Page 7 of Sweet Torment

“The collar has multiple settings,” he says conversationally, as if he didn’t just electrocute me. “That was one of the lower levels.”

Lower levels? Jesus Christ. My muscles still twitch with aftershocks, little involuntary spasms that I can’t control. Is this the kind of shit Whitney has been doing to the alphas? Training them with shock collars like they’re dogs?

“You’re going to need to cooperate,” Montgomery continues. “Otherwise, we’ll have to keep you restrained. Surely, you don’t want that.”

I push myself upright, ignoring how my arms shake with the effort. My head pounds like someone’s taking a jackhammer to my skull, each throb perfectly synchronized with my racing pulse. The room spins slightly.

“Fuck your cooperation,” I want to say, but I swallow it down. No point in giving him another excuse.

He watches me, a small smile playing at his lips. It feels as though he has me right where he wants me.

There’s something deeply unsettling about Dr. Montgomery that goes beyond the obvious mad scientist vibe. He never loses his composure. Never shows a crack. Only that one time in the tunnels when he found Whitney and me—that brief flash of something dark and unhinged before the mask slipped back into place. That’s the only time I’ve seen him scared.

“You are free to move about your room and request reasonable accommodations,” he says, gesturing to the stark white space around us, “provided you do not attempt to harm yourself or others. The collar will be implemented only when necessary.”

I keep my face carefully blank, years of practice serving me well. Inside, though? Inside, I’m a nuclear reactor approaching meltdown. If I could somehow harness this rage, I’d have enough fuel to blow the entire Montgomery estate into the stratosphere. But I force my breathing to slow, my muscles to unclench. I’m not eager for another demonstration of the collar’s abilities.

I reach for Weller through our bond, pushing against whatever’s muffling our connection. Can he feel me trying to reach him? Is he reaching back? The silence from his end is deafening.

Dr. Montgomery clears his throat. “Now, we need to discuss your options.”

“Options?” I let out a harsh laugh that hurts. “You mean besides being imprisoned with a shock collar? Please, enlighten me about all these wonderful choices I apparently have.”

“Your family is quite concerned about you.” His tone shifts subtly, and every muscle in my body tenses in response. “They were informed you had a mental break after returning home and are receiving the best care available.”

“You told them I’m crazy? They’ve been through hell with Winston’s car accident, and you told them I’m back in a mental hospital?”

“Given your history—” He adjusts his glasses again, a gesture I’m beginning to hate with every fiber of my being. “—and the fact that your mother was understandably concerned after the spa incident, it was quite believable. I didn’t even need to mention you breaking into Whitney’s home and shooting her with an arrow.”

He references what I did to his daughter so casually. No anger. No outrage. And now he uses it to manipulate my family into believing his lies.

My nails dig into my palms so hard I feel skin break. The pain is grounding, keeping me from launching myself at him despite knowing what would happen. The collar seems to grow heavier around my neck, a constant reminder of the consequences.

“What do you want from me? What’s the endgame here?”

Montgomery leans forward slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Your cooperation, Ms. Quinn. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

Cooperation for what?

I force myself to breathe through my nose, counting each inhale and exhale. Four in, four hold, four out. The technique Ezra taught me at the refuge when the panic threatened to overwhelm me.

Ezra. Megan. It’s been two weeks without a check-in. Are they looking for me? Do they think I went rogue?

“Now, about your future. I’d like to discuss an offer with you.”

“What kind of offer?” I keep my voice neutral.

“The basic idea is this: one year of clinical observation under my care. Regular blood tests, imaging, behavior analysis, psychological profiling—nothing you haven’t done before.”

I stare at him, processing his words. A laugh bubbles up, starting as a chuckle and growing into something that borders on hysterical. The sound bounces off the stark white walls, making the room feel even more like a padded cell.

“You must be fucking kidding me.” I shake my head, wincing as the movement makes the collar tug against my neck. “I’m not your personal little science experiment. Why would I ever agree to this?”

“Your heat is coming, Ms. Quinn.” He turns the tablet toward me, displaying medical charts with colored lines that spike and dip in patterns I don’t understand. “Your awakening and your first heat after being suppressed for so long. I’d like to document it. For science.”

“Suppressed because of you!” My voice rises despite my best efforts to stay calm. “You lied to me, and you fucked up my life.” A thought hits me, something my mother mentioned before about knowing Dr. Montgomery. “Do my parents know what you did to me? My mother mentioned once that she knew you before I was born. How?”

For the first time ever, something soft flickers across Montgomery’s face—a hairline crack in his perfect mask. “That’s correct. We dated in college.”