Page 65 of Kept

“Not inyou,” he murmurs. “He thinks I’m corrupting you.”

He lifts a stray strand of hair, curling it around my finger. “I am corrupting you. But I don’t care.”

His body presses down into mine, and his fingers grip my cheek. “I told you, you’re mine, little prey. And you’ll be theirs too, even if they don’t realize it yet. But I do. You were always meant to be ours.”

My hand shakes as I lift it up, carefully tracing the edge of his cheek. The faintest edge of stubble tickles my fingers. “Do I happen to get a choice in this?”

Enzo growls, his face dropping down. “Not particularly. Did you want one?”

Slowly, I nod. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t choose the same thing. But I don’t want to go from one prison to another, Enzo.”

His jaw clenches. “You think I’m like him?”

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t think so.”

The words seem to soothe him, and he pushes himself away from me in a sudden movement that tilts me to the side. Righting myself, I sit up as he strides across the room, picking something up from the sideboard. “I got you something.”

His voice is gruff, and he clears his throat as he drops something in my lap. “Here.”

It takes me a second to understand, and I turn the packet over in my fingers. A little thrum of excitement begins to build in my chest. “You brought me paint?”

He shrugs, and for the first time, a little flash of red tints the top of his defined cheekbones. “You said you wanted to color in my tattoos.”

I’m still staring down at the paint, blinking rapidly as I fight not to cry.

Enzo brought mecolor.

He’s not looking at me when I look up. His brow is furrowed as he stares at the floor.

“Ryder was right. I am not a good man,” he says slowly. “I don’t think I’m an evil one, but I’m not a good one, little prey. I can’t be. Not even for you.”

Climbing to the edge of the bed, I reach out and take his hand in mine, pulling him closer. “What do you mean?”

He stares at me, and his hand pulls away from mine as he slowly unbuttons the front of his shirt. I hold my breath as he tugs it off, revealing a body that would rival any of the statues at the apartment. Dark hair trails down his chest, ending at the edge of his dark jeans.

But then he turns around.

I’m not sure what noise I make. Horror, maybe. Some kind of groan as I take in the damage that’s been done to his flawless skin. His tattoos extend over his back, thick black wings with whirls and symbols covering its entirety. But they don’t quite cover the thick raised edges that criss-cross his skin, pale scars upon scars that collect on his body in sickening clarity.

“Enzo…,” I choke. My hand reaches out, but he spins, grabbing my wrist in a gentle grip.

“I told you not to touch me, before,” he tells me. “But you’re the only person I’ll ever allow to get this close, little prey.”

Taking my fingers, he reaches around, placing them against his damaged skin.

“The only one allowed to feel these scars is you.”

The low, harsh words make my eyes burn, implicit understanding of the gift he’s offering.

“When I woke up downstairs,” I say softly, “I thought you seemed like a dark angel. And you have the wings to prove it.”

He snorts as he turns. “I’m the furthest thing from an angel you could possibly imagine, prey.”

Nudging me over, he settles down on his stomach, tilting his head to look back at me and nodding at the pens in my hand. “You gonna do your thing or what?”

My fingers squeeze against the plastic, and I glance at his torn up back hesitantly. “It won’t hurt you, right?”

He shakes his head, a small smile curling his upper lip. “Nothing you do could hurt me.”

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