Page 18 of Forbidden Deviant Games

He doesn’t respond immediately, and at first, I think it’s because he’s still mad at me, but as we travel back towards the main part of Eastpoint, I frown when we pass the road that takes us to the campus.

“Hey,” I say, leaning to the side, “campus is back that way.”

“I know,” he grunts.

"If you know, then why aren’t you turning around?” I demand. “You said you were taking me home.”

“I said I was taking you home,” he agrees. “I didn’t say anything about it beingyourhome.”

My eyes narrow on him. “Mitchell.”

His head turns and he meets my gaze when I say his name—hisrealname. “You fucked up last night, Haley,” he says. “If you need to, you can think of this as your punishment.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” I hold my hands up. My head is fucking killing me and his words are only serving to make the pain that much worse. “What are you talking about? Think of what as my punishment?”

“He knows who you are, Haley,” Viks says. “You didn’t think of that when you disobeyed me and went after him. But he’s seen your face now. He knows who you are and he knows…” His hands clench down on the steering wheel and he cuts himself off for maybe two or three seconds before continuing. “Well, suffice it to say, you’re a possible target now for him. If this even goes to trial, you’ll be able to testify against him.”

I give him a bland look. “Don’t even try that bullshit with me,” I reply testily. “‘If this goes to trial?’” As if Nicholas Carter would ever let it be a fair trial. No. I’m not so stupid to think that this is all from the goodness of his heart. The rich people of Eastpoint are like wild animals—protective and possessive over their territories. Whoever this drug dealer is, when Viks—and therefore, Nicholas Carter—get ahold of him, he’s as good as dead.

Viks doesn’t respond to my comment, and still, he hasn’t answered my first question.

“Where are you taking me?” I repeat.

“Like I said,” he says, “you’re going home.”

“Fine,” I grit out the word through clenched teeth. “Whose home?” Even as I ask the question, though, I have both a sinking feeling and a sneaking suspicion that I already know.

He turns into the parking lot of what I know to be a very high-end apartment building—the kind rich kids play in when mommy and daddy want their space. He parks the SUV and turns to me as he unclips his seatbelt.

“My home, Haley,” he says finally. “For the next few weeks—or however long it takes for me to catch that asshole—you’re staying with me.”

Fuck. Me.

10

HALEY

Viks doesn’t waitfor me to say anything more as he gets out of the car. He also doesn’t really give me much of a choice otherwise either. I’m not wearing shoes, after all. He circles the SUV, opens my door, and lifts me back into his arms after unclipping my seatbelt himself because I refuse to.

“This is fucking ridiculous!” I argue, coughing as my voice heightens in pitch and burns through my vocal cords. Viks merely hefts me higher against his chest. “I can’t stay with you,” I try to insist. My hand lands between his pecs and the tightness of his shirt makes it clear just how fucking jacked he is. I swallow roughly. Yes, staying with him is not a good idea. Not at fucking all.

Dark gray eyes cut down to me as he marches towards the sliding glass doors of the apartment complex. We step inside and my face flames as I spot the security guard stationed across from the entry. The poor man takes one look at the two of us and breaks his casual facade as his brows shoot up towards his already receding hairline.

“Viks!” I hunker down, practically burying my face against his chest. “Put me down,” I practically beg. “Please.”

He doesn’t even break his stride. In fact, his only response happens when we hit the elevators. “Grab my keycard out of my pocket,” he orders.

I look up at his face. “And if I don’t?” If I don’t then he’ll have to put me down, right?

His cool eyes meet mine once more. “You’re testing the limits of my patience, sweetheart.”

I reluctantly slip my hand into his pocket—trying hard not to think about what else is nearby. The only thing I can feel aside from his car keys is a flat card that turns out to be black when I pull it out. “Is this it?”

He nods. “Swipe it against the elevator button,” he orders, moving me closer so I can lean over and do so. The elevator doors slide open and he steps inside.

“Which floor?”

He shakes his head as the doors shut behind us. “The card only takes us to the appropriate floor—they’ll probably put in codes soon so there’s no need for the card itself.”

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