Page 27 of Captive of Outlaws

“If I care whether you stay or go.” LJ breaks his stare and looks off at the house. “They might. Probably do. I’m just not sure I do.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well...look, it’s generous of you guys to offer me a place to sleep and all, but—”

“Ididn’t offer shit.”

Attitude much?I think, but swallow my retort and amend my statement. “Generous ofthemto offer, but I think it’s obvious that I can’t just stay here. Fixing cars or no. I mean, a girl on the run just randomly sheltering with a bunch of guys she barely even knows? It sounds...it sounds bad,” I finish stupidly. “Right?”

A flicker of amusement skates over LJ’s features. “And you’re not a bad girl, Princess?”

I grit my teeth. I’m willing to be civil just to get him to leave me alone, but he’s really trying my patience. “You know what I mean. And yeah, for that matter, maybe I’m not. I don’t know what you guys are up to here, but I don’t think it’s really my...scene.”

LJ is silent. He glances at my phone.

“You’re at 25% battery.”

For whatever reason, that feels like enough. “Thanks,” I allbut snap. “I’ll be taking that back now. And the gas. Unless you want to stop me.”

“It’s a free country, Princess.”

I don’t even want to dignify that with a response. I just grab the gas can, stride across the room, yank my phone free, and march right back outside.

The sun’s nearly come up now, the sapphire sky streaked with orange at the edges as I march over to the Mustang. My phone vibrates in my fist as I walk—powering back on, I think at first, until it vibrates again, and then again.

Text messages, I realize.

But nobody ever texts me. No one except...

Panicked, almost frantic, I drop the can on the ground and flip open the phone. Sure enough, the messages are from John.

Where the fuck are you girl

You can’t just run out on me like that

I’ve got the sheriff and every deputy in the county looking for your ass

They know you’re mentally unstable. They won’t hesitate to use force

For your own sake, you’d better be dead already

Crack.

I don’t realize the phone’s slipped from my shaking hand until I hear it hit the asphalt.

“Fuck!” I cry, coming to after a second of stunned silence. I scramble to my knees, groping around for it. It’s banged up—the screen broken, the stubby antenna warped—but still functional.

The messages still there.

“Fuck,” I say again, sinking further into the ground.

Of course. I should have figured that John wouldn’t let me go without a fight. I might even be worth more to him dead than alive—who knows what bullshit he’s cooked up with the sheriff and filed in the courts?

“What’s going on here?”

The voice isn’t LJ’s. It’s Rob’s.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Chapter Nine

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