Page 68 of Captive of Outlaws

“Stay there!”

It’s all but a roar, a complete command. I freeze, too stunned to disobey, and watch.

LJ slips back into the crush of people, somehow unobtrusive despite how tall and broad he is.

I watch in silence as he sidles over to the auction table, nodding a polite hello to a few matronly women as he passes. He pauses, one hand in a pocket, easily glancing left and right, acting for all the world as if he’s just surveying the room like an ordinary party-goer, perhaps looking for a friend.

And then, quick as a flash of lightning, he flips open the top of the display case, slips a hand inside, and takes the necklace.

“Holy shit,” I breathe. Holy shit. Holy shit.

I don’t know what I’m expecting: a security alarm or the sudden footsteps of sheriff’s deputies, but nothing happens. The chatter of the party continues above our heads. Waiters nudge past me with a polite “excuse me, miss” and distantmusic plays somewhere.

No one noticed. No one except me.

Two seconds later, LJ’s massive form is by my side again. “Here,” he says tersely.

“How did you...how could you—” I can barely finish a sentence.

“Stop staring. Stop asking questions.” He slips it into the front of my dress, into the small hollow between my breasts, with the barest brush of his rough fingertips, so that the pendant tucks against my skin and the chain nestles itself out of sight.

“Now get out of here,” he says, his voice simmering low in my ear. “Walk into the next room and blend in. Don’t look my way. Don’t acknowledge me at all.Now.”

Chastened, I obey. I feel like I’m out of my own body, watching myself from afar, teetering on these heels as I leave, feeling the slight scrape of the necklace chain against my skin.

I walk the perimeter of the ballroom, across the hall and into the lounge on the other side of the building. My heart’s absolutely hammering, not only because I have the necklace—I have the necklace—but because LJ was the one who stole it for me.

He didn’t seem happy about it. But he still did it.

I don’t have long to dwell, though. The lounge is less crowded, but only barely, with a few tables of more substantive food positioned strategically and various tuxedoed and ballgowned figures sitting on chairs, laughing to each other, nodding gray heads and smiling with wrinkled cheeks. The armchairs and couches are plush as I remember, the plants as perfectly verdant as always, the oil portraits on the wall stately—likely some Confederate generals who massacredthousands and now they’re held up as war heroes.

But that’s not what I really notice.

I see him, my uncle John, right here, right in front of me, for the first time in days.

Chapter Seventeen

HE’S DRUNK.

Of course he’s drunk.

The mask he has on, a basic white affair that matches his tuxedo jacket, has slipped a little down his face, but I can see that the flesh beneath it is red and flushed. Something about the way he moves implies his gaze is glassy, and the way he’s leering at the poor teenage waitress balancing a plate of satay skewers...

Well, it’s obvious. Drunk as a fucking skunk.

I swallow. There are so many things I wish I could scream at him right now, so much anger. And Iwantto be righteously angry. Iwantto storm up to him and slap him across that smugly indifferent face of his and let him know exactly what I think of him: stealing from me, from my inheritance, from my parents, from my dead mother.

But I’m not going to, obviously. Not here.

“Excuse me.” Someone jostles past from the hallway intothe lounge, jolting me back to reality.

“Sorry,” I mutter, and step to the side. I’m still glued to John. He’s chatting to some associate, not really paying attention, swirling his glass of bourbon, and if he sees me...well, he probably can’t focus enough to tell that I’mme.

At least, I hope.

“Maren.”

My heart jumps at the sound of my name, but when I turn, it’s just a familiar broad figure with a wolf’s mask.

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