Chapter 23

Noah

I focus on the clock on my office desk, illuminated by the warm glow of the lamp next to it. The second-hand jumps in circles as it counts down the last seconds to midnight. I raise the glass of whiskey to my lips and take a small sip, the liquor burning on the tip of my tongue. Closing my eye, I lean back in my leather chair, savoring the tingling sensation.

If Evelyn saw me drinking, all hell would break loose. I'm not allowed to have any alcohol while I'm on these mighty painkillers, but since I'm fighting another sleepless night, I'm hoping it will knock me out and allow me to catch up on at least a few hours of sleep, hopefully without nightmares. It's been four weeks since they rescued me, two weeks since I fully woke up. And still, every time I close my eyes and try to sleep, I'm haunted by the paralyzing fear of waking up in that concrete hole again and realizing it was all just a fever dream.

Evelyn is already out cold, sound asleep, enjoying the company of a stuffed animal I slipped into her arms as a replacement for me. She didn't even stir when I snuck out of bed, and I don't blame her. Usually it takes her forever to fall asleep, tossing and turning until she finds the perfect position, either in my arms or touching me in some way. But over the course of the last few weeks, in which she has spent every waking minute taking care of me, it seems to have become the norm for her to pass out the moment her head hits the pillow.

Like a weighted blanket, guilt drapes itself over me, suffocating me. My throat tightens and it becomes harder to breathe. She shouldn't have to deal with this, shouldn't have to take care of me like this, when it's all my…

My mind drifts to Kyle resting peacefully in our guest room. What happened was my fault. I knew Evelyn was against it, had her doubts about the whole ordeal, but I took the chance anyway. However, it is not solely my fault. He was the one who came asking for help, he was the one in charge, in contact with our client and contact person; he should have seen something was off.

With each beat of my heart, my guilt transforms into frustration and slowly but surely into anger. As if on autopilot, I push myself off the chair, kicking it back, raise my glass to my lips, and swallow my drink in one big chug. Then I pull open my desk drawer and grab one of my trusty Butterfly knives before stepping around my desk and leaving my office, heading down the hall to the guest bedroom where Kyle is sleeping.

Instead of knocking, I twist the handle and the door swings open without a sound thanks to the perfectly oiled hinges. Inside the room, illuminated by the dimly lit hallway behind me, my sight lands on Kyle's heavily tattooed back, lying on the bed. His shoulders rise and fall in a steady, calm rhythm.

I clutch the handle of the knife as I take four long steps toward the bed. It's cowardly to kill someone in their sleep, but right now I'm at a disadvantage and if he was awake, he would overpower me in no time. So, my only option is something as dishonorable as this.

The moment I raise my arm, gripping the knife tightly as I get ready to swing, Kyle jerks, shoots up to his knees, and his hand jumps up to grab my wrist. "Ah, not so fast!" He grins at me.

"Let me go." I glare at him.

"So you can stab me in my sleep? I was expecting more creativity from you."

I curl my tongue, collect a good amount of saliva, and spit in his face. "Shut up." He just grins at the impact of my spit striking his face.

"Come on, you're stronger than that, even if you're injured and have to use your weak hand," Kyle barks, squeezing the wrist of my right hand. My arm in his grip begins to shake as he squeezes harder and harder, preventing my blood from reaching my fingers. My left hand tingles, my fingers twitching nervously with the need to punch him. "Come on, Noah, show me your old self, I know you're in there." Gritting my teeth and ignoring the fact that my fingers have just healed enough to bend again, I push through the pain, which is nothing more than a faint sensation, swallowed up by the raw intensity of my rage brewing inside. I clench my left hand into a fist, my short nails digging into my palms, and I strike, aiming for Kyle's jaw and hitting him with every ounce of strength I can muster. His head whips to the side; his lip bursts and blood splatters on the beige sheets. A sickening crack runs through my bones, followed by a sharp, searing pain that shoots up my arm like a bolt of lightning.

"That's all you got?" he grunts, turning to look at me. "Come on, pussy, you're mad at me, let it out." My breath quickens, and with each sharp gasp, it fuels the fire that is raging inside me. The pain is relentless, a throbbing, stabbing sensation that doesn't let up for a second, but I push through it. Raising my fist again, I aim for Kyle's jaw once more. His head whips around yet again. "Yes!" he groans. "That was much better!"

