Page 34 of Kept

I look around the room again. My heart starts to flutter when I spot the manacles under the wall, and his fingers tense on my wrist.

“What a fast pulse you suddenly have, little prey,” he whispers. “Are you scared?”

Surprisingly, I’m not. At least, nowhere near as much as I probably should be. Instead, I sigh, and my shoulders slump.

I so wanted to see the outside. Instead, it seems like I might have landed somewhere worse. But it’s not the white walls of the apartment, and even though my heart is thrumming like a little bird, it’s enough.

“You haven’t hurt me yet,” I say softly, and his grip on my wrist jerks as he drops it like it’s burnt him.

“I could hurt you,” he murmurs. “So easily.”

Closing my eyes, I try not to panic. Ryder must be here somewhere. He seemed a little more… normal. Less serial-killer, more charming rogue. “Why would you want to hurt me? I haven’t done anything to you.”

My breath catches as I open my eyes and find his face directly above mine. His breath brushes my lips. “Yet.”

When he backs away, I turn my head to watch him. “This feels a little like a stalemate.”

“It’s not.” I watch him select something from the various items on the table. My heartbeat stutters when he turns around and moves towards me.

How can someone so angelic look so demonic?

My imagination is clearly running away from me, but I can almost see the brush of white and black feathers against his shoulders, see the battle for light and dark and how it would play out under my hand as I draw him.

I would giveanythingto draw him.

My eyes skitter down his body. The black shirt he wears hides most of the art decorating his skin, but the sleeves are pushed up past his elbows, and I can see the intricate work, layer upon layer of shapes, words,art.

Not a single one has any color. The possibility makes my heart hurt.

“Can I color in your tattoos?” The words burst out of my chest, and he stops in surprise.

“Absolutely fucking not. Do I look like a damn coloring book to you?”

I nod honestly. “A little, yeah.”

My hands grip the sides of the metal table when he lifts his knee, pressing it between mine as he climbs up on top of me. His legs settle on either side of mine as he leans down, and I close my eyes against the sensation of another person being so close to me.

The air that escapes my lips is somewhere between a sigh and a shudder. When I open them again, he’s watching me, running something between his fingers.

“You’re not normal,” he says quietly. It doesn’t feel like an insult.

I tilt my head. “I spent twenty-three years locked in an apartment. What’s your excuse?”

We watch each other in silence, the atmosphere ratcheting up until the tension feels heavy on my tongue at our standoff.

And all the while, he plays with the tool in his hand. It looks heavy.

“Got any plans for that?” I ask him boldly, and he looks down almost as if he’d forgotten all about it.

“I can’t decide.” His face looks tortured in the dim lighting, his weight pressing me down into the table. “If I want to kill you.”

I hold my breath, watching him and letting it out when his eyes move to mine. “Is there another option?” I whisper.

Please let there be another option.

He raises the tool and I flinch, but he lays it down, so it presses flat against my chest. The long handle nestles between my breasts, and I suddenly become aware of my own body as the white material pulls tightly across them, pulled taut by the weight.

Swallowing, I whisper. “It’s heavy.”

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