Every choice has a consequence—and I am Noah’s.
Gripping both his ankles, I drag him into the kitchen, taking great satisfaction in every sharp shred of debris that sticks into him. He groans but is too out of it to fight back. I drop his legs and peer around the room for something to tie him with.
Dutch appears, old rope in hand like he read my mind. “The attic,” he explains, and it doesn’t surprise me.
He walks over to Noah and yanks him up by the front of his T-shirt. Noah hangs like a raggedy doll as Dutch displays his strength and throws him into a rickety wooden chair. His anger is apparent, and I won’t lie. The alpha in him turns me on.
He jerks Noah’s arms behind his back and commences tying him up. This won’t hold Noah for long, so I have to ensure he’s far too incapacitated t
