Page 17 of Captive of Outlaws

“Speak for yourself,” LJ says, righting himself. “You and your shiny toys. You’re like a kid with a new pack of Hot Wheels.”

“Hey, Hot Wheels rule,” I hear myself say. Will, LJ, and Tuck look at me: Will with amused interest, LJ with disbelief, and Tuck with delight.

“I mean...” I mumble. “They were always my favorite as a kid.” The one year I got a brand new set from the town “Adopt a Poor Kid” toy drive or whatever it was called was probably the highlight of my young life.

“Figures you weren’t a My Little Pony kind of girl,” LJ says. “Princess.”

I want to retort, but my attention keeps getting yanked astray by the smell of syrup and bacon grease. I dart a glance at the spread to my right.

“It’s not just decorative, greasemonkey,” Will comments. “You might as well eat.”

“Seriously. You’ve gotta be starving.” Tuck ducks back to my side and hands me a plate. “Have at it. Coffee? Tea? Bloody Mary?”

“Coffee’s fine,” I say. “As black and as strong as you can make it.”

“Atta girl.” Tuck nods and heads for an impressive chrome coffee maker by the sink.

I hover for a minute, unsure if I am actually about to dig into this mountain of food, and then figure, fuck it. If I’m going to be brutally murdered at some deluxe drug kingpin’smansion in the middle of the Virginia woods, then I’m going out with a full stomach. I take my plate and stack on six slices of bacon, two of the waffles (which are at least three inches thick) and, at the last minute, a dish of fruit salad. You know, for my health.

“Got an appetite there, huh?” LJ raises an eyebrow at me as I perch on a chair at the end of the table, as far away from the two of them as I can.

“You would too, if you’d spent the night in the woods,” I fire back.

LJ lifts his palms in a gesture of defeat. “Not blaming you.” He looks at Tuck. “Where’s Rob?”

“Where do you think?” Tuck answers, placing a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. It smells dark and strong and ripe with caffeine. I could almost cry. I abandon the bacon I’m about to eat and clutch the mug like it’s an elixir of life—which, in a way, I guess it is.

“Out back,” Will and LJ answer in unison.

Tuck nods, spinning a chair around to sit in it backwards. “Target practice.”

Will rolls his eyes. “So old-school. I don’t get it.”

“It’s a tradition thing,” Tuck says. “You know—Southern gentlemen and their quaint practices, or whatever.”

At the wordsSouthern gentlemen, I feel my hackles raise. I gulp down some more of the coffee to wash the anxiety out of my mouth. It half works. If this Rob character is anything like the so-called “gentlemen” I’ve encountered thus far in my life, then he’s anything but. And target practice? I know fox hunting is a thing around here—hence the club—but something about the explicit acknowledgment that there’s guns on this property makes me shiver.

Focus, Maren. Get something in your stomach. I eye my plate, hesitating one half-second longer as I speed-reason through whether the stuff is poisoned—Will and LJ are already eating, and Tuck just picked another piece of bacon off the table, so odds are not—and dig in.

“Whoa, there,” Tuck says, watching as I stuff waffle into my mouth. “I mean, I know my cooking’s good, but don’t give yourself a stomachache there.”

I chew vigorously and swallow. “One, I’m starving,” I explain. “And two, if I need to fight off kidnappers”—I cast a pointed look at the three of them—“I want to have some fuel in the tank.”

LJ chortles, his dark eyes flashing. “Princess, full stomach or not, there’s no way you could take us.”

I shiver again, even though I sense he’s being more playful than serious.

He’s right, though. Those biceps mean business. He could toss me around like a rag doll—which, under different circumstances, I might actually enjoy.

What the fuck, Maren? My blood sugar must be plunging. I’m not thinking straight. I chomp through another slice of bacon.

“Just take your time, is all I meant,” Tuck says, a bit more gently.

“Not too much time, though.” Will straightens in his seat, shaking his watch to his wrist again. “We’ve gotta take her down to see him. And odds are his nocturnal ass is going to crash in about, oh, thirty minutes.”

Tuck sighs. “There’s no need to rush her, Will. I’ll make Rob a damn red-eye if it comes to that.” He rubs his jaw. “Come to think of it, a red-eye sounds pretty good. Warmyou up, Maren?”

“Huh?” My heart skips a beat, like I missed a step going downstairs. Then I realize Tuck is gesturing at my coffee mug. “Oh. Um. Sure. Thanks.” And then, because he is being pretty nice to me, “It’s good coffee.”

---