Page 49 of Sweet Torment

The walkie suddenly crackles to life. “Status. Now.” Ezra sounds worried.

Bianca’s eyes go wide. “Ez is here?” Genuine shock. “Is Megan? Oh my god, tell them I’m—“ She pauses, then laughs. “Tell them I’m hungry, horny, and homicidal. It’s an inside joke.”

“We’re definitely not telling them that.” Weller gives her a serious look.

Owen’s grip on her ankle tightens. There’s no heat in his expression, only a terrifying calm. “Let me be real clear about something, Princess. Nobody else touches you. Ever. I actually like your little boyfriend, but that’ll change quick if you push me. Hell, I barely want to share you with these assholes.” He jerks his head at us.

She scoffs at him. “Possessive much?”

“Yes,” all four of us say together.

“We have her,” Weller reports into the walkie. “Three down. Need extraction.”

“Working on it,” Ezra’s voice comes back. “Trying to find a helicopter pilot who will land there. I will check back in soon. Find cover.”

16

BIANCA

The rock overhang isn’t much—maybe eight feet of coverage—but right now, it might as well be the Ritz fucking Carlton.

My entire body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for them. The pulsing between my legs is making them shake. I don’t care that I’m covered in dirt, blood, or the various injuries all over my body. Not even the fact that we’re being hunted. I’ve reached the point where I don’t care about anything other than a dick inside me.

Owen’s bullet wound is the only thing grounding me right now. He has to be okay.

“Absolutely not,” Weller is saying. “Owen, you’ve lost too much blood. You can barely stand.”

“I can knot her lying down,” Owen growls back, and the sound goes straight to my core, making my inner walls clench around nothing. His eyes are feverish, pupils blown wide despite the pain etched into the lines around his mouth. “I’m not waiting another fucking minute.”

They’re arguing about logistics while I’m literally dying. My skin feels too tight, too hot, like it’s shrinking. The shirt Weller gave me is soaked through with sweat, clinging to me in a way that makes everything worse. And better. I can’t tell anymore.

“Please,” I whimper. All four of them turn to look at me, conversations dying mid-sentence. The raw hunger in their eyes is almost as potent as the heat itself. “I need—I can’t—“ I press my palm between my legs as I sink to the floor against the rough wall of the hiding spot we’ve found.

“Owen’s shoulder is fucked,” Tristan says bluntly, but his eyes are black with want as he watches me squirm. “He shouldn’t even be conscious, let alone⁠—“

“I said I’m fine.” Owen’s voice is pure stubborn alpha pride. Tristan bandaged him up, and the bleeding seems to have stopped.

“You’re not fine,” Freddie argues, even as his hands twitch toward me, fingers flexing and releasing. His throat works as he swallows hard, fighting his instincts. “You need medical attention, not⁠—”

“What I need,” Owen interrupts, his voice dropping to that register that makes my thighs clench and my clit throb, “is to knot my omega.”

“Owen,” I breathe, crawling toward him on hands and knees because standing seems impossible. The pain of the rough ground beneath me doesn’t faze me. “Please. I need you.”

His eyes track my movement and never leave me once. Despite the blood loss and the pain he must be in, his cock is visibly hard against the fabric of his pants, tenting the material obscenely. “Come here, Princess.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Weller mutters, but he’s already moving to help Owen settle against the rock wall, propping him up so his injured shoulder is protected.

I pull Weller’s shirt over my head, my arms feeling weak. The cool night air hits my overheated skin, and I shiver. Goosebumps rise across my flesh, even as sweat continues to bead between my breasts and down my spine. My nipples ache for someone’s mouth on them, the pink peaks tightening further as all four alphas stare. When Owen’s eyes drop to them, his expression goes feral, teeth bared. “Fucking perfect.”

“Pants,” he orders, and I realize he’s still fully dressed. “Help me, Freddie.”

Together they work his pants down. When his cock springs free, thick and hard, my mouth actually waters. I can taste him already.

Freddie touches my arm, and I lean into him. “Hey,” he says softly, eyes serious despite the flush high on his cheeks. “If anything hurts you or you want it to stop, tell us. We will.”

“I know.” I don’t want to be treated like I’m fragile. Not now, not when every cell in my body is screaming for this. I want this. I want all of them. My gaze drifts between these four men, each one a different kind of beautiful, each one mine.

The knot at the base of Owen’s cock is starting to swell already, the flesh darker and thicker. I lick my lips, imagining the stretch, the fullness, the relief.