Page 64 of Captive of Outlaws

“Are you...” Will lowers his mask, scopes me up and down pointedly. “...changing?” He glances at his watch, looks at Rob. “We have to get going.”

I fold my arms. I have on the same baggy zip-up sweatshirt I borrowed my first day here. “No, I’m dressed. I just have to...”

With a deep breath, I yank on the zipper and peel off the sweatshirt like I’m ripping off a bandaid.

“I’m ready,” I say, shucking the sleeves from my arms and putting my hands on my hips.

None of them moves.

“Jesus Christ,” Tuck whispers.

“I’ll fuckin’ say,” Will quips, putting a hand to his chin to study me. “God damn, but Jack does good work.”

“That’s why we pay him the big bucks,” Rob says, grinning.

LJ adds nothing, but I see him lick his lips.

The dress that arrived for me came in a box big enough to hold an engine block, stuffed with more tissue paper than a Kleenex factory. And when I’d tried it on in my room, the first words out of my mouth were “absolutely fucking not.”

But then I saw the handwritten card fluttering from the packaging.

Maren—trust me, okay? Even Katharine Hepburn wore a gown now and again. And don’t let anyone tell you that redheads can’t wear red. Knock ‘em dead. —J

And I have to admit, he was right.

The gown is floor-length, blood-red, and sleeveless, with a scooping sweetheart neckline that cuts just a fingertip or two lower than I’d pick for myself. The material is thick but not stiff, hugging the curves of my body and moving easily with me, and the bodice must have some kind of internal armature supporting me, because my boobs look amazing.

Not a body part I’m used to emphasizing on the daily, but...I fluff my hair off of my neck and let the loose curls tumble to the center of my back.

Not so bad, once you get used to it.

“All right, all right,” I say, swiping at the air. “Can we just get a move on?”

Will rolls his eyes. “Maren, can you not with the false modesty? It’s unbecoming.”

I return my hands to my hips and cock my head to the side. “False modesty? You think I’m fishing for complimentsor something?” I toss my hair, enjoying the moment. “Nah. I know I look hot. I just don’t like being stared at.”

I wink at Will, surprised by my own boldness. Tuck cracks up. Even LJ—maybe—smiles.

“Damn shame,” Rob says. “Because I think we could stare at you all night.”

My skin flames from my collarbone to my temples.

“But you’re right,” he goes on. “We’ve gotta go.”

AHEAD OF US, THE FOXHunt Club glows like a prettied-up wedding cake.

It’s exactly what you’d expect for a good ol’ boys’ club in Virginia: antebellum brick with grand white columns, floor-to-ceiling windows on the ballrooms, presidential driveway scooting around box hedges, and footmen in red jackets and black ties ready to welcome us.

It makes me want to throw up.

“Easy, Princess.” LJ glances at where my fist is balling up the fabric of my dress.

“Yes, try to relax,” Will says, leaning in from his seat next to me, the spice of whiskey on his breath. “You don’t want to wrinkle that pretty gown, do you?”

Rob drove us, a SUV from his fleet I hadn’t seen yet, which only makes me wonder where the hell he’s stashing all these cars. As we pull up to the front doors, I take a steadying inhale and slip my mask onto my face. The guys follow suit, with Rob going last.

“Ready, boys? And lady,” he adds, smiling.

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