Still holding my right hand, Kyle yanks the knife from my grasp, shoves me away, and flings it across the room before getting off the bed and stalking toward me. "More! Come on!" Kyle yells. We meet halfway and for the first time, Kyle attacks as well, ramming his shoulder into my stomach and slamming me into the wall, knocking the air out of my lungs with a low groan.

I slip a leg between his and wrap mine around his, pushing into the back of his knee and his body gives in. Throwing my weight on him, I tackle him to the ground, straddling his chest and wrapping my fingers around his throat, feeling his pulse under my fingers as I squeeze shut.

"Good," Kyle chokes out. "That's the Noah I know, the one Evelyn knows." His face reddens, the veins in his temple throb. "If you're not strong enough, your Little Dove will leave your sorry, disfigured ass." His comment only feeds the anger that rages inside me.

"Leave her out of this!" Squeezing harder, I let out a low growl, the sound echoing in my throat. It feels good—so good—to let the storm inside me take over.

Lost in the daze, Kyle throws his arms around me, his hands landing on the back of my head and slamming it forward, meeting me halfway. I squeeze my eye shut and groan in pain as our heads collide in a brutal blast.

"Stop!" A shrill scream, followed by the thunderous explosion of a gunshot and the shattering glass of the lamp on the nightstand, echoes through the room, stopping us. Our hands slip from each other as we break apart and turn toward the source of the scream, only to find Evelyn standing in the doorway with a steaming gun pointed at both of us. "Whatever you two are doing, stop this bullshit and go back to bed."

Kyle and I sit next to each other on the floor, our hands raised in surrender as she alternates between aiming at both of us. God, she looks so damn beautiful standing there in her short, white satin nightgown that highlights the curves of her body. The gun in her hand adds a dangerous flavor to her otherwise soft appearance that leaves me completely spellbound.

"Noah Philip Holman, get up and go back to our room." Her words snap me out of my trance, and I shake my head to clear my mind. "Kyle Bennett, get back in bed," she orders and we both move without saying a word. We rise to our feet and I turn to face Kyle, who looks at me with a grin. I offer him a quick apologetic smile before I follow Evelyn's orders and walk past her, out of the room and back to our bedroom.

Close behind me, Evelyn slams the door shut with a loud thunderous thud. "What the hell was that?"

"I tried to kill Kyle," I say, sitting down on the edge of my side of the bed. Something warm trickles down my nose, followed by the unmistakable taste of blood seeping into my mouth. I tilt my head forward and raise my hand to wipe it off. The back of it turns bright red and I grimace at the sight.

"Are you out of your mind?" she asks, throwing the pistol on the bed before walking to me, cupping my cheeks in her hands and examining my face.

"Did you just notice this now?" I quirk my eyebrows at her.

"You're not funny." I wince as her hand lands on my cheek in the form of a light slap before grabbing some tissues from my nightstand and starts to wipe my nose. I sniff and flinch as the motion triggers a dull pain deep in my nostrils. "Hold still," she says, her voice soft but firm. The pain in my nose intensifies for a moment as she wipes away the dried blood, and I clench my jaw to keep from flinching again. "Your face looks okay, no blood is seeping through the band-aid covering your stitches, so your eye socket should be all right. You may end up with a bruise tomorrow, but nothing seems to be broken again." She sighs and lets go of me, tossing the blood-stained tissues into the small trash can beside my nightstand.

Then she takes my left hand in hers and examines my fingers. Her brows are furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a thin line as she tests each finger individually, carefully curling and then stretching them. A dull pain shoots up my arm, but it's bearable, not as bad as the initial punch. "Your hand is fine too," she says. "You should sleep, rest and recover. Kyle told me you would try, but for God's sake, give yourself time." She lets go of my hand and crosses her arms in front of her chest, her eyes narrowed as she looks at me.

I lower my head, feeling the weight of guilt pressing down on me. "I know," I mutter, not meeting her gaze. "Let's just go back to sleep," I say, then scoot back onto the bed.

She remains silent for a moment, standing there with her eyes boring into me. She tries to hide her anger, but the deep lines on her forehead give her away. "Alright." She lets out another sigh and climbs back into bed. The mattress dips under her weight as she puts the pistol back in the drawer of her nightstand before slipping under the covers with me and wrapping her arms around me.

"Just…please take it easy, no more fighting tonight, promise?"

"Yeah," I nod, offering her a weak smile.

And then, just a few minutes after her head hits the pillow, her breathing evens out and she drifts back to sleep.