He’d followed the directions word for word, and once he had Presley outside of their makeshift prison, a string of profanities left his lips over the fact he couldn’t make his legs work correctly. Maybe it was because he hadn’t used them in so long, or maybe it was still a lingering effect of the drug; all he knew in that moment was that his legs felt like play-doh and he was becoming increasingly agitated. “You don’t have to carry me,” Presley said gently as she gazed up at him. “I think it would be easier if you put me down.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lorcan said through clenched teeth, taking another shaky step forward as he glanced down at her. “You’re not wearing any shoes.” Presley stared up at him in disbelief. “Have you forgotten where I grew up?” She asked, squirming in his arms. “Let me down! I’ll be fine.” “Stop being stubborn for five minutes,”
