Strip Like A Good Slave.

Calla's POV:

I watched him pace in the moonlight, still trying fruitlessly to get a call across. The night was exceedingly cold and I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. We had been here for hours, lost and our ride is basically useless.

“No signal,” he muttered, shaking it like that would help. “Dead. Of course. Shit!!!” He cursed out, loudly and I shivered again.

He tried again, walking a few feet to the right. Lifted it high, walked left.

Still nothing.

“I said I was sorry,” I said quietly, dreading his response.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked like a whip. “Don’t do that thing where you act innocent. You knew the way. You knew it—and you led us here on purpose.”

I stared at him, the cold wind cutting through my sweater. “I didn’t—”

“You want us to be late, don’t you? That’s what this is. Sabotage.”

I blinked. “What?”

His eyes glinted with fury. “I told you it was important. I told you not to mess this up. But no—let’s trust the woman who suddenly found a personality cult in her