Page 114 of Vile Boys

I roll my eyes. “Sure.”

“Believe what you want,” he quips, jaw tensing.

“So where are we going, then?”

He glances back and forth between me and the road. “I’m taking you the fuck home. Where else?”

I rub my lips together and look away. “Impressive. I don’t believe a single word you’re saying.”

“Then don’t,” he growls, shifting gear so fast that I almost fall over.

“You don’t have to protect me. I’m not your fucking girlfriend,” I retort.

“I will protect what belongs tome,” he grits back, eyes fixated on mine for a moment. “You knew what you signed up for when you made that deal with us.”

“Out of necessity,” I add.

“You’re ours.” He continues. “To play with. To use as we see fit.” His eyes trail down my body and the short dress I’m wearing. “And you will do as we say.”

I pull the coat even tighter, but it won’t cover up all my skin.

Fuck.

He drives faster and faster through the city, not giving a shit that he’s running red lights.

“You’re going too fast,” I say.

“I don’t fucking care,” he growls, shifting gears again.

“Why are you in such a rush?”

“I need to get the fuck away from there,” he grits. “Before I turn around and run over the rest too.”

My breath falters. “The rest?”

“You thought those five fuckers went to that club by themselves? It was a group of twenty dudes,” he says, grinding his teeth. “They all frequent that club looking for easy chicks to score and dump while they’re intoxicated.”

“Shit,” I mutter, moving in my seat to grab the door. “Brooke’s in there.”

His hand suddenly grips my thigh, fingers digging into my skin to keep me in place. “She’s not with one of them. I checked,” he says. “You’re not going back there.”

I gulp, but he doesn’t remove his hand, and for some reason, I can’t stop focusing on how each finger splays against my inner thigh and how much my heart rate picks up with every passing second that his fingers touch me.

Slowly, his fingers start to inch up.

“Caleb. You’re speeding.”

“I can’t help it. I want you out of my fucking car as fast as possible,” he grits.

I try to swat his hand away, but he won’t let go.

“Do you even fucking know why?” he says, throwing intense glances my way.

I swallow and shake my head, the alcohol making me feel dizzy.

Or maybe it’s from the obsessive way he’s looking at me.

And the possessive way his fingers inch closer and closer to my most sensitive spot.

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