Page 109 of Filthy Elites

I grumble and curse, but turn and plop down regardless. “This is really unnecessary,” I say.

“So was you not listening to me,” he replies. “Yet you seem to be a fucking master at that.”

I look back at him over my shoulder as he begins to push me towards the elevator doors. “I said I was sorry.”

His jaw clenches. “Yeah, well, sorry isn’t going to cut it.”

I don’t know what to say to that so I decide to say nothing at all. The ride down the elevator is the longest and most uncomfortable one I’ve ever been on. Once we’re out in the parking lot, he steers me to a familiar dark SUV—the same one he’d taken me to lunch in before. The wheelchair comes to a stop on the passenger side and before I can even stand up, he has the door open and his arms around me.

A gasp escapes my throat as he lifts me easily and deposits me into the vehicle. “Seatbelt,” he commands before slamming the door shut.

I gape after him as he hurries back into the building, handing the wheelchair off to a nurse on the bottom floor before charging back out towards me. Realizing that I still haven’t put my seatbelt on, I jerk into action and click the belt into place just as he climbs into the driver’s seat. He glances my way before putting his key into the ignition and cranking the engine.

“Thank you for taking me home,” I say, breaking the silence.

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.

TEN

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.

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