Page 60 of Sweet Torment

“You fucking asshole,” I bite out. “They didn’t⁠—“

“They’re looking at significant prison time,” Montgomery says. “Unless, of course, you cooperate.”

I force the words out. “What do you want?”

“Simple. You return to Emerald Hills. Complete your contract. I’ll even let you keep these four with you. Your friends go free. Everyone wins.”

Through the bonds, I feel their anger. We’re boxed in.

“The helicopter is waiting.” Dr. Montgomery leads the way without looking back. “Shall we?”

It’s not a choice. It’s a sentence. “Fine.”

Montgomery’s smile smooths out, pleased. “Oh, and gentlemen? The Havershams are particularly upset and causing a ruckus over their only sons. Be prepared for your fathers.”

“They were going to—” Weller starts.

Montgomery cuts him off. “I’m aware of what was happening. The purpose of the drones is to keep the participants safe. We require consent for the integrity of the trial. Had the drone not been busy with unauthorized guests, its next stop would have been Mr. Haversham. He would have been neutralized, not killed.”

The walk to the helicopter is a funeral procession. As we climb in, Montgomery adds cheerfully, “Don’t look so glum. You got what you wanted, right?”

I want to tell him that one day, when he least expects it, I’ll make him pay for all of this. But I bite it back and stare out the window as the helicopter lifts us away.

20

OWEN

The noise of the rotors is a dull throb in my skull as the helicopter slips beneath the clouds, descending toward the Montgomery estate.

This is so fucked.

Not one of us has spoken since liftoff, but my hand hasn’t left Bianca’s thigh. Through the thin fabric of her pants, I can feel her shaking, that restless energy building. Why the hell is Montgomery dragging us back to Whitney’s palace of horrors?

The only comfort is knowing the witch is dead. I’ve seen what Montgomery can do, but resurrection? Nah.

I wish I’d been there to see her take her last breath.

Pain flares in my shoulder where the drone nailed me, a burn that gets worse every time I move. Montgomery gave it a quick once-over when we boarded. The nurse said the bullet went clean through based on the X-ray. “That’s lucky.”

I’ve had worse. I’ve done worse to myself, just to feel something besides the perpetual ache of missing Bianca. But now she’s right next to me. She’s mine. There will be no more emptiness with the bond between us sparking under my skin.

I love the feel of her inside me.

Bianca’s wedged between me and Freddie, her spine straight. She looks like she’s seconds from throwing herself out the door and taking on whatever is waiting barehanded. Her blue eyes miss nothing, analyzing every inch of ground as we angle down. Through the bond, I can feel her fury building, a pressure tight enough to splinter bone. When she starts muttering no, no, no, I clamp my hand around hers and squeeze, grounding us both. Just to remind her I’m here. She’s not on her own anymore, even if she wants to be.

“Why are we here?” she asks, not taking her eyes off the estate below. Her voice is steady, but the bond is alight with her panic.

Montgomery doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “The house is already fully equipped and secure for observation. I have a medical team waiting.”

“I’m not staying in that house.”

“There isn’t another option at the moment, Ms. Quinn.”

The flippant way he says it makes me want to rip his throat out with my teeth, but the new collar around my neck is a physical reminder that murder will have to wait.

For now.

The helicopter touches down, and six guards are waiting, fingers on triggers. Darts, probably. Killing isn’t really Montgomery’s style—he prefers his subjects alive and reacting. The house looms ahead, with white columns and the rose gardens Whitney obsessed over.