Page 29 of Captive of Outlaws

I shake my head, and take the opportunity to yank my arm the rest of the way back to my chest, clutching it protectively.

“No.” I try one last time. “It was an accident in the shop. I’m not the most graceful mechanic, okay?” I speak slowly and carefully to keep my voice from shaking. “It doesn’t matter. It healed. It was ages ago. And I’m safe now, right?” I gesture at the driveway, the grounds, the mansion around us. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Are you?” Rob says. His gaze has me fixed to the spot, but the anger has simmered down somewhat, the fire in those green eyes banked down to a smolder. “Because I’m inclinedto believe him.” He jerks his head back at LJ. “He might be a dick, but he’s not a liar.”

“Hey,” grouses LJ, but Rob ignores him.

“Were you trying to leave, Maren?”

I suck in a breath. “I was,” I admit. “But—”

“My, my.” Rob steps back, looks me up and down, and scratches the back of his neck. “I guess we didn’t do much to make you comfortable, did we?”

I say nothing, just tug at the sleeves of my sweats.

“You must’ve been traveling light, hm?” Rob goes on. “With just the clothes on your back. Otherwise I doubt you’d be wearing Tuck’s castoffs. Or,” he adds, “leaving your old clothes in the trash.”

“No,” I admit.

“Or was the bed not comfortable enough? Bathroom not to your specifications? I didn’t have you pegged as a skincare obsessive, but I can see that maybe the offerings weren’t up to par.” He studies me, smiling. “I really did not show you proper hospitality.”

He’s back to messing with me, that playful Southern-boy lilt back in his voice. And when he does, relief washes over me, and it’s like I come back to my senses all at once.

“But,” I cut him off. “Can I finish?”

Rob stops. “Yes, ma’am.”

Fuck it. I might not be totally safe here...but I’m safer here than I am out there. And between the anger at my scar and this...thiskindnessand teasing I get from Rob—get from all the guys, except LJ, I guess—I think I’ve made up my mind.

“Iwasleaving,” I say. “Emphasis onwas.I’ve changed my mind.”

LJ lifts a thick eyebrow and folds his massive arms. He says nothing, just looks at Rob. Rob, though, is fixed on me.

“Good,” he says. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And if we’re going shopping today, I want something in my stomach.”

“SERIOUSLY?”

I have to practically scream over the lion-like purr of the engine as Rob pulls around the driveway.

“Seriously what?” Rob lowers his head, the sunlight gleaming off the polished lenses of his Ray-Bans. He’s at least fully dressed now—changed into a flannel and jeans after another legendary breakfast—and although the look is casual overall, it’s arichcasual. Not a Bass Pro Shop flannel and Wal-Mart jeans. The shit’s designer, even if I couldn’t tell you which one.

But it’s not the clothes that have me impressed. It’s the car.

“You drive a Rollerskate,” I say. “As in, a Maxton Rollerskate.”

“Among other things,” Rob says. “Why?”

I shake my head in astonishment. Rollerskates are...well, they’re rare, for one thing. But also unique. A little weird. Designed by a vintage racer and manufactured basically bespoke way back in the early 90s. I wouldn’t have even thought there were any more out on the roads.

But Rob’s is here, in front of me: a squat little thing of a convertible, a deep, almost teal green body with two deep bucket seats, a chrome roll bar, and round headlights that give an overall frog-like appearance.

“They only made, like, fifty of these,” I say. “How’d you even track it down?”

Rob grins. “I have my ways. Now, are we going to keep my shopper waiting, or are you coming with me?”

Two minutes later, we’re zipping down the winding roads of the forest, Rob taking the curves hard like he enjoys wearing the gears out, and my hair is whipping around my face like a firework.

“Wait,” I say, as if I just processed what he said before we left. “Seriously?”

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