Page 26 of Captive of Outlaws
Think, Maren.
To my right stands the massive, five-car garage, like a miniature version of the house itself. That seems like as good a place as any to start, I reason. If I can find a jerry can—like for a lawnmower or something—that should be enough to at least get me out of the forest. And maybe, by sheer dumb luck, I’ll find a phone charger in there too.
The side door is unlocked, and I slide in with only the slightest creak. I don’t dare turn on the lights, but it doesn’t take me long to spot the trademark red-and-yellow of a plastic jerry can of gas. I jump over to it in three giant steps and give it a shake—success. At least a little gas is sloshing around in there. Perfect.
There’s no cars parked in here, but there’s plenty of gear—enough to rival MacAllister’s, honestly—and a broad workbench spanning the back wall. Various tools and gadgets are plugged in, their charging lights winking, and I’m just wondering whether I should investigate for a phone charger when the lights flare on above me.
“What the fuck?” growls a voice. “Who’s there?”
“Shit,” I yelp. From the other side of the garage, I hear pounding footsteps, someone coming down the stairs to the second floor.
A surly, dark face meets mine. LJ is here—and he’s not happy to see me.
“What the fuck,” he repeats, “areyoudoing here?”
This is bad, I think.So much for slipping out unnoticed.LJ looks ready to throw down. I can’t even compute what he’s doing in the garage, until I recall what Tuck mentioned yesterday after our little tour—LJ has his own separate digs.
I guess that means above the garage.
He’s wearing the same black tank as yesterday—or an identical one—and even in the dim garage light I can see his muscles rippling.
The full lips of his mouth curve in a snarl. “Well?”
“I...was looking for a place to charge my phone,” I say quickly. Notnotthe truth.
“Your phone,” LJ repeats.
“Yep,” I say, nodding in frantic sync with my heart.
He stares at me—at the jerry can in my hand. “Your phone’s gas-powered,” he states.
“Oh, this? No, I...” I can’t think of a reasonable excuse.
“You’re trying to run away.”
“No!” I insist, but immediately, I see there’s no point in lying to him. He’s not a bullshitter—and neither am I, for that matter. So I set down the can and fold my arms. “Okay, maybe. So what if I am? Why do you care if I stay or go?”
LJ doesn’t answer, just strides to a dark corner of the workbench and throws open a drawer. I stand there, pulse thumping, until he returns, bearing a thin black cable in one hand.
“This work?” he says. I blink at him.
“Uh—”
“For your phone,” he clarifies. “Pulled it off a meth head we caught in the woods a while back.”
“Right.” I shake my head and inspect it quickly. “Um...yeah. Thanks.”
He gestures for my phone, and I hand it over, then watch as he plugs in the cable and plugs the cable in to an outlet over the work bench. He glances at it, then at me.
“It’s charging,” he says.
“Great,” I say, lamely. “I guess I’ll just...wait.”
LJ glowers at me. His dark eyebrows are drawn in a hard set, his gaze laser-trained on me.
“I don’t know if I do.”
“If you do...what?” I ask, after a moment.
