Page 66 of Kept

He watches me patiently, his head to the side as I carefully open the packaging and lay out the pens. He’s brought me special ones, suitable for painting skin.

“I can’t believe you remembered,” I say reverently, stroking my fingers across the rainbow of color. “That I wanted to color them in.”

“I don’t forget anything where you’re concerned,” he murmurs. His eyes follow me as I sit up on my knees, hesitating. “Climb over me. Sit that ass right here.”

He reaches behind him and pats his lower back. Shuffling on my knees, I lift up my leg and crawl over him, huffing as I push myself into position. My fingers skitter across his back, and I take a second to trace the edges of his scars softly. He inhales underneath me.

“I didn’t think I had much sensation left,” he mutters. “But your fingers feel like a damn brand.”

I snatch them away quickly, and he makes a complaining noise. “I told you, you won’t hurt me. It feels… nice.”

A smile curls my mouth. “Okay. I’m going to get started now.”

He stays still, his body a little tense as I lift the first pen up. I know exactly what I want to do, and as the first edges of bright, glittering gold sink into his skin, I bounce accidentally in excitement. “Sorry!”

“Do that again,” he says in a muffled voice. “And we’ll have to take a break.”

I immediately stop, not wanting him to pull me away just yet. After a few minutes, I fall into the art in front of me as just as I do in my sketchbook, the pens gliding across Enzo’s skin as easily as my pencil on a page. Slowly, his body relaxes underneath me.

As I finish the first wing and sit back to admire it, I summon the courage to ask the question in the back of my head. “What happened?”

When he doesn’t answer, I take the hint and carry on. It’s a few minutes later before his voice filters through, softer than I’ve ever heard it.

“You’re not the only one who was kept in a cage, little prey.”

My fingers nearly smudge the glittering gray, but I yank them back just in time, a lump appearing in my throat as I glance down at the scars. I don’t want to push too much, but something tells me that Enzo’s captivity was much more brutal than mine ever was.

“How did you escape?” I ask quietly.

“Maverick.”

Of course. Their set-up makes a little more sense to me now. Maverick feels older than Enzo and Ryder, even though he doesn’t look it. Like he’s the leader. “He helped you, and you stayed with him.”

Enzo shifts underneath me. “He saved my life. I owe him mine in return.”

I want to ask more, but there’s a warning note in his words that tells me not to push further, and I settle back to continue my work.

This is enough, for now.

And as I reach for the lilac, my fingers happily dancing over the set, Enzo’s hand reaches back and curls around my leg.

It’s more than enough.

25 – Ryder

Ireachfortheleftover lasagne, pulling it out and settling in at the kitchen counter. Thank fuck for housekeepers. Ours makes sure we’re well stocked, even when the staff have left for the evening. None of us are chefs.

I barely glance up when Maverick enters, grunting a hello through my food. He ignores me, setting up the coffee before he slides into a stool opposite me.

I stare resolutely down at the table. I don’t want to go over our discussion earlier again. He’s already hauled me over the coals for making Zella feel unwanted, and I feel shitty enough about the whole thing.

That was never my intention.

He gives me a minute, and when I continue ignoring him, he reaches forward and yanks the plate away from me. “Hey!”

“Have you spoken to Zella?” he asks calmly instead, and I glare at him.

“She’s with Enzo upstairs,” I point out. “And you told me to trust him.”

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