Page 5 of Kept

I tilt my head back as I get out of the built-up area, enjoying the rush of the wind on my face as I fly towards the national park we call home.

Nobody batted an eyelid when we carved out a little land for ourselves, greasing palms and turning heads until our names vanished from the system and we had ourselves our own goddamn fairytale castle.

Maverick hates when I call it that, but it’s the damn truth. The place still takes my breath away as I fly down the track, pausing only to enter the long-as-fuck security code into the heavy-set iron gates.

Mav is waiting for me when I pull in, his eyebrow raised as he takes in my mighty steed. “He’s fucking furious, you know.”

I give my little pony a loving stroke. Maybe I’ll get one for myself, but there’s something in knowing she belongs to someone else that makes her even better. “He’ll forgive me,” I coo. “Won’t he, girl?”

“Ryder.” Maverick’s voice is the epitome of long-suffering, so I take pity and tug the pretty from my pocket, tossing it over to him.

“One diamond necklace. You owe me for that shit. I thought she was gonna chew my cock off.”

“You’d probably enjoy it,” he mutters.

Asshole. I have some taste.

Climbing off the bike, I stretch, popping the muscles at the top of my back. “I need a shower.”

Possibly an STI test wouldn’t go amiss either. I wrapped up, but she still managed to get her vacuum mouth on me before the main event.

Mav sighs. “Are you joining us for dinner?”

“Not hungry,” I shoot over my shoulder. Leaving him behind to carry out his part of the job, I make my way through the side door connecting the garage to the main house. My feet tap out a pattern on the fancy wooden floorboards of our hall, echoing back in a weird muffled way as the sound bounces off the various paintings on the wall.

Unlike Gina’s little pride and joy, every one of these babies is original.

I can confirm. The museums are still looking for them.

A little smug, I’m still internally crowing over my greatness when I step into the shower. Casually, I scrub off any leftover Gina particles, then I scrub again.

Once more. Maybe one more time, for good measure.

When I finally feel clean, my skin feeling almost raw from the abrasive sponge, I wrap a towel around my waist and walk into my room.

Enzo is perched on the edge of my bed like a creepy fucking gargoyle, and I give him a dirty look.

“Dude.” I point at my sheets. “Those are twelve-hundred thread Egyptian cotton sheets. Get your skanky boots off them.”

The knife flies past me, and I roll my eyes as I turn and yank it out of the wall. Another fucking hole to fill in.

Enzo doesn’t say anything, the skull on his neck giving him an eerie vibe in the lamplight. If I was anyone else, I think I’d probably shit my pants.

Whipping my towel from around my waist, I fling it across the room, crowing when it lands on his head and he has to tug it off. He doesn’t look half as scary with his head wrapped in damp toweling.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” he snarls when he’s wrestled himself free.

I grin. “You trying to put the heebie-jeebies up me, Enzo? You can deal with a little dick towel.”

He lobs it back at me. “You’re fucking vile. And youstolemy bike.”

I shrug. “It needed a ride. It was lonely. I could tell.”

I canhearhis teeth grinding. Winding my brothers up – brothers in blood and carnage, at least – is one of my favorite activities. They know it, though, and I make a sad face when he doesn’t bite.

I point the knife in my hand at him. “You’re no fun anymore. You used to be savage, E.”

He bares his teeth, and the scarlet caps he sometimes wears for his little sessions glow in the light. “Ask Antonio how much fun I am.”

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