Page 130 of Bitter Truths

“She went to their house,” Owen finally says, his voice dropping to a growl. “After we told her everything.”

“We know she did something,” Freddie says quietly, his voice strained. “Her knuckles were split open last night.”

The thought that she’d deliberately sought out violence… for us… makes my chest tighten with something between pride and horror.

“And now Rebecca’s ill. Then resigns,” Tristan adds, leaning back in his chair. His expression stays unreadable, but tension coils in his shoulders like a predator ready to strike.

“The question is how far she went,” I say, my pulse quickening.

“Far enough to make Rebecca risk Barrett’s wrath by resigning without notice,” Owen points out. “She’s scared.”

“She definitely went after the others too,” Freddie says, his leg bouncing under the table. “Katie and Liz. Fuck, when Whitney finds out...”

“We’ll worry about that after we talk to Bianca,” I say, though my mind is already calculating contingencies.

Tristan’s hands hover over the keyboard. “Want me to see what I can find?”

Part of me doesn’t want to know the full extent of what our fierce little omega is capable of. But I nod anyway. “Do it.”

I pull out my phone and dial. Straight to voicemail. I try again. Same result.

“She’s not answering.”

“Let’s go find her,” Owen snarls, his scent spiking with something dark and possessive. He shoves back from the table hard enough to send his chair skittering across marble, muscles coiled like he’s ready to hunt. “She’s out there hunting the bitches who touched us, and we’re sitting here talking about it like it’s a fucking strategy meeting.”

The need to get eyes on her rolls off him in waves.

Years of enduring whatever Whitney and her friends wanted to do to us. And our omega comes back and starts evening the score in a matter of days.

“That’s our girl,” Tristan says, his voice pitched between admiration and madness. All three of us turn to stare at him. He’s still watching the screen, but his smile has gone razor-sharp. “She walked up to their fucking door with flowers. Our spirited little omega delivering revenge wrapped in roses.”

“That’s not the point,” I say, though heat spreads through my chest at his words.

“Look at her,” Tristan continues, his eyes bright with something unhinged. “She’s perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. God, I want to spank her for putting herself in danger and worship her at the same time.” His laugh is low and dangerous.

“She could have gotten herself killed,” Freddie chokes out, panic bleeding into his scent. “They could have hurt her, they could have⁠—”

“There’s going to be fallout,” I cut in, mind racing. “Whitney will connect the dots. The police might get involved. We don’t know what kind of mess she’s made.”

“I need to get my hands on her,” Owen snarls, every muscle coiled tight. “Right fucking now.” He stops, jaw working. “I need to shake her until she promises never to do something this dangerous again. Then I need to fuck her until she can’t walk, let alone get into any more trouble.”

Freddie makes a strangled sound, his scent spiking with arousal and panic in equal measure. Tristan’s grin turns predatory, eyes going dark with approval. And me? My cock hardens despite everything, because Owen just said what we’re all thinking.

“She’s going to be the death of us,” Tristan murmurs, but he’s still grinning like he wouldn’t have it any other way.

My pulse throbs against my collar while something primal and alpha roars approval in my chest.

“She’s probably with Winston,” Freddie says.

I stand. “The hospital first. If she’s not there, we try her parents’ house.”

“We have four hours before we’re expected back at the mansion,” Tristan reminds us, closing his laptop.

We move together toward the elevators, but the air between us crackles with unspoken tension.

Our omega has revealed her claws.

The question is: what else is she capable of?