Page 113 of Bitter Truths

My pulse jumps erratically. The air in the room thickens, pressing against my chest, making each breath an effort as Weller turns slowly, fixing his eyes on mine.

A dark chuckle slips from his throat, full of threat and promise.

“I’d hunt her down and make sure escape is the last thing she ever craves.”

His words sink deep, possessive and certain.

It’s getting hot in here. And Weller isn’t the only one looking like he’d use questionable methods of keeping me here if I ever decided to run.

They look downright unhinged at the thought.

Not that they have a choice in the matter… but not the time to bring my mood down. We can all just live in fantasy land for the night and pretend we don’t have a gaggle of big bads trying to keep us apart.

“Bianca.” Weller’s eyes pierce through me, dark and intense. “Truth or dare.”

I swallow hard. “Truth.”

“Did you lie about what happened to your knuckles?”

The question steals my breath. I braced for intrusive curiosity about the lost years, not about tonight’s fresh damage.

“I...” I hesitate, the truth burning under my tongue. “Yes. I did. But I don’t want to get into it right now. Please.”

Weller studies me in silence, eyes narrowed as if weighing the cost of pressing further. After a long moment, he gives a single nod and leans back, signaling he will let it rest. The others follow his lead but not his calm. Regardless, tonight the question stays unanswered.

“Freddie.” I pivot quickly. “Truth or dare.”

“Dare.” His smile remains sweet and trusting, golden boy to his core.

“I dare you to let Tristan draw on your face with this.” I snatch a pen from the desk. “No looking until we finish playing.”

Freddie laughs, tension releasing from his shoulders. “Go for it.”

Tristan accepts the pen with evil glee, drawing what looks suspiciously like a dick on Freddie’s cheek. We laugh as he works, lightness returning to the game.

“Tristan.” Freddie remains oblivious to his new facial art, and it makes me giggle every time I look at it. “Truth or dare.”

“Dare.” Mischief sparks in Tristan’s eyes.

“I dare you to let Bianca sit on your lap for fifteen minutes.”

The laughter dies instantly. Tristan’s eyes darken to midnight.

Oh geez.

“If she’s willing.”

My legs tremble as I stand. “Why not?”

Tristan shifts in his chair, making room. I perch on his thighs, trying to maintain distance between our bodies. His hands circle my waist, long fingers spanning wide as he pulls me flush against him.

“Fifteen minutes.” His breath burns against my ear. “Settle in, sweetheart.”

His hold claims me, hands splayed across my stomach. I feel his heat through my dress, solid beneath me. Each breath presses my back to his chest, my ass against his⁠—

Oh.

Oh.