Page 22 of Captured By the Scaled Outlaw
Rolling my teeth over my lips, I pick at the skin on the sides of my thumbs while dawdling my hands. I could lie, but he’d shut this conversation down entirely if he caught wind of my deception. While I don’t wish to reveal any part of myself to Lowell, I have to provide him with some version of the truth. Remaining careful of my choice of words is a delicate balance.
“My grandma was a monster-hunter. She taught me about the creatures she hunted and gave me her journal logs before she passed,” I begin, monotone. “I read her entries religiously, to the point where I have them almost completely memorized. Orageist Giant included.” My speech is slow, words fighting emotions to maintain the truth while also toeing the line of a lie.
Lowell’s eyes bore holes through me, domineering and curious. “Monster-hunters used to hunt and kill invasive creatures, correct? Like glorified exterminators,” he asks, his stare snapping to any part of my body that flinches or moves, searching for deception.
“Correct. They were disbanded twenty-five years ago after the last creature classified as an Invasive Beast was hunted down and slain. Most monster-hunters ended up retiring, like Grandma,” I explain. Part of me is glad these beasts are no longer in this world, but another wishes I could have seen them face-to-face as Grandma had. They seemed like amazing creatures.
“So, am I to believe that everything you said before isn’t complete bullshit?” Lowell asks, his tail slapping against the stone floor to regain my attention.
I look up at him.
His big, goofy grin remains just as I left it.
“I’m telling the truth. Grandma kept detailed records of all beast classifications and how to handle them.” My voice is pleading. “If my only other option is for you to kill me, please let me at least try to succeed at this. I’m not a seasoned monster-hunter, but I’m well-versed in combat and have invaluable knowledge that most humans don’t.”
Lowell sighs, his expression still smug as he pushes himself to his feet. “While I’m saddened I don’t get to end you myself, this is certainly a lot more interesting than simply biting your head off.”
My mouth pinches.
He’s thinking about it.
I stand to mirror Lowell, holding my arms close to my chest. “Then you’ll let me try? I’ll need my vehicle since the trip to the Orageist Pass is multiple days long. You can even put a tracker on the bumper to verify that I’m not trying to escape.”
Lowell nods his head. “No need. We’ll take a sandcycle.”
My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. “We?”
A laugh slips past his lips as a cocky grin pulls at the corner of his mouth, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Yes,we.I’m coming with you.”
Chapter 9
“I packed two tents and two survival bags, boss,” Ginny says, pulling the cord that straps our bags to the cycle taut. “Should be enough to get you through five days, if need be.”
Lowell slides protective shades over his eyes, instructing with his hands for me to do the same. “It’ll be plenty. This should only take three days, maximum.” He swings his leg over the sandcycle, the entire metal frame creaking and bouncing under his weight. Twisting at the hip, he turns to extend his hand, urging me to take it.
I stare at his wide, calloused palm. In a matter of hours, my desperate attempt to stay alive has turned into an ill-planned suicide mission assisted by a maniacal loose cannon. When I came up with this stupid plan, I’d neglected to factor in that while only any idiot would go for it, Lowellisthat idiot.
At the very least, I get to ride a sandcycle for the first time.
Typically, only thieves and merchants ride sandcycles due to their unrestricted speeds. This lack of regulation makes the cycles incredibly unsafe and therefore illegal within city bounds. This doesn’t quell my curiosity about these death traps however, and I can’t contain my excitement to finally be able to ride one.
I lower my goggles and take hold of Lowell’s hand. He lifts me with ease, gently setting me down so I’m straddled across the seat behind him.
“Grab my waist and loop your fingers through my belt. We’re going to gofast,” he says, turning the ignition.
The engine roars to life, shaking me so hard I fear I might fall off. My arms instinctively cling to Lowell’s waist, hands searching for his belt. Once I feel the soft strips of leather, I twist my fingers around the loops so tight it’s painful. Adjusting myself, my legs dangle off the sides of the cycle like a child in a high-chair, the height of the footrests set to someone much larger than myself.
The seat vibrates between my legs when Lowell revs the engine, stimulating the sensitive nub just above my groin. I yelp, and Lowell’s head snaps to me with an eyebrow raised. I’m thankful the scent of the arid desert is pungent.
I’m still so sensitive from…
My cheeks burn pink.
“Like this?” I yell over the engine, wiggling my hands at his belt loops to pull his attention.
Lowell nods, still observant, revving the engine a few times before idling. He yells something to Ginny that I can’t hear.
She mouths, “Yes, sir,” her voice still inaudible. Coming closer to me while leaning in, she shouts over the engine’s purr, “Be careful.” It’s more of a warning than words of concern. She vehemently protested my plan, initially, but Lowell had the final say. It’s clear from her scowl that his choice still perturbs her.
