Page 43 of All Jacked Up

“I can drive my rental. You don’t have to take me. I’m clearly not an emotional wreck about this,” I told him.

“My truck is right there,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of it.

“And my rental is over there.” I pointed.

His fingers wrapped around my upper arm, and he began walking again toward his truck, forcing me to go with him.

“You don’t have to drag me,” I complained.

“Would you rather I pick you up and toss you over my shoulder?”

I cut my eyes up at him. “I’m too heavy for you to do that. Not a good threat.”

He stopped then, and his brows shot up as if I’d laid down a challenge. That was not what I had been doing. When he took a step toward me, I took one back, shaking my head. Surely, he was not about to try and pick me up. The humiliation from that would be more than I could handle.

“Don’t you da—”

Before the last word could leave my mouth, I was off my feet and draped over his shoulder. I stared down at the pavement, shocked into silence. Then we were moving.

He hadn’t even grunted. Was this man taking steroids?

A loud smack landed on my butt, and the spot began to sting.

“OW!” I shouted, then began to wiggle free, but his grip around my legs was strong and unmovable.

“Keep that up, and I’ll do it again.”

I stilled.

“You hit me,” I pointed out.

“No, Shakespeare. I spanked your ass.”

The damn tingles were back, and they should be ashamed of themselves.

“Same thing!” I argued, trying to gain control over my reactions to this man.

“No, it isn’t. Hitting is what bastards do out of anger. Spanking is what happens to bad girls. You were being difficult and got spanked.”

He stopped then, and I heard the door unlock before he opened it. Then he leaned in and set me down on his leather seat. When my butt was no longer in the air and I was upright again, I looked at him, expecting him to say something, then close the door. But he didn’t move. He was close enough that I could smell the mint from his toothpaste on his breath.

“I didn’t do anything to get spanked for.” I tried to soundangry, but it came out a little breathless.

“Yeah, you did,” he replied. “You called yourself heavy. Don’t do that shit again.” Then he moved back, his eyes not leaving mine while he closed the door.

I sucked in air when he finally broke the contact and made his way around the front of the truck.

Every cell in my body felt as if it was buzzing with electricity. I crossed my legs to give the ache between them some friction. I needed to get myself under control. I was here to bury or cremate my mother. Not become some lust-driven hussy.

Had I really just used the wordhussy?

Sweet Jesus, someone save me from myself.

Fourteen

Ransom

It would figure the one fucking time I’d spent fighting the urge to check on Noa’s location, she was in Madison.

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