Page 92 of Captive of Outlaws

“You don’t need to be,” I whisper. “You had nothing to do with it.”

A few beats of silence pass. Will’s grip firms on my shoulders, just a little.

“Still,” he says at last. “I’m sorry.”

Something wet trails down my cheek. I’m crying. Goddammit.

I sniffle a little and wipe the tear away with the heel of my hand.

“I hate this,” I say. “I hate all of this. All this tragedy and lying and loss and...” I hiccup a sob and turn around to face Will. “Is this what it is? Is this what life is like? Just disappointment after disappointment?” I give my head a little shake. “Sorry. That’s a stupid question, but—”

“No, I get it.” His eyes burn into mine as he thumbs away another tear. “Do you want the truth, or do you want me to make you feel better?”

I breathe in hard. “The truth.”

“Sometimes, yes. Especially when you live a life like...ours.” Will’s face is intense, unwavering. “I can’t lie to you, Maren. It looks comfortable, and fun, but it’s not all jewelry heists and pool parties. Sometimes we have to make hard choices. Sometimes people get hurt. The powers that we have...” He trails off, shakes his head. “It’s more than justbeing shifters, really. We’re outlaws. Criminals. And if you stay here, then you are too.”

Stay. It’s still wild hearing anyone mention that idea, give voice to that possibility. Just a week ago, I never would have imagined it.

But I nevercouldhave imagined this. That my life would be like this.

I have nothing else. But even if I did...I’m not sure I could leave this behind.

In spite of myself, I smile, even laugh a little. Will looks alarmed.

“Sorry,” I say, brushing away the remnants of my tears. “It’s just...you lied to me.”

“I didn’t,” Will says hurriedly. “I told you the truth, like you asked.”

“I know, I know,” I say. “But you did make me feel better.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

THE NEXT DAY, I CLEARmy head the only way I know how.

Under the hood of a car.

I didn’t sleep much, so I’m out in the garage a little after daybreak. I wanted to check on my Mustang, maybe finally get around to that busted taillight, but it’s not here—must still be ditched in the woods by the back gate, where LJ left it after our return, and I don’t especially feel like tramping down to get it right now, so I settle for one of Rob’s cars. I’m wearing the most work-appropriate pair of jeans I could find in my stash (no small feat, considering they’re all easily $200-plus pairs) and a loose T-shirt, my hair pulled back with one of the millions of ponytail holders Rob bought me.

I smile, thinking about it, as I hoist up the hood of the Camaro.

There’s not a lot to do here, really—a fluid flush and oil change, pretty much—but even that small routine feels satisfying to me right now, a little corner of the world that I canset right and make function properly.

That I can fix.

I putter over to the work bench for tools, and I’m crouched in front of a cabinet, rummaging around for a drip pan to put underneath, when I hear the side door open. I freeze, instinctively, wondering if it’s LJ, and dart a glance in that direction. But it’s way earlier than our agreed-upon meeting time, I reason.

Past the cabinet door and the wheels of various vehicles, I can see a pair of boots and denim-clad legs, which doesn’t really narrow it down.

But the voice does.

“Well, look who’s up and about first thing.” Rob grins, hooking his thumbs in his pocket. “Catching a lot of worms, you little early bird?”

I scoff at him. “Don’t think you can southern charm me. I’m allergic to it.”

He lifts his eyebrows, but nods. “Fair enough.” Then he cranes his neck to look past me, to the rest of the workshop. “Big project today?”

I shake my head. “Just some maintenance on the Camaro. I didn’t want to be too loud too early, in case You-Know-Who’s still asleep.” I roll my eyes in the direction of LJ’s apartment. “And I needed something...easy after yesterday.”

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