtains, but that wasn’t what woke me.

Manic’s phone buzzed beneath my knee.

I was still plastered to his body like a wet piece of clothing, and my face warmed with embarrassment. He hadn’t moved at all.

I lifted my head, finding Manic still asleep as his chest rose with even breaths. His lips were parted, and for the first time in what seemed like—well, the entire time I’d known him—he looked peaceful. Relaxed.

His brow was smoothed out, his jaw unflexed, and the hardness to his face was gone. I wondered when the last time it was since he’d had a decent night's sleep. He snored softly, and I smashed my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing.

With a nervous breath, I reached for his buzzing phone and carefully pulled it out of his pocket. Axell’s name lit up the screen right before the call shut off. Then a text came in.

Axell: Where are you?

I glanced at Manic again—not even a hint of a movement. Dead asleep. Waking him seemed like the logical thing to do, but he looked so peaceful I didn’t want to bug him.

I texted back.

Me: It’s Sutton. He’s sleeping.

Axell: Why do you have his phone?

Me: Afraid I’ll call for help? Who exactly would I call?

I wanted to tell Axell that Manic was in my bed, but after last night, I figured Manic would hate that. When the screen finally lit up again, I had to swallow another laugh.

Axell: Ghostbusters? Tell him to call me when he wakes.

Who knew the ex-con security had a sense of humor? I was beginning to like Axell the longer I stayed, and yet bitterness coated my tongue. I really couldn’t call anyone, even if I wanted to.

Ronan practically owned the authorities, and my father made it perfectly clear he didn’t care what happened to me. It was ironic that Manic, my kidnapper, was the only person I cared to be around these days. Axell, too. Plus, who would answer, believe me, or make an effort to get me out? No one except my admirer. And even then, I didn’t have a real phone number to message or call since it was always anonymous.

I chewed on my lip.

Weeks ago, I’d planned on leaving Vancouver and finishing my classes online. Now, as Manic laid beside me, I wasn’t sure what my life looked like after I left his penthouse. I didn’t have a plan—not a solid one, anyway—and that worried me.

When two minutes went by and nothing else came in, I stared at my hand—at the phone in my palm. Now that I had Manic’s phone, a stupid, stupid thought flared. My heart rate picked up.

The similarities between Manic and my admirer was unsettling, to say the least. I couldn’t get past that something might be there—that it was possible for him to either be connected to my admirer or be him.

And I had Manic’s entire life in the palm of my hand—information I wouldn’t be privy to otherwise. I could search his phone for answers. Or call my phone.

My scalp prickled.

That was probably dead, and so I chose the quickest option.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I sucked in a breath, pulled up his texts, and looked for my name. The texts were the only thing I was certain of. If Manic was my admirer, those messages would be in his phone.

Adrenaline surged my veins as I scrolled and scrolled. Messages from Naomi and Grave, ones from his father and various members of the Crimson Crowes. But none with my name.

A pang of disappointment thumped beneath my ribcage. Despite my innate hatred for the man, he wasn’t entirely terrible. He was complex and a little unhinged, but who wasn’t these days?