Chapter 105: Bound in Shadows
Noah’s POV
When was the first time I’d seen my brother drunk?
It was a memory that burned in the back of my brain like acid. The moment I saw him stumbling, unable to hold his own weight, I made a solemn promise to myself that I would never, ever let him touch alcohol again. Back then, I was lucky it was just me in the house when i found him in that state. What if father had been home? What if he had caught Micah slurring his words and completely defenceless? Or worse—what if Micah had gotten drunk somewhere outside at a wild party where I wasn’t around to protect him?
I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing my dear Micah with someone else. Just imagining another person putting their hands on him made my blood boil with a violent, possessive rage.
Well, that’s what I thought until tonight. Until I found out my own brother had gotten drunk and done something filthy with that arrogant bastard Damon.
And then today happened.
I had a hundred and one questions screaming in my head to ask Micah. Why did he go to that club? What was he doing there in the first place? He better find a damn good answer for me when he wakes up tomorrow morning, or I’ll end up burning that entire club to the ground until there’s nothing left but ash.
Thanks to him and his foolish stunt tonight, I’ll probably get called into the coach’s office tomorrow morning, too. I ended up breaking the fingers of the captain of our rival hockey team right before our big competition because the bastard thought he could mess with my territory. My fists were still sore, my knuckles bruised, and my mind was a chaotic storm of pure frustration.
"Do you need help opening the door?"
Damon’s annoying, smug voice penetrated my ears, slicing straight through my dark thoughts.
I froze on the front porch, clutching Micah tightly in my arms. Micah was completely out cold, his face pressed against the crook of my neck, his soft, warm breath fanning against my collarbone.
I turned around slowly, glaring at Damon with cold, unfiltered hatred.
"Why the hell are you still here?" I frowned at him, my voice dripping with warning.
Damon folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head to the side as a mockingly playful smirk spread across his lips.
"What?" Damon drawled, leaning back against the side of his car. "Are you going to deny me now, captain? After all we’ve been through together on that leather bed?"
A surge of white-hot anger flared in my chest. "You seem to be mistaking something," I said, my voice dropping into a lethal whisper so I wouldn’t disturb Micah. "I only let you touch Micah back there because he needed your help and I didn’t want to touch his clean body with my bloodstained hands. There was no other reason."
I stepped closer to the edge of the steps, locking my eyes onto his with absolute promise.
"Don’t think this is a chance for you to get close to my brother," I growled, letting every ounce of my dominance press down on him. "Stay the fuck away from him."
Damon lifted both of his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes didn’t show an ounce of fear. His gaze shifted down to Micah’s sleeping face for a quick second, a faint, unreadable shadow passing through his eyes before he looked back up at me.
"See you tomorrow, captain!" Damon said, letting out a short laugh as he turned, opened his driver’s door, and slid inside.
I watched his car pull out of the driveway and speed off into the night until his taillights vanished down the road.
"Bastard," I muttered under my breath, turning back toward the house.
I unlocked the front entrance and stepped inside, shutting the door firmly behind me. The house was dead quiet. I walked up the mini staircase, my boots echoing softly against the wood, and headed straight into my master bedroom.
I walked over to the king-sized bed and gently laid Micah down on the soft mattress.
Even now, as he lay there motionless, I could still perceive the sharp, bitter smell of heavy alcohol clinging to his skin and hair. I leaned down, gently brushing a few loose strands of hair away from his smooth forehead. He looked so quiet, so delicate, and so undeniably Micah when he was fast asleep.
A heavy weight of regret hit my chest. I knew it. I should have known better. After telling him the harsh truth about our family today, I should have locked him up in this room. I should have locked the doors and kept him hidden away where nobody could ever reach him. That way, no one would have been able to lay a single filthy hand on him—especially not those disgusting, predatory people from that club.
I walked into the adjoining bathroom, grabbed a bowl of warm water and a fresh cloth, and came back to the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, I began cleaning him up. I unzipped the lingering remnants of that ridiculous dress, wiping away the sweat and grime from his neck, shoulders, and arms. Every time he let out a soft, unconscious sigh under my touch, my heart squeezed tighter with an overwhelming mixture of anger, relief, and deep, possessive affection.
Once his skin was clean, I pulled a soft pair of dark nightwear from my closet and carefully changed him out of the gown. I lifted his limp arms, pulling the shirt over his head and buttoning it up to his collar before pulling the thick duvet over his body.
Just as I finished setting him comfortably against the pillows, my phone vibrated violently in my pocket.
I pulled it out, seeing the caller ID, and answered immediately.
