Page 51 of Kept

“Dead. They died when I was a baby, and Ethan ran with me to keep me safe.”

Now Maverick leans forward, his expression falling into a frown. “From what?”

I shrug helplessly. “That’s what I’ve been wondering since Ryder and Enzo brought me here.”

What if there wasn’t anything? What if he just stole me?

Did he even know my parents at all?

“What if they’re not really dead?” I whisper brokenly. “My whole life might have been a lie, and I was too stupid to realize it.”

I’m lost in my own thoughts, and I jerk when a hand curls around mine. Maverick squeezes, and his blue eyes are deep as I look up at him.

“I can help you find out,” he says calmly. “We run an investigative company here. Well, I do. Ryder and Enzo have their own skills, and they help out when I need them.”

My head spins at the possibility he’s laying before me, so I focus on the easiest question. “What kind of skills?”

Maverick’s face shutters. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

My teeth sink into my lip. Having woken in Enzo’s dungeon, I have an idea that some of their work might be a little messy. Maybe it’s naive of me, but the suggestion doesn’t overly bother me.

He could have hurt me, and he didn’t.

Instead, he told me there wereoptions. And then he kissed me.

I haven’t forgotten our interrupted discussion, and my cheeks flush at the memory. Maverick raises a quizzical brow, but I shake my head, forcing myself to think about the possibility that my whole life might not have been what I thought it was. “Could you do that? Look into it, I mean?”

He leans back in his seat. “I’ll need you to give me everything you know. Even then… not all cases get solved, Zella. This isn’t a guarantee.”

His voice sounds strange, and he looks away from me.

“I understand.” Straightening, I think back to what would be useful, and begin relaying my life to Maverick’s notebook. His hand is steady and sure as he scrawls notes in handwriting I can’t actually read, throwing out questions I can’t answer.

After a few minutes, the back of my throat aches with the urge to cry. It’s becoming increasingly clear that I knownothing.

“Hey,” he says firmly. “None of that. It’s not your fault if you don’t have all of the answers, Zella.”

I push my palms into my eyes, trying to shove away the emotional riot happening in my chest. “But why don’t I know? Why was Ethan so secretive?”

My voice breaks on the last word, and Maverick pushes his chair back. “Come here.”

I hesitate, a hiccup rattling in my chest as he beckons me. The white shirt he’s wearing stands out against his olive skin, and he tilts his head at me. “You promised to obey.”

There’s a dark reminder in his voice, and I hug my arms as I stand, shifting over to him and yelping when he pulls me into his lap. A large, warm hand smooths up and down my back, and I gradually relax into his touch.

His voice rumbles, soaking into me. “Talk to me.”

I swallow, not looking at him. “I feel so stupid.”

“What could you have done differently?” he asks me. “First you were a child. Then you were locked in. When you challenged him, he tied you up. What more could you have possibly done to make your situation better, Zella?”

“I don’t know,” I murmur. “But something.”

“Sometimes the only thing we can do is survive. You seem to have done a pretty good job of that.” Maverick clears his throat. “Did Ethan… did he ever hurt you?”

I shift on his lap, turning to face him. “What do you mean? He didn’t hit me.”

Maverick lifts his hand, brushing his fingers across my face. His works are low, an undercurrent of something that makes me shiver in his voice. “If he didn’t hit you, why is your cheek swollen?”

---