Page 153 of Wicked Dreams

“I thought you locked it,” I whisper to her.

She cringes.

Caleb appears with Eli right behind him.

I groan. “There goes our safe haven.”

Caleb looks down at me. “Are you hiding?”

“No.”

“We just like the quiet,” Riley says.

Eli scowls. “Save it, Applebottom.”

“Let’s go.” Caleb offers his hand.

I shake my head. “The last time we went with you, bad things happened.”

He raises his eyebrow. “And if you don’t come with me now,worsethings will happen.”

I lean back and cross my arms. “No.”

He sighs, but I can tell he’s enjoying this. It’s not my fault I want to push all his buttons, and then some. His mind is working, coming up with the best punishment, and I wait with trepidation.

I started it, though. Too late to stop.

Caleb exchanges a glance with Eli. He seems to come to some decision.

He leans down and hauls me over his shoulder. I squeal when he straightens and I’m upside down, my ass in the air. I stare at his lower back and grab on to his waist.

“Oh my God.” Riley laughs.

“Are you going to come quietly?” Eli asks her.

“Yep.” She rises. “Sorry, Margo.”

Caleb’s arms are banded around my thighs, keeping me in place while he walks. The four of us pass Amy’s office. She glances up but quickly buries her head back in her book.

Traitor.

“Is my ass on display?” I hiss at Riley.

Caleb swears and shifts his hold. He pins my skirt down, although that’s not much better. He walks right into the cafeteria with me over his shoulder. My face is hot, but I know begging won’t stop him. Things have to be done his way. Always.

Without Amelie and Savannah here, the cheerleader table is quiet. No one wants to step up and own the bullying or their hatred of me. Still, they all whisper when Caleb and I pass. Eli and Riley follow us, and the whispers double.

Caleb pats my ass, then lowers me back to my feet. He’s careful about the skirt, and his burning gaze takes in my slightly rumpled shirt and hair.

I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

I glare at him and try to fix myself. Finger combing my hair, straightening my shirt and skirt. “Not cool.”

He shrugs. “I gave you a choice.”

“Not really,” I argue. “It’s not a choice if the end result is the same.”

His grin turns sly. “You could’ve walked here on your own two feet. Instead… I enjoyed the show.”

---