Page 124 of Bitter Truths

“We need to discuss safety protocols.” Owen’s voice is all control. His body? Not helping. Bare chest, boxers, nothing else. I feel my jaw clench.

“Safe from what? Whitney?”

“Not just her, but yes. If she finds any proof about our time together––”

“What? She’ll kill me?” I laugh, humorlessly.

“If she thinks you’re a threat to her control over us...” Freddie’s voice wavers.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” I say, my voice confident because I don’t give a fuck about Whitney. If she wants a confrontation… I’m happy to give her one. “I’ll stay with my parents, visit Winston… you know, pretend everything is normal and not like my life is a total fucking nightmare. I’ve gotten really good at that.”

They freeze.

“That might not be enough, little bee,” Tristan says. “We could rent you a place she doesn’t know about.”

I stare at him. “You want me to hide?”

“Just temporarily,” Weller interjects. “Until we can assess the situation.”

“Or you could go back to the woods for a little while,” Freddie suggests.

I level him with a look. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

They all go still.

“We just want you out of harm's way.”

“For how long?”

“Until we can break the bond.”

“And when will that be?”

Silence.

I whirl around to face them. “So… no plan. What’s the endgame here? Because I can’t figure out what you want from me when you’re bonded to another fucking omega who controls you and oh yeah… probably wants to kill me.”

“We’re sorry, Bianca. We don’t want it to be this way,” Freddie says, his desperation evident.

My chest is tight, anger and hurt warring inside me. “You want me tucked away for safekeeping somewhere while you live your lives with her… while you’re forced to perform for her.” I grit my teeth. “What am I supposed to be? Your secret side piece that you visit when Whitney lets you off your leash?”

“Don’t.” Owen’s voice is dangerous now. “Don’t fucking say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” I can feel tears threatening, but I push them back. “And you can’t protect me. You can’t even protect yourselves.”

No one speaks for what feels like an eternity.

“You’re right,” Weller says, and somehow that hurts more than denial.

And just like that, my anger deflates into something so much worse: soul-crushing sadness.

Owen steps toward me like he means to close the distance. I take a step back, not wanting to be touched right now.

“We’ll figure this out,” he says, as if that changes a damn thing.

“I need to get back to my parents’ house,” I say, not making eye contact with any of them.

“I’ll arrange a car,” Weller says, opening an app on his phone. “Someone we trust.”