Page 140 of Savage Surrender

Shame follows the hope that he was capable of any decency.

“You did nothing?”

He looks at me like I’m stupid. “There was nothing to do.”

Bianca’s bent brows come back to me, the furious way she kept working at a stain after I’d already decided the shirt was ruined.

William steps closer, one polished shoe stopping inches from my face.

“Give me a name.”

I keep my mouth closed.

The rope near Ezra’s hands brushes against the concrete and a guard beside the roll-up door turns toward the sound, so I drag my bound ankles closer to me. The knot bites at my skin.

“Where is the omega?” Alexander Barrett steps into view with a black case in one hand. His pale hair is perfectly arranged, as if he came straight here from a boardroom meeting.

William doesn’t look away from me. “We’re not finished.”

“The sooner we find her, the sooner we get real answers.” Alexander puts the case on a scarred worktable and opens it. Glass catches the light inside.

They don’t have Bianca.

But they won’t stop until they find her.

Vincent crosses behind them and stops near Owen. He bends, catches the hood at the crown, and tears it away.

Blood has dried beneath Owen’s nose and into the stubble around his mouth. One eye is swollen nearly closed. He blinks at the light, finds me, then looks past me, searching for Ezra and Tristan.

Vincent grips his face, smashing it between his fingers. “Where’s Miller?”

Owen says nothing, but his pain is clear through the bond.

Vincent’s fist makes contact beneath his ribs. Owen folds as far as the rope allows, which isn’t far enough.

“Where is he?”

Owen lifts his head and spits blood. “Not here.”

The next blow lands in the same place. He grunts and his body tries to curl around it.

Alexander glances toward the men near the door. “We can assume she’s with him.”

Vincent points at a guard. “Rivera. Get a team and find Miller and the girl.”

The roll-up door groans open. Soft rain blows across the concrete, slipping through gaps in the warped plank walls, and the old timber frame answers the wind with a long creak overhead.

At the edge of my vision, Ezra’s heel turns a fraction.

William sets the