Page 93 of Sweet Torment

“The game’s not over, son,” my father says, his voice carrying a warning.

“Yes,” I respond, buttoning my jacket, “it is.”

Freddie and Tristan stand with me, a united front. Owen’s already halfway to the door.

“Running back to your bitch?” Alexander calls after us, his words slurring slightly from the whiskey. “Like obedient little puppies?”

“We’re not finished,” my father snaps. Three large guards appear from the shadows, blocking our exit. For a moment, I consider the odds—four of us, three of them, plus our drunk fathers. We could try to fight our way out, but at what cost? Would they stop us from going home to her? I meet Owen’s eyes, giving a subtle shake of my head. Not yet. Not like this. Reluctantly, we turn back, sliding into our seats at the table. The cards are reshuffled, drinks refilled, but the pretense of a friendly game has evaporated.

“She has really gotten under your skin,” my father says, eyes fixed on his cards. “She must be quite a marvel in bed to have the four of you so thoroughly whipped.”

The truth is we were under Bianca’s spell long before we ever touched her.

My father leans back in his chair, eyes gleaming with a cold glint that reminds me of why I’ve always kept an emotional distance from him.

“Did I ever tell you about my scent match?” The tension in the air is thick. He swirls the whiskey in his glass and shoots the rest. The other fathers perk up, exchanging glances. I sense a story they’ve all heard before, a joke they share at someone else’s expense.

“No.” I already suspect whatever he’s about to say will be cruel. I can feel it in the air.

“I was about your age—twenty-six, well on my way to building a name for myself.” He chuckles, but it’s a sinister sound. “She was working at a diner. Pretty little thing with chestnut hair and big brown eyes. The moment I caught her scent, I knew I would have her.”

The table goes quiet. Even the women hovering nearby seem to sense the tension, keeping their distance.

“I was seeing your mother by then, but I couldn’t resist the little vixen, nor did I try to. Juliette was sweet and eager to please. I would’ve kept her as a pet had your mother not threatened to walk if I didn’t end it. So I did. Your mother never cared about the other whores—only Juliette.” He takes a long drag from his cigar, exhaling slowly. “Your mother is an heiress with a large fortune and connections I wanted.” The silence extends. Freddie’s knuckles are white around his glass. Tristan’s face is a perfect mask, but I can see the muscle jumping in his jaw, and he’s tapping a slow rhythm where his hand sits on the table. Owen stares at my father with a scowl on his face, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What happened to Juliette?” Freddie sounds mortified, like he doesn’t really want to know but can’t help but seek the fate of the woman.

My father disposed of her for physical possessions.

“I made the logical choice.” He shrugs. “I spent one more weekend fucking her out of my system and then left a large check on the nightstand. Bonded your mother within the week.” He pauses. “She never cashed the check.”

Freddie inhales sharply.

“They all have the same holes. Eventually, the novelty wears off.” Vincent lets out a harsh laugh. “Same holes, but different purposes. Speaking of, we’ve been discussing the next generation of heirs.”

“Heirs?” Tristan’s voice comes softly, and the tapping stops.

Alexander deals a new hand. “Whitney came to us before her untimely passing. While she was not physically capable of getting pregnant, we were able to collect her eggs. We already have your samples available. It’s just a matter of paperwork. Continuing our legacies with the Montgomery bloodline was always our intention, and as soon as we can get Emmett to come to an agreement⁠—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Owen explodes, slamming his hands on the table, making the chips jump. The guards reach for their dart guns, but Owen remains standing, shaking with rage.

I struggle to keep my voice level, but my hands shake. This would destroy Bianca. “You can’t be serious. Who would raise these children?”

“Caring for children is quite simple, Weller. It’s easy enough to hire women to do that.” Alexander Barrett glares at each of us. “Unfortunately, your little savage isn’t fit to carry your offspring.” He turns to Tristan.

“Our lawyers are already updating all the documents. The omega and any children she produces with you will not be acknowledged within our families and will not receive a cent.”

“You still mad about her slapping the shit out of you, Alex?” Vincent chuckles. “I have to admit there is some appeal to the girl.” Wait. When did Bianca strike Tristan’s father? It puts a different kind of target on her back, and I don’t like it.

“She’s lucky Emmett had strict orders to only use the collar for corrections, or I would’ve stomped the rabid cunt into the ground for such disrespect.”

Before I realize what is happening, Tristan is lunging across the table, cards and chips scattering as he tackles Alexander to the ground. His fist connects with his father’s face, accompanied by a loud, enraged sound that’s barely human.

“Don’t ever fucking talk about her like that.” The guards swarm, moving to pull Tristan off his father. I shove my chair back, standing, but only make it a few steps before my path is blocked by a wall of guards. Owen steps forward to intercept one, but Vincent catches him with a sucker punch to his gunshot wound, causing him to fall to his knees with a wounded sound. Freddie’s attempt ends with Charles and a guard wrenching his arms behind his back, taking him to the ground, a forearm to the back of his neck.

“This will be a lesson for all of you,” my father hisses in my ear as a guard wrenches Tristan away from Alexander.

Alexander rises slowly, straightening his jacket. Fury pours off him and blood trickles from his split lip as he regards his son, held immobile. Without warning, he drives his fist into Tristan’s stomach. Once. Twice. Three times. Tristan struggles against the guard’s hold but can’t break free as his father lands blow after blow to his torso, avoiding his face. The guard finally allows Tristan to fall to his knees and then to the ground as he clutches his middle.