Page 99 of Sweet Torment

“I do not wish to proceed with this, but Whitney gave them access to everything. There are contracts in place.”

“This is wrong. You can’t bring children into the world without their consent.” I’m trembling with fury.

“I’m... willing to contaminate the samples and prevent this from happening if you cooperate.” His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes.

“I’ve been cooperating. What more do you want from me?”

“I would like for you to conceive during your next heat.”

“What?” I jump to my feet, the paper beneath me tearing. “No! We’re not bringing a baby into this fucked-up situation. Are you out of your mind? I mean, obviously. But no!”

“Like before, I’m willing to offer concessions that would make your life and theirs more comfortable. You could purchase your own home, no cameras; guards would still be required outdoors and on outings, but you would be allowed many more freedoms.”

He says this like he’s offering me a reward for good behavior. Like freedom is a privilege he can bestow rather than a right he’s stolen.

“And what else would you want from me? You think I’m going to give you permission to experiment on our child?”

“Experiment? No.” He looks almost offended. “There would be weekly exams to evaluate your progress and ensure a healthy pregnancy. I’m not the monster you think I am, Ms. Quinn.”

Oh, but you are. You’re worse because you believe your own lies. Because you’ve convinced yourself that what you’re doing is for some greater good. The worst monsters always think they’re the true heroes.

“I...” My throat constricts. “Even if I believed you, we’re not ready for a baby. We just bonded. This is too much… and I want to make my own fucking decisions for once.”

“I do understand, and ultimately, the decision is yours. I believe your next heat will come in three to six weeks, so you do have a small window to make your decision. I will send some vitamins home with you today. You should start taking them in preparation, just in case.” Preparation. As if my consent is a foregone conclusion. I don’t want anyone using me, my alphas, or our future children for data. I hate this. But I also don’t want them creating little versions of Owen, Tristan, Weller, and Freddie that are half Whitney.

“I don’t expect a decision today, but their fathers are very determined to move forward using Whitney’s bloodline.” He could just destroy the samples and tell them to fuck off. But clearly, that is not what he wants. He wants me to choose this.

“Is this appointment over? I’m ready to go home.” My voice comes out flat and drained of emotion.

So much for asking him any of the questions that have been burning. Why are you doing this to me? What have you done to my mother over the years? When will this end?

“Yes, Ms. Quinn. We can be done today. I realize this is a lot to wrap your mind around, but I trust you will make the right decision.” I want to scream and hit him. But then, I wouldn’t go home to them. And I hate to think about what would happen to them if they lost me again.

He taps a few more things on his tablet, hands me a small white bag with paperwork and vitamins inside, and then exits the room. The soft fabric of my dress now feels like a mockery of the innocence I was trying to project. I was a fool to think I could outmaneuver him.

I return to Tristan, who is tapping his fingers on his leg impatiently but lights up when he sees me, genuinely relieved. “Get me out of here, please.” I must look as crazy on the outside as I feel inside because he presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, and we don’t say a word as we return to the car. His body is tense against mine.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks once we’re safely inside the vehicle, the privacy glass raised.

“I do, but... I want to wait until we are all together.” The thought of explaining this nightmare more than once is exhausting. He nods, understanding without needing words. “Do you think we could stop at the library so we can look up a few things?”

Tristan immediately taps on the privacy glass and tells the driver to take us to the Emerald Hills Library instead of home.

His hand finds mine again, his thumb resuming its pattern on my knuckles. “Whatever it is,” he says quietly, “we’ll figure it out.”

I wish I could believe him. But as the car pulls away from Dr. Montgomery’s tower of horrors, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re already trapped in a game where all the rules have been rigged against us.

I can’t let this new problem distract me. Maybe a little digging will help me see a pathway out of this before it’s too late. Before I have to choose between Whitney getting four last ‘fuck yous’ and a child of my own. Before I lose what little control I have left.

* * *

The library in Emerald Hills is huge and elegant. It’s four stories tall, and I can’t even begin to imagine how many books it holds. Tristan grabs one of the laptops patrons can borrow.

“Let me show you something,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear. His fingers dance across the keyboard, pulling up browsers I’ve never seen before. “This will keep us anonymous. No digital footprints.”

I watch, fascinated, as he demonstrates how to cover our tracks. There’s something incredibly sexy about competence. “Where did you learn this?” I ask.

His lips quirk up at the corner. “Let’s just say my father’s business dealings require discretion, and I’ve picked up a few tricks along the way.”