Page 29 of Kept

Turning, I take in the wide space. There’s a little nook crammed into the corner, out of place in the sterile environment with its chair and little bookshelf. Something catches my eye, and I cross to the space where the windows should be. The shutters rattle when I tug on them.

Locked.

“Motherfucker,” Ryder curses. “This isn’t a home, it’s a fucking prison.”

I’m inclined to agree. But given how little we know about Moore, and how trusting his little pet seems, my senses are tingling.

I don’t trust her.

I don’t trust anyone. Much easier that way.

“What are the chances?” I ask Ryder quietly. “That we just happen to come across her, and she’s so desperate to leave?”

And that she feels so fucking perfect under my hands?

He rolls his eyes at me. “My god, you see conspiracy everywhere. You wouldn’t want to leave, if he was keeping you here? What exactly is the big evil plan supposed to be?”

Turning, I survey the room again. “I don’t know. But I don’t like it.”

He elbows me as he struts past, throwing himself down into the chair that faces the closed shutters. “Live a little, Enzo. This is the most exciting thing to happen on a case in years.”

Before I can answer, there’s a creak as the door opens. Our little prey emerges, eyes still wide as fuck as she edges into the room.

“Is that a pillowcase?” Ryder asks. She nods.

“I don’t have a bag,” she explains quietly.

My eyes slide to the cotton she’s hugging to her chest. “Looks a little empty,” I note.

She freezes as I walk up to her, grabbing the case to look inside. “What – what are you doing?” she asks, her voice high.

Ignoring her, I stare at the contents. A hairbrush, a replica of the shapeless sack she’s wearing, and a toothbrush.

“Hey!” A small hand jabs into my stomach. “That’s private!”

I frown. “Where’s the rest of it?”

She rolls her eyes, pointing behind me. “In here.”

Taking a step back, she brushes past me and heads to where Ryder is watching, his hands locked behind his head as he lounges in her chair. She pulls two books from the shelf and slides them into her makeshift bag before pulling open the little drawer in the side table and lifting out a sketchpad and what looks like pencils.

“Okay,” she whispers. Her golden cheeks are flushed with pink when she looks around at us. “I’m ready.”

“Great.” Ryder jumps up, but I’m still caught on the packing situation.

“Clothes?” I point out drily. “Underwear?”

She grimaces. “I only have white dresses. A spare is enough.”

“And the underwear?” Ryder asks curiously. Her face flushes deeper.

“I don’t… I don’t own any.”

An awkward silence descends as I stare at her and she looks anywhere but at me. Her whole face is a bright scarlet.

“Look,” she mutters finally. “I get it. I’m a strange girl with long hair stuck in an apartment and voluntarily choosing to leave with men who I’m pretty sure might actually kill me. It’s weird.”

Bright green eyes lock with mine as she swallows.

---