Page 7 of Kept

Ryder grimaces, his lips twisting in distaste. “John Martinez gives me the creeps, and Ethan Moore isn’t any better. He’s got a membership at Club X.”

The city nightclub is notorious for catering to any and all tastes, including those of the illegal kind. “Try and get some footage. All Martinez wants is something to embarrass him. Should be plenty of material there.”

A grimace twists Ryder’s face. “Art dealers at war. I wonder what Moore did to fuck him over.”

“Not our problem. He’s paying the money, so we’ll deliver the goods.”

For a moment, I wonder what my father would think, if he could see his private investigation firm now. Our methods are darker now than when he first took me under his wing, teaching me everything he knew from his years in the police force and then with the FBI.

Ryder finishes his second plate with a heavy sigh. “Is Angela bringing dessert?”

I’m about to point out – again – that he said he didn’t want any food at all and he’s damned lucky that our housekeeper knows him well enough to cook a mountain of food anyway – when my phone buzzes with an unknown number.

Swiping it, I put it to my ear as I stand, gesturing to the door. Ryder shrugs, and as I walk out, he’s already leaning in to help himself to yet another helping.

“Is this Brooks PI?”

My blood starts to fizz, adrenaline kicking in at the urgency in the man’s voice as I make my way into my office and settle behind my desk, switching to the hands free and tugging my laptop towards me. “It is.”

By the time we wrap things up an hour later, I’m feeling the same sense of urgency.

Ryder shoves his head around the door. “Do I detect a job?”

I nod, pushing the screen towards him as he steps inside. “Abby Millers. Disappeared three days ago. Her boyfriend had been causing some trouble – the father thinks he’s a dealer and he’s got her wrapped up in it. Name’s Ed Sanderson.”

Ryder grins, and it’s a savage thing. “One for Enzo, then.”

I hesitate. Another case to blacken his soul. He won’t stop at finding the girl.

He won’t stop until Ed Sanderson is split into so many pieces, even his ghost won’t have a chance at finding peace.

Finally, I nod. We need him. And at least having this as an outlet stops him from looking elsewhere.

As I make my way downstairs, the desperate screaming I picked up on earlier has been replaced by a wet-sounding gurgle.

“Such a beautiful sound,” a deep voice murmurs. “I wonder what would happen if—,”

Even I wince at the agony in the sound that follows, but Enzo only hums, a strange delight underscoring his muttered words.

“Shhhh,” he’s whispering as I walk into the room. He’s crouched in front of a weeping male, his grip almost tender as he carves another letter into his face.

I know he knows I’m here, but he doesn’t stop. Antonio’s eyes flicker wildly between me, the open door, and his own death.

“There, now.” Enzo stands up, admiring his handiwork. “It’s important not to forget, don’t you think?”

Antonio strains against the metal chains binding him to the tilted upright table as Enzo pulls the mirror across and holds it up. A wild scream breaks out from beneath the gag when he sees the shape of his face.

Enzo grabs his chin, forcing his face towards the glass. “Pretty faces get the pretty girls, Antonio. That’s what you always said, wasn’t it? Except Juliana wasn’t quite asprettyas she used to be, not by the time you finished with her.”

The man’s eyes are locked onto his face as he continues screaming, tears mingling with the blood and slices marring olive skin.

I lean back against the wall, my arms crossed. I might have concerns about the impact this has on Enzo, but I have no qualms whatsoever about the men he brings below our home.

Not a single one of them is a victim.

My brother strolls to his cabinet. “She’ll forget you, eventually, you know. The scarring will heal, and she’ll adapt. She’s strong, Juliana. Not like you.”

He selects a small bottle painstakingly, giving it a little shake as he turns back to Antonio, who’s watching him with a dawning terror as Enzo holds up the acid bottle.

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