Page 30 of Kept

“I just want to be free,” she whispers, pushing white-gold strands away from her flushed face. “I want to see what’s outside these walls. I need to feel the wind on my face. I don’t feel… like I’m human, here. It’s like I’m a thing. A possession.”

Ryder’s face softens, but my body locks up at her words.

It’s not that I don’t know what she means. It’s that I know exactly what she means.

And that’s the fucking problem.

She’s too perfect. Too trusting. Too soft.

Too…much.

Sliding my hand into my pocket, my fingers brush the syringe. I always carry a fresh one. You never know when you might need it.

“Let’s take that chain off,” I mutter, turning away from the innocent fucking hope in her expression before it makes me lose what little control I have left.

She inhales sharply as I crouch down at her feet, my eyes on the thick metal band with the padlock wrapped around her ankle. Her hair falls like a curtain around us, and her ankle twitches beneath my grasp as I grip the smooth skin and pull the knife from my pocket.

“You carry a knife in your pocket?” she asks, and I chance another glance up at her.

“You never know when you might need it.” I push the sharp edge into the lock, wriggling it. It’s an older lock, one she wouldn’t have a clue how to break but one I could snap in my sleep, and it takes a few seconds at most before it clicks. Moore isn’t the criminal mastermind he thinks he is. Pulling off the padlock, I push the metal open, and it clatters to the floor.

Her foot circles in my grasp as she rotates it, the relief clear in her sigh. “Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t thank me just yet.” Getting to my feet, I don’t give an inch, our bodies pressing together as she looks up at me with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Why not?”

Her lips part as my hand circles her neck and I lean in.

“Because we’re not the good guys, little prey.”

She gasps, her neck pushing against my grip as I push the edge of the syringe in, depressing it and watching those vibrant green hues dull as her body slumps against me.

Ryder shouts in surprise as I catch her. “For fuck-Enzo!”

Turning, I shrug off his outrage. “It’s better this way. Safer.”

He growls, shoving his finger into my face. “We should’ve talked about this.”

“Please.” I scoff. “You’re already gaga for her.”

He might not see it, but I do.

There’s no softness in Ryder’s expression when he looks at women. Heat? Lust? Wanton promise? That, he’s a pro at. He was taught well, and he uses his charm as a weapon.

But that’s not how he looked ather.

No, he looked at her like he might find redemption in her pretty green eyes.

Zella.The word rolls itself around my tongue. It doesn’t fit properly.

Ryder presses his fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse.

“Fuck off,” I mutter, turning towards the door. “I haven’t killed her.”

Yet.

But I won’t hesitate if she turns out to be a liar.

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