Noah grabs my arm and spins me bodily into his workbench. I scramble to grab ahold of it, catching my weight, the wooden edge digging into my ass as Noah’s hand grips the front of my throat. He wedges his knee between my legs and drives it upwards, forcing me harder against the table. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, voice dangerously low, his eyes dark in the limited light of the barn. “What do you want from me, Colt?”
