Page 83 of Love Sick
“At this stage, anything is possible. Joy was sleeping with Jonathan and seemed to have a strong connection with Misha. Could it be because Misha was Kyle’s half-brother?”
Vomit rises because that is beyond horrifying. But Joy was hardly one to grapple with her morals. Look what she did to my son.
“Either way, I can’t let anything happen to Kyle. Blood or not, he will always be Misha’s brother. He’s family, and I protect my family.”
Dutch nods and carefully picks him up. “I’ll put him in the bedroom. Noah knocked him out pretty hard. I don’t think he’ll be awake anytime soon.”
“Good.”
Dutch doesn’t ask questions as he leaves the room with Kyle over his shoulder.
The moment I’m alone with Noah, I inhale sharply as what he revealed sinks in. How can one person destroy the lives of so many? Especially someone as…regular as Noah.
Misha could have changed the world. But he never got the chance because this asshole played a part in his demise. I’m not blaming Noah because in the end, Misha’s choices were his alone. Just how Noah chooses to do horrible things.
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 to move. Once Dutch is done, he takes a step back, and without hesitation, slaps Noah across the face to wake him up.
I’m surprised he didn’t knock him out with the force, but Noah eventually comes to.
“Wha—” he slurs, his brain slowly playing catch-up when he tugs at the rope around his wrists.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I mock as he’s done to me many times.
“Untie me,” he demands, eyeing me something vicious.
I laugh in response. “How does it feel?”
He took great pleasure in binding me to that hospital bed, ensuring I was humiliated in every possible way. It’s now his turn.
“My memory is coming back,” I reveal. “I remember all the disgusting things that you’ve done. And I remember that you liked it.”
“Fuck you,” he spits, his bravado shining strong. That will change very soon.
“What happened to you for you to be this way? Didn’t your mommy hug you enough?”
Dutch chuckles, enjoying the show.
“Just so you know, your little boy did anything, and I mean anything, to score.” His demented smile is innuendo enough.
“I can’t change the past, but I can the present…one which you won’t be existing in.”
I reach for a packet of matches off the dirty counter, which is broken in half, and light a match. The flame is hypnotic as I brush a finger through it.
“Tell me what you did to Misha,” I say, lighting a few candles which have blown out. “How did you meet him?”
The warm hum of the candlelight dancing in the wind is the only sound which fills the room.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”