"Boss," my butler’s deep, steady voice echoed through the speaker. "Their second target has been kidnapped."
"Understood," I murmured coldly, my eyes fixed on Micah’s sleeping face.
"Should we deploy the extraction team yet, sir?" the butler asked.
"No. Keep monitoring their movements from a distance. Don’t engage until I give the explicit command," I ordered.
"Understood, boss."
I ended the call and dropped the phone onto the nightstand.
I stood there for a moment, taking one final, long look at Micah to make sure he was resting peacefully. Satisfied that he was safe for the moment, I grabbed my encrypted laptop from the desk, turned off the main lights, and quietly left the bedroom, closing the door behind me.
I walked down to dinning, pulled out the chair, and flipped the laptop open.
My mind was racing with a million dark calculations. As much as I needed to gather enough hard proof to completely expose my father and his criminal syndicate for all the atrocious things they were doing—and all the sick, ambitious plans they were about to carry out next—I needed to make sure they didn’t touch the wrong people in the process.
Someone like my father wouldn’t give a damn if an innocent person got caught in the crossfire. Would he even care if Micah himself was kidnapped? The thought alone made my stomach turn into a tight knot of fury. What were father’s men doing to those kidnapped targets right now? Were they torturing them in some dark basement? Were they starving them? Or were they faring well under strict guard?
According to the classified files I had managed to hack from my father’s private server, ’Plan Mayor’ was an elaborate, twisted scheme manufactured by the syndicate to guarantee total political control over the city.
The strategy was sickeningly simple: the criminal group wanted to seize the upcoming mayoral election, so they selected a puppet candidate from within their own high-ranking ranks. To make the public desperate for a strong, decisive leader, the group initiated a series of high-profile kidnappings across various influential families in the city.
Once a specific number of innocent people were abducted and the city was paralyzed with fear, public outrage would reach a boiling point. Citizens would protest, demanding answers and safety from the current government. That was when father’s candidate would step forward, making grand, heroic promises to track down the criminals and personally rescue the missing citizens.
And then, the final act would take place—a completely staged, pretense rescue mission. Father’s syndicate would ’save’ the hostages on live television, while framing completely innocent, low-level street thugs as the evil abductors. The public would hail father’s candidate as a local hero, securing every single vote in the city.
How fucking cunning. How ruthless.
My fingers flew across the keyboard as I composed an encrypted email directly to a famous, unbribable investigative reporter in the city.
’I have information you want. It can make you the top reporter in this city. Reply to this message if you’re interested.’
I hit send and slammed the laptop shut with a loud, echoey click.
Her response tomorrow morning will tell if my plan is ready to move forward and shatter my father’s empire once and for all.
I raised my hand, pressing my palm hard against my forehead. A dull, thumping headache was throbbing behind my eyes. Today had been an absolute nightmare—fighting at the rink, dealing with George Jenson’s bloody mess at the club, watching Damon put his hands on Micah, and now managing this political war against my own family.
I let out a hard, exhausted yawn that shook my entire chest. I stood up from the desk, pushed the chair back, and walked out of the dinning area.
I returned to my master bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind me. The soft ambient light illuminated the bed where Micah was sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to the war I was fighting to keep him safe.
I walked over to the side of the bed, reaching down to unbutton my shirt. I stripped the heavy fabric off my body, letting it drop carelessly onto the floor. My shoulders were tense, my muscles aching from the physical and mental toll of the day.
I pulled back the heavy duvet and laid down on the mattress right behind my dear Micah.
The moment I slid my arm around his narrow waist and pulled his body back flush against my chest, the overwhelming tension in my body began to melt away. Feeling his warm, soft body pressed tightly against mine was the only thing that could quiet the chaotic storm inside my head.
Micah stirred slightly in his sleep at the shift in weight. He let out a tiny, soft whimpering noise, instinctively turning his head back toward me. He buried his nose against my neck, his small hand weakly reaching up to clutch at my arm, pulling me even closer to him.
"Noah..." Micah mumbled softly in his sleep, his warm breath tickling my throat.
My heart thudded heavily against my ribs. A surge of intense, suffocating possessiveness swept through my veins, so powerful it almost made me lose my breath. I tightened my hold around his waist, burying my face into his hair, breathing in his scent now that the bitter smell of alcohol was gone.
He was mine. No matter what happened with our father, no matter what Damon thought he could pull, and no matter how many corrupt politicians I had to destroy—Micah belonged right here, locked in my arms where no one could ever reach him again.
I closed my eyes, pulling him flush against my chest until there wasn’t a single inch of distance between us.
Fuck, maybe burning his room was the best decision I’ve ever made.