Page 19 of Sweet Torment

The way her eyes flash with anger, and she squares her shoulders despite being obviously affected by pre-heat—fuck, it’s like she’s designed to push every button I have. My cock jumps, and I hate myself for it. For wanting her even now, especially now, when she’s in danger and we have way more important things to worry about.

We’re all talking over each other, voices mixing into pure chaos.

“Shut up!” Bianca shouts, and we do. “God, you’re like children. I did what needed to be done. Deal with it.”

“Deal with it?” I laugh, the sound devoid of humor. “Our omega is about to go through her first heat without us, but we should just deal with it. Perfect.”

The thought of Bianca, flushed and needy for anyone but us—No. I slam the door on that thought before it can fully form.

“It won’t be like with Whitney.”

“How do you know?” Freddie presses. “Bianca, what did you agree to?”

“I can’t talk about it.” She touches the collar, and I notice the way her fingers linger there, like it’s already hurt her. “NDA. But it won’t be... like that.”

Like what? Forced? Drugged? Filmed? Diabolical? Which part won’t it be like?

“You don’t know what he’s planning,” Weller says quietly. “Bianca, a year is⁠—”

“I am well aware of what a year is,” she interrupts. “What’s done is done, and you’re going to have to come to terms with it.”

She laughs, and it’s so fucking caustic my skin heats. “You guys had five years to figure it out. Five years to find me and make it right. Five fucking years of fucking women who aren’t me while I learned how to take care of my own shit all by my little self. So the way I see it… none of you have earned the right to tell me what to do.”

She’s not wrong. And that makes it a thousand times worse.

“I’ll do what needs to be done. If you don’t want me after this,” she shrugs, a gesture too light for the words, “I’ll accept it. I’ve survived it before. I’ll survive it again.”

Weller makes a wounded sound. Owen looks murderous.

My chest constricts. She thinks she’s disposable. That we could just leave her behind. The wound of our first failure is still hemorrhaging. The problem isn’t what she will or won’t do. It’s that we’ll never be able to forgive ourselves for it. We’re still struggling to come to terms with all that happened to her in the woods, much of which she hasn’t told us yet. And now this. Every second she suffers because of our never-ending failures—it’ll eat us alive.

“Bianca,” I say, my voice level. “Us not wanting you isn’t on the table. It’s not even a possibility.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispers.

“We do know that,” Owen cuts in, voice raw. “You’re ours no matter what, but it’s not the point.”

She’s sweating more now, a droplet rolling between her breasts that I’d love to trace with my tongue. I file the desire away for later examination. For now, I need to focus. But then she bites her lip, and her eyes find mine for a moment before deliberately moving through each of us—Weller, Owen, Freddie, then back to me. It’s a look that says everything she can’t voice, and a low rumble sounds from all of us.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says softly. “You could’ve been honest with me at the waterhole the day I asked you what was going on.”

The others start making excuses.

“Bullshit. Just stop,” she cuts us off. “You knew something.”

“You kept something from us too,” I point out, playing my last card. The scent match.

Her eyes widen in recognition. Her face softens. “I wish I would’ve said something.” The regret in her voice cuts deeper than any anger could. “But I wanted you to choose me, and you never did.”

Oh, Bianca. The choice was made when we were five. We just never had the guts to say it.

There was never a question, never another. Until our choices were stolen.

“Two minutes remaining,” Montgomery interrupts.

“Please,” she pleads. “Please be careful and don’t fuck this up. Enjoy your new freedoms, whatever they are. It has to be better than before, right? A year isn’t that long. You did five. I promise I can handle this.”

But Owen’s completely fucking lost control at the idea of this being the point where we say goodbye to her. He backs up and charges the glass, slamming into it with his full weight. The barrier holds, but the sound is enormous.