Page 132 of Kept

She takes a sip, her eyes glassy as we both turn to look down the gallery. Dozens of people are crammed into the space, all of them focused on the canvas paintings hanging at small intervals.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispers. “They really like it.”

“I never doubted it.” I watch a couple pause in front of a large canvas. The girl in the painting dances, her toes pointed and her face looking up to a sky lit with hundreds of glowing lanterns. Three pairs of eyes watch her from the shadows. To others, they look like predators, but I know better.

The woman picks up the price tag attached, only to drop it in disappointment, and Zella sighs. “I knew I made them too expensive.”

I smile down into my glass. “It’s not that. I’m afraid that one’s already taken.”

Realization hits, and she nudges my arm. “Maverick!”

“Mine,” I say softly. Entwining our arms together, we begin to move through the gallery. Zella is stopped often, and I glance around for the others as she chats to an enthusiastic collector. Ryder already declared his intent to charm people into buying each and every painting, and Enzo lingers at the edge of the room, arms folded and his eyes focused on Zella.

Emerson finds us, and Zella encloses him in a gentle hug. They’ve become closer over the last few months, and he’s bursting with pride that Zella’s first showing is being held in his gallery.

“Every painting has been sold,” he crows, kissing her cheek. “I am so proud of you, Zella.”

She blushes. “I think Maverick bought most of them.”

“A few,” Emerson concedes with a smile, “but we also have a waiting list open for your future work, and it’s filling up rapidly.”

Zella blinks, looking up at me. “So… does this mean I’m a proper artist?”

Both Emerson and I laugh. Ryder appears to steal her away, and as we watch them stroll away, Emerson leans in.

“I’m proud of you too, you know,” he says softly. “And your father would be too, Maverick.”

I swallow around the lump that appears in my throat, giving him a nod. “Thank you,” I say hoarsely. “I’m sorry it took so long to find answers, Emerson.”

His smile is a mixture of sadness and joy. “That was not your doing, Maverick. I had given up all hope. To see Zella now, happy and healthy and here, is more than I ever hoped for.”

He gives me a very fatherly look. “Might there be… wedding bells?” he asks delicately. “In the future?”

Smiling, I tip my glass to him and move away without answering, and I hear him laugh behind me. It’s a debate we’re still having. Zella is content to continue as we are. Enzo doesn’t care, but Ryder and I are in fierce competition over who will legally make Zella ours.

My hand dips into my pocket, feeling the edge of the delicate ring.

I’m fighting to win.

54 – Enzo – one year later

“ENZO!”

Ignoring the furious bellow from upstairs, I carefully press down, watching the viscous red liquid flow from the perfect cut I’ve made along Timothy Chalmer’s arm. He wails behind his gag, and I let out a trilling burst of song which roughly follows the sound of his scream.

He shuts up pretty quickly. I’m almost disappointed.

“Cut the other side, so it matches.” My little prey is perched on a table on the other side of the room, carefully keeping out of reach of any accidental sprays. Instead, she’s offering advice. This is a particularly fun one for both of us, since she acted as the bait.

A perfect set-up.

A dark, quiet alley, a timid girl walking home from work on a late night, and Timmy was hog-tied in the back of the truck before he even touched her.

My prey has a knack for enticing bad men.

I should know.

I was one of them.

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