Page 96 of Bitter Truths

“Neither are you.”

His pupils are blown, and I can tell this man is working hard to restrain himself. “Because if I move right now, I’m going to flip you over and pin you to this mat. And then I’m going to find out if you taste as good as I remember.”

The words send liquid fire through my veins. My hands fist in the fabric of his sweatpants without conscious thought, and I watch his eyes go pitch black with desire.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about.” The softness in his voice catches me off guard. He’s not known for being the gentle one.

You. Always you. How much I want to forget everything else and lose myself in you.

“Last night,” I say instead. “Everything you guys told me.”

His expression shutters. “What about it?”

“Freddie...” My voice catches. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

Owen’s jaw ticks. “He’s been holding it together for years. Sometimes the dam breaks.”

“What else did she make you do?” The question burns my tongue. “If you don’t want me to know, I won’t push, but⁠—”

“I want you to know.” He interrupts me. “I want you to know all of it, even if it disgusts you. Even if it makes you look at us differently.”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Try me, Owen.”

He studies my face for a long moment. Whatever he finds must satisfy him because he nods slowly.

“Whitney liked to watch us together,” he says, his brows furrowing, like he’s deeply concerned about my reaction.

Red seeps in around the edges of my vision.

“What are you saying? She made you—” I can’t finish the sentence.

“Fuck each other? Yeah.” His voice is emotionless. “I won’t go into all the graphic details because it got pretty disturbing at times, but…”

The horror of what he’s suggesting steals my breath. The image of them being forced into that kind of situation with each other against their will… her attempt to destroy them by breaking down their friendship… a bond they had long before she took them for herself…

A chill runs through me, and I know, without a doubt, that by the end of this, either Whitney or I will be dead.

Because there’s no way I’ll be content with anything less than her permanent destruction if I’m breathing.

“Owen.” My hands frame his face, trying to comfort him in some small way. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He freezes at the contact, his eyes searching mine.

I continue. “Like I told Freddie last night… you’re still you to me. I hate them for what they’ve done to all of you… but never you. Even when I wanted to hate you… for what I thought you did… I couldn’t. Not really.”

He looks relieved.

“There’s more,” he warns.

“Tell me.”

“She filmed it all, and those recordings are not pretty, Bianca. We couldn’t look at each other for a long time… It did break us, more than I care to admit. The videos are kept as insurance in case we ever try to be too ambitious.”

My hands rub slow patterns on his chest, doing my best to soothe the pain away, to fix what can’t be fixed. The storm building in my chest threatens to choke me. Whitney didn’t just force them to do it—she documented it all so she could hang it over their heads forever.