Page 107 of Bitter Truths

“Liz,” I say, turning to the brunette. “Talk to me.”

She doesn’t even try to run when I cut her zip ties. She just sits there shaking, staring at her two friends on the floor.

“Please,” she whispers. “We’ll do anything you want. We’ll disappear, we’ll never⁠—”

I drive my fist into her face. The impact sends her backward over the couch, blood arcing through the air like paint flung from a brush.

She lands hard, not moving for several seconds. When she sits up, her nose is flattened across her face, blood streaming down her chin.

I stomp on her hand. The bones crunch under my boot, splinters of white protruding through skin. Her scream echoes off the high ceilings.

With them thoroughly damaged, I make them recount every time they touched them, who they touched, and admit they knew they couldn’t consent.

I check my phone to make sure it recorded all the proof I wanted to collect.

“Now,” I continue, my voice deadly calm, “let me explain how this is going to work. You need to disappear. Pack your things and get out of town.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Rebecca whimpers. “We need a doctor. Whitney will ask questions if we don’t attend her party this weekend.”

A party? I think fucking not.

“Not my problem. Find an emergency room far away from here and tell them you fell off a fucking cliff for all I care. Tell Whitney you’re taking a vacation. Make sure you stay out of my sight because if I see your disgusting faces again, I can’t promise you’ll leave the reunion breathing.”

“We can’t just leave everything—” Katie tries to protest.

“You can and you will. Because the alternative is that I release these recordings to everyone you know: your families, your employers, every social media platform, every news outlet.” I hold up my phone. “One click, and the world knows what you are.”

“But Whitney will know something’s wrong…” Liz mumbles through her destroyed face.

“Like I said… making it convincing. Because if I see you again…” I move closer, letting them see the promise of death in my eyes. “If you ever go near them again, if Whitney or anyone else ever learns about this visit… I’ll find you, and this will look like a slumber party.”

I gather my supplies, leaving the ruined flower arrangement behind like a calling card. The white roses are soaked in blood now, petals scattered across the marble floor.

“Remember,” I say from the doorway, “nothing will save you if you cross me again. And I’ll be watching. Always.”

I walk out their front door as casually as I walked in, just another delivery person finished with her route. The open house is still bustling, providing perfect cover as I blend with the crowd and make my way back to Mom’s car.

My knuckles are split, and blood stains my black shirt, but it’s dark enough not to show. The recordings will be safely uploaded to multiple cloud accounts, insurance policies against any future problems.

Phase one complete.

A text from the alphas confirming tonight’s plan. Another from Mom asking how my errands went. I pull away from the curb, throwing my phone on the passenger seat.

If only she knew.

By tomorrow, Whitney’s three besties better be gone.

I inhale deeply and feel more relaxed than I have in a long time. Sweet, sweet justice.

The afternoon sun catches the blood under my fingernails as I grip the steering wheel.

The sight of it grounds me.

This is just the beginning.

21

BIANCA