Page 2 of The Enforcers: NOAH

Jesse’s cover story for sending Noah to Nashville was for him to track down some rogue shifters who had once been in the Nashville territory, but probably were long gone. Everybody knew that was a euphemism for “let the poor fucker pretend he’s doing something useful while keeping his untrustworthy ass away from anything that matters.”

He was also supposed to report to Jesse if the “take over the pack and kill Jesse Travis” faction got too unruly. Trying to bleed Noah didn’t count as overly unruly, though, so Tyrone tried it on a regular basis.

“You’re pathetic, Pussywolf,” Tyrone said now, shaking his head. “Look at this, boys.” He gestured to the minions. “Too much of a pussy to drink beer without falling over. Too much of a pussy to be an Enforcer. All he can do is follow women around, panting, begging them to tell him what to do.” Another pitying headshake. “No pack. No loyalty. Just the sound of that pussy-whip cracking.”

One of the minions obediently made a whip-crack gesture, complete with sound effect, and then meowed like a cat.

“Oooh, hilarious,” Noah said. “If you were twelve. When does the part about me kicking your ass start?” He waited a beat. “Never mind. I’ll start now.”

He punched Tyrone in the face before he remembered he was supposed to wait for the other guy to start the fight, so it wouldn’t be Noah’s fault. That’s what happened when you were drunk off your ass and tired of life.

Bad decisions.

Tyrone gave an infuriated roar at being blindsided. Noah heard a muttered “Oh, fuck it” to his left, where Donnie, one of Tyrone’s half-brothers, was shooting whiskey. Nash Jenkins had a crap-ton of sons, having been alpha for forty years and being unable to keep it in his pants for more than a minute or two.

Donnie was a decent wolf who didn’t like Tyrone either. He and Noah weren’t pals, exactly, but Donnie never minded an excuse to bleed Tyrone and his minions. Nash Jenkins had run a tight ship, so Donnie had years of frustration to exorcise.

He caught a barstool that one of the minions was swinging at Noah’s head and smashed the minion in the face with it. Noah took out another minion with a gut punch and a leg sweep, and turned on Tyrone.

Even shitfaced, he could hold his own. His Special Forces training kicked in along with the adrenalin, and he knew tricks Tyrone had never dreamed of.

And it felt so, so good to hit something.

It didn’t last long. The bar owners and bouncers threw them all out on their asses before they’d hardly had a chance to bloody the floor, and Noah found himself behind the wheel of his vintage red Trans Am, too drunk to drive and too pissed off to admit it.

He floored it, and roared off into the night.

He almost ran the car into the ditch on River Road before his drunken, angry fog cleared. The car was a beauty and it had taken him a year to restore it. Even if his own sorry carcass deserved to be crumpled against a tree, the car’s didn’t.

He skidded to a stop in a turnoff and sat behind the wheel, his wolf growling a low rumble in his chest.

Selina’s voice echoed in his ears.

You’re mine, Noah.

I need you to hurt them for me. You want to please me, don’t you?

Don’t you want to make me happy?

He saw thin lines of blood as she slit him with her razor-sharp scalpels. The blood dripped down, slicking his skin, and he could feel her tongue on him, lapping up the blood, pressing herself against him, making him want her.

He’d been such a fucking cocky bastard on the outside, convinced he could handle anything.

But on the inside he was soft. Needy. Wanting, wanting, wanting something he couldn’t name, and she’d latched onto him and he’d never even seen the shitstorm coming.

Never said “no.”

The other voices echoed, softly. His healers. His old boss, Kane Colton. Everyone who fucking felt sorry for him.

You couldn’t help it. Her power was too strong. No one could stand against her.

But someone had. Years ago, Kane had told Selina Douglass to fuck off, and he’d broken free.

If Kane could do it, Noah should have been able to do it too. But he was too fucking weak and needy.

You need me, Noah. You need me… need me… need me…

He barely got the car door open before his wolf burst out, shaky and disoriented from the alcohol and the adrenalin and that voice that wouldn’t stop wouldn’t stop wouldn’t stop.

He tumbled onto the ground next to the open car door, his bones snapping as his body shifted, fighting his tangled clothes and shredding them.

Get away. Get away.

He ran, but the voices wouldn’t go away. They were in his head, and they wouldn’t stop wouldn’t stop and he ran harder and faster, not looking where he was going, not using his nose or his senses because if he ran fast enough it would all be gone, please just let it all be gone.

He never had a chance.

He crashed through the underbrush and the trap snapped around his leg with a crunch of bones and a sickly metallic “clang.” Steel teeth severed muscles and nerves, shredding the flesh, and he let out a howl of pure anguish into the unforgiving night.