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“Outside,” Briggs says.

“I didn’t do anything,” I argue.

Clint’s brow lifts.

“Okay, fine. I did some things, but I didn’t punch anyone.”

“Yet,” he says.

“I was provoked.”

“You were dancing with a stranger to piss us off.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

His eyes sharpen just enough to make heat crawl up my neck. “Thought so.”

Before I can form a decent insult, he bends, hooks an arm behind my knees, and tosses me over his shoulder.

I yelp loud enough to turn heads. “Clint!”

His arm locks across the backs of my thighs as he starts walking.

“Put me down!”

“No.”

I smack his back with both hands. “I swear to God, I will bite you.”

“Go ahead.”

“You can’t just carry me out of a bar like a sack of feed.”

“You’re louder than feed.”

My hair falls over my face, my stomach pressed to his shoulder, the bar tilting sideways as he carries me toward the door.

A sharp smack lands on my ass and my mouth drops open.

“Did you just swat me?”

“Yep.”

I gasp, offended down to my bones. “You fucking asshole caveman alpha dick.”

Tripp laughs behind us. “She’s got you there.”

“Shut up,” Clint says.

I twist enough to glare at him upside down, which doesn’t work because all I see is Tripp’s grin and Briggs walking behind him, holding my purse with the same expression a man might wear while hauling evidence away from a crime scene.

“Briggs,” I call. “Help me.”

His eyes flick up. “No.”

“Douchebag.”

“You could’ve just asked us for attention.”