Page 97 of Captive of Outlaws

“Good,” he says again. “Now, hit me.”

At that, I balk. “What?”

“Hit me,” he says. “I want to see what you’ve got.”

“I don’t want to hit you,” I protest.

A rare smile crosses his face. “I doubt that,” he murmurs. “Very much.”

I put my hands on my hips, annoyed.He’sthe one who can’t standme, I think. I’m so tired of his bullshit angst.

“Why do you hate me?” I ask.

The question rings out in the apartment-slash-dojo, with nothing but silence following it. LJ shuffles his feet, arms folded and not meeting my gaze.

Finally, he looks up.

“I don’t hate you,” he says.

“Bullshit,” I say. “You’ve had it out for me since I got here.You don’t want me staying, you don’t like having to watch me, you gripe just about any time I do anything. I’m tired of it. What fucking gives?”

A muscle flickers in LJ’s temple. He sucks his teeth, exhales hard.

“Do you know how Rob and I met?”

That’s a random non-sequitur,I think. But I can’t help my curiosity.

“No,” I answer.

“Fighting ring,” LJ says. “Underground shit, down in New Orleans. People show up, place bets, winner splits with the house. I was house champ. Took on all comers but no one ever got one over. ‘Til this redhead nobody out of Virginia shows up and challenges me. Beat me, took the prize money.” He breathes out. “I was stronger, but he was quick and smart and played off my showing off. I was ready to kill his ass.”

“But you didn’t,” I venture.

LJ snorts. “Obviously not. He helped me up, shook my hand, offered me a job. Said he knew what I was capable of.”

“Shifting,” I say.

LJ nods. “We find each other, I guess. Or Rob knows how to find us. He was just out of prison, said he was starting over, wanted to get a new thing going...”

“So that’s how you ended up here,” I finish for him.

“More or less.” LJ shrugs. “Look, I was getting the snot beat out of me six days a week. My body wasn’t going to last much longer. I figured whatever this guy was offering for me would be better, safer, even.”

“And it was?”

LJ just shakes his head. Doesn’t answer.

“You’re too good for this, Maren,” he says. “Too good forall of us. You deserve the truth. Not charity. Not some...guilt-trip pity party.”

Something about the raw edge in his voice gives me pause. This is more than just dislike of me, more than just bro code or grumpiness. This is...

“What...what do you mean?” I ask, careful, unsure.

LJ doesn’t answer.

“What are youtalkingabout?” I say, more forceful this time.

LJ looks up, eyes burning.

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