Page 52 of Captive of Outlaws

“They weren’t what?” LJ says, not tearing his eyes off the road. “They weren’t bothering you? Please.”

“Well,” I hesitate. “I mean, okay, no, I didn’t want my ass grabbed, but—”

“So they needed to be dealt with,” LJ says, “and I dealt with them.”

“But...” I ball my fists, frustrated at how much sense he’s making, except for the fact that it makes no fucking sense, because you can’t just cold-cock someone in the middle of Jimmy’s Auto Supply. “You can’t just cold-cock someone in the middle of Jimmy’s Auto Supply,” I say out loud. “I’m aloyal customer. This is gonna make me look bad.” Except as soon as I say it, I realize how absurd that sounds. I shake my head and actually laugh, nervous energy leaving me. LJ gives the Mustang a gentle pulse of gas.

“I’m sorry for startling you, and for”—he makes another grunt sound that might be a chuckle—“tarnishing your reputation as a customer.” He flicks a clipped glance my way. “But I won’t apologize for what I did.”

As we zoom down the road, we almost get sideswiped by a sheriff’s office patrol car tearing down the other way, lights flashing.

As soon as we see it, my mind goes blank. I can’t breathe. My chest is so tight. I put my hands on my collarbone, trying to suck in air.

LJ glances at me, then back at the road, then back at me again, and he doesn’t take his eyes away.

He brakes hard, fishtailing us around and zooming down a random side street I didn’t even notice. “Maren—”

“They’re coming,” I say out loud. “He said he was calling the sheriff and they’re coming. Fuck. I’m so fucked.”

“Maren,” LJ says, “you’re not fucked.”

“This is all your fault,” I say, pivoting on him. “How could you?” But the words come out stuttering, choked, high-pitched, a panicky sound I’ve never heard in my own voice before.

LJ slams the brake again, and this time we stop for real.

“You didn’t...you shouldn’t have...” I suck in breaths, my chest heaving uncomfortably tight like there are iron bands around it.

And then another bolt of panic surges down from the back of my neck.

Not now. Not now. I can’t have a seizure. I can’t lose consciousness. I’m not safe. Not in this moment, or in general. I can’t let him see that. Can’t let him—

My vision swims. I dig my fingernails into my palms and push my fists into the leather of the seat.

“Maren. Maren!” LJ says, an almost barked command. “Stay with me.”

But I don’t.

Chapter Fourteen

THE NEXT CLEAR THINGI hear is the sound of men’s voices.

Men’sarguingvoices.

“That was really stupid of you. Really fucking stupid.”

“Stupid of me? You weren’t even there. You didn’t—”

“I think the stupidest thing was letting her go in the first place. Which one of you idiots signed off on that brilliant plan?”

I squint. Something cold and slightly wet slides down my forehead—an ice pack, I realize. I’m in what I recognize as the basement lounge, the below-grade room that exits out to the pool patio on one side and the game room on the other. Somehow, I made it to the cushy black leather couch, where I’m currently curled up under a chenille blanket.

With an ice pack on my head.

Oh, God. I let the cold piece of plastic slip off of me and onto the floor as I clutch my temples.

I passed out. Fuck. Not a full-on fit, but one of thewhatever Dr. Shanahan called them—absence seizures? I’m not aching all over like I’ve been through a boxing match—a telltale sign I was thrashing—but I don’t remember what happened between the middle of that car ride and me being on this couch.

And my head hurts.

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