Chapter 65 Noah
Chapter sixty-five
Noah
Itug at my hair, pacing, my heart thundering against my sternum. “This isn’t okay. He doesn’t sound okay in there.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Mercer seethes. He doesn’t look up from the device in his hand. “He sounds like a raging lunatic because he is a raging lunatic.”
I can’t make out the words, just the tone of his cries and the pounding of his fists and body against the door.
As soon as he sent word, I headed for the barn.
But by the time I got here, Mercer had shoved the kid into a small storage shed in the back of the space and secured the latch.
He says he did it for the kid’s own good.
That he was violently thrashing out, and that he was going to hurt someone or himself if he wasn’t contained.
Contained.
He’s locked in a fucking storage shed, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t right.
I can’t stop looking at the shed. Despite everything Tytus has done, he doesn’t deserve this. I should just walk over and fucking let him out.
“He’s going to get hurt,” I reason.
This is bad. This is really fucking bad.
If he gets hurt on my property, on my watch—
“If he does, it’ll be his own doing,” Mercer says coldly. “There. Everything’s deleted.” He nods once, pockets the phone, and turns to me. “As soon as he settles, we’ll let him out and talk to him.”
I inch closer to the shed. The kid’s sobbing. Screaming incoherently about a rattle. This isn’t right. This isn’t okay.
“We can’t do this. It’s too much, Merce. I’m going to—”
“What’s going on?”
I spin around, my heart in my throat.
Sawyer stands in the doorway, her confused gaze flitting from me to Mercer, then finally to the source of the noise behind us.
Fuck.