Page 84 of Captive of Outlaws

“Good night, Maren.”

I WAKE UP GOD KNOWShow many hours later with a smile on my face.

At first, in the groggy state of prying myself away from my pillows, I don’t even know why I’m so happy. But then it comes back to me, in fits and starts, images from last night...

I—me,Maren—just had mind-bending, earth-shattering...I don’t even know what to call it. Group sex? With three of the hottest men I’ve ever laid eyes on.

In spite of myself, I giggle, and press my face into my pillow. I feel like a middle-schooler with a crush and an otherworldly sex goddess all at once.

The high continues as I float into the shower, take my time lathering my hair and body, replaying every touch and feeling in my mental highlight reel (and barely resisting the urge to do some solo reenactments), and exit in a cloud of vanilla-scented steam.

As I’m toweling down in the bedroom, I look around for anything to tell time with, and settle on my old dumb phone where I’d parked it near the reading nook. Finger-combing my wet hair, I grab it and flip it open.

And my heart drops.

Don’t think I don’t know you were at the Fox Hunt Club last night little bitch

Flirting with all kinds of men I heard

Putting shame on my name

You little slut

I know who’s hiding you

I’ll kill you when I find you whore

I’ll kill you

Chapter Twenty-Two

SHAKING, I HOLD THEphone in disbelief. My good mood evaporates, my happiness replaced with the chill of danger.

He knows who I’m with.

He knows where I am, maybe.

And he’ll kill me.

I have no doubt he would.

Odds are, I’m worth more to him dead than alive.

I move like an automaton—quickly, efficiently, drying the rest of the way off and pulling on whatever clothes are handy, I don’t even notice. I pound down the stairs to the first floor, my ears ringing and my vision tunneling, my dumb phone in a death grip as I will this not to be another seizure.

Or...no, they’re not seizures. Another whatever those are.

“Guys?” I call out, my voice sounding tinny, hollow, far away. “Anyone home?”

“Office,” calls a voice—Rob’s. Strange that I can already tell them apart so easily. On unsteady legs, Ithread through the front hallway and to the back of the house, where the office sits as a small alcove of dark wood and tall windows.

The bookshelves and desks swim together as I walk in, my fingernails digging into my palm to will myself steady. Rob’s there, and Tuck—Rob flicking through a folder of documents while Tuck squints at a computer screen, hands on the keyboard and brow adorably furrowed.

But when they see me, their casualness drops.

“Maren,” Rob says, getting to his feet. He’s wearing just a dark green hoodie and gray sweats, God help me. Now that I know what’s underneath those clothes, it’s harder to focus, even in my panicked state. But my survival instinct overtakes my hormones, for once.

“What’s wrong?” Tuck stands, too, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He’s got a light five o’clock shadow going, even though it’s only 11 a.m.

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