Page 143 of Bitter Truths

“You smell like...” she murmurs, eyes narrowing as she studies my face with growing intensity. Then she leans in again, breathing deeper this time.

The moment her nostrils flare, I know she’s caught it.

Her face transforms... shock giving way to recognition, then exploding into pure, undiluted rage.

“You fucking smell like them.”

My heart stops. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me.” Her voice pitches low and nasty, nails digging into my wrist hard enough to draw blood. “I can smell all four of them on you.” Her eyes narrow to slits. “Did you fuck them?”

I keep my expression blank. Bored, even.

“That’s quite an imagination you have there.”

Her grip tightens, cutting off circulation. “You’re desperate enough to let bonded alphas fuck you?”

“Desperate? Which one of us had to drug alphas to make them want her, Whitney?”

“You’re fucking dead. They’re mine. They’ve always been mine.” The fake sweetness vanishes, showing the psycho underneath.

That’s what I was waiting for.

“Are they?” I tilt my head, watching her face. “Funny, I heard you don’t mind lending them out.”

Her expression freezes. Something clicks behind her eyes. “How do you—” She cuts herself off, studying me with dawning realization.

I give her my shittiest smile.

“You’re delusional if you think this means anything.” Her laugh is sharp and cutting. “You’re a broken toy, Bianca. An omega who’ll never be whole. They might fuck you out of pity, but they’ll never want someone as damaged as you.”

It’s a well-placed stab right where I’m most vulnerable, but I rise calmly and let my robe drop to the floor.

I spin slowly, letting her see every mark they made on me. Proof of their hunger for me.

“Does it look like they give a fuck that I’m damaged?”

Her face turns red and contorts with rage. “You fucking⁠—”

And then her hands are around my neck.

Her nails rake across my face, drawing blood from temple to jaw. But I like the pain... it only fuels me. I grab her wrist and twist until I hear it pop. She screams and crashes into a side table, scattering magazines and knocking over a vase.

I jump on her, undeterred by the fact that I’m entirely naked.

“I’m trying to decide if I want to take your hands for stealing from me.”

She spits blood in my face. “You’re crazy! Get off me!”

I wipe it away calmly, then backhand her across the face hard enough to snap her head to the side. She claws at my arms, leaving bloody tracks. The pain feels distant, unimportant compared to the onslaught of anger burning in my chest.

I wrap my hands around her throat, getting right in her face. “You’ll regret fucking with me, Whitney.”

She is seething and attempting to get words out, but I’m choking her too hard for them to escape.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Whitney.” I lean close, making sure she can hear me clearly. “You’re going to end this sick fucking game and release them.”

“Or what?” The words are slurred, barely recognizable.