Page 67 of Kept

Maverick’s lips tighten. We both know what Enzo’s capable of. But he treats our little stowaway with a gentleness I haven’t seen from him before, even if it’s edged with his own personal brand of psycho. “You will, though.”

It’s not a question, and I give him a salute, my fingers bouncing off the side of my head flippantly. “Aye aye, captain.”

A flicker of hurt enters his eyes, and I hate myself for it. He despises any reference to him being our leader, even though it’s the fucking truth. God knows where Enzo and I would be without him.

The lasagne turns to ash in my mouth, and I swallow it down in a tasteless lump. “I’ll speak to her. Is that all?”

He sighs, but his fingers drum out a rhythm on the counter, a sure sign that there’s something else. “John Martinez called earlier. He wanted an update on Moore.”

I straighten. “You didn’t tell him—,”

“Of course not,” he snaps. “Jesus, Ryder, give me a little credit. I don’t want to give him anything that might put him on Zella’s trail. But we’ve got our own reasons to follow Moore right now, and I could use something else to add to the recordings from Club X.”

Sudden queasiness turns over in my stomach, and I experience some regret about the lasagne. “You want me to follow him again.”

He nods. “We need to know where he is and what he’s doing. He dumped his car and torched it, so we don’t have the tracker anymore.”

Which means we’re working blind, and we need to retrace his steps. It means I’m heading back to Club X.

“Ryder…” Maverick starts. His voice is more gentle this time. “If you—,”

I cut him off. “It’s fine. I’ll go.”

The club doesn’t open until midnight, so I have a few hours to kill. As I’m contemplating my options, footsteps sound, and we both turn to see Enzo saunter in.

Both Maverick and I stiffen in surprise as he walks to the refrigerator. His typical black shirt is nowhere to be seen, and as he turns his back on us, his scars are on full display.

Full, colorful, shimmering display.

The wings covering them have been painted in painstaking detail. One side is vibrant color – gold, red, orange, a mix of fire and flame that gives him the look of an avenging angel.

The other is darker. Grays, deep purple, shot through with slivers of silver.

Light and dark.

It’s a perfect mix for him, and as he turns, he graces us both with a sardonic smile. “Enjoying the view?”

My eyes narrow. “That’s a nice addition to your tattoos.”

“It needs to dry.” All of our heads spin around to where Zella lingers awkwardly in the kitchen door. Maverick and I both stand instinctively, and Enzo crosses the room, drawing her in with his hand at the back of her neck.

“Are you hungry?” he demands. “Thirsty?”

She shakes her head, but her eyes move to the coffee pot. Maverick gets there first, so I just lean against the counter and try to act like my half-sprint across the kitchen was for nothing more than a bit of light exercise. Maverick nudges me out of the way with his shoulder as he reaches for a cup, and I not so casually shove him back.

We’ve officially regressed to teenagers, and Enzo’s snort tells me he hasn’t missed it.

Zella is thankfully oblivious. Enzo leads her to the table, and she gives Maverick a soft smile when he places the cup in front of her. “Thank you.”

We’re all trying not to stare as she takes a sip, her soft lips opening in satisfaction.

Jesus.

Swallowing, I blurt out the first thing that enters my head. “Clothes.”

Everyone turns to me, and I try to form a coherent sentence. “Zella. I thought we could look online, get you some new things to wear.”

I see her eyes light up, although she looks confused. “What’s online?”

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