Page 18 of Captive of Outlaws

Tuck beams. “Thank you. These guys give me grief for perfecting the setup, but they’d suck down gas station mud so long as it had caffeine.”

Now LJ rolls his eyes. “Spare us the foodie shit, T.”

“You mean stop making you coffee? Happy to. Save me the work of caffeinating your giant ass.” Tuck scowls at LJ, but it’s a brotherly kind of scowl, and takes my mug and his back over to the coffee machine.

“Make those to go,” Will says. “I’m taking her down now.”

Down? “Down where?” I say, the food going ashen in my mouth.

“Relax, Princess. Just down to the shooting range,” LJ says.

“And not as a target,” Tuck adds, returning with my coffee in a fresh insulated mug. “We’re not going to kill you, okay?”

“You know, it’s almost less reassuring when you have to insist that you’re not going to kill me,” I mutter. Still, though, my rabbit heart has calmed down, coffee notwithstanding. If this is a kidnapping or ransom, they’re really not playing the part. I’d have thought they’d start making demands by now, or at least busting out the duct tape and rope.

Will stands up, straightening his shirtsleeves and nodding at me. “Let’s go.”

I clutch my coffee, feeling pinned in place. But a last-ditch streak of defiance sparks in me. “Go where? Where areyou taking me?”

“I already told you,” he says. “To see Rob. He’s down on the grounds.”

I set my jaw—mostly to keep it from trembling. A belly full of food has given me some of my bravery back. “I’ve already told you. They’re going to be looking for me already. I’m not worth your time for anything like this.”

Will clicks his tongue. “That’s no way to talk about yourself, greasemonkey. Where’s your self-esteem?”

Heat floods the back of my neck. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Will agrees. His tone softens. “And I promise you, Rob does too.” He holds out a hand. “Now, will you just come with me?”

I stall just a moment longer, flicking my gaze from Will to LJ to Tuck.What the fuck am I doing here?I wonder, for what feels like the billionth time.

“Fine,” I say. “Take me to Rob.”

Chapter Six

IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCEI’ve been to a house withgrounds, so I’m not quite sure what to expect. Will leads me out a French door in the kitchen to a balcony overlooking a vast back garden—hedgerows, blooming flowers, pool, hot tub, the works—but marches me past all of it towards a small gate on the other side of the patio.

It’s fully midmorning now, the sun more visible in this cleared part of the forest, and the last strains of nighttime dew swipe against the hems of my jeans as I trail him down a small path. I shiver a bit again as we enter back into the cover of trees, the air chilly without the warmth of sunlight.

“This is all the grounds?” I ask, darting a look to my left and my right and seeing nothing but tree trunks and underbrush.

“This and more,” Will answers. “The Locksleys are landed gentry in every sense of the word. You’d have to run for a good half hour in this direction just to touch the outer edge of the property.” He throws a glance back at me over hisshoulder. “So I suggest you don’t try.”

I narrow my eyes at him but decide not to reply. As strangely enticing as it is to banter with him, with all of these guys, I don’t see the logic in antagonizing them, even as a joke. Who knows how much of that sense of humor is for show?

Up ahead, the trees part again, and we emerge into a small clearing, with packed dirt beneath our feet and a covered structure to our right—a sort of shed with one wall open, divided into stalls. Before I can peer inside and see what’s within, something zips through the air in front of us.

Chnk.

I startle in spite of myself, stopped dead in my tracks. My coffee cup tumbles from my grip and thuds on the ground, but I barely register it. After a dazed second or two, I look to the left, in the direction of whatever flew past, and see a target—taller than I am, bullseye on the front, and an arrow stuck right in the middle of it.

Anarrow?

“Easy!” Will cries. “Jesus Christ. You almost hit me.”

“Please,” comes another voice. “My aim’s too good for that. If I wanted to hit you, I would.”

From the shadows of the shed, I see him emerge. Tall, slender but corded with muscle, a face that’s boyishly handsome and covered in a light stubble. His russet-colored hair is on the long side, but not styled like Will’s, and his piercing green eyes match a T-shirt that’s just barely dotted with sweat.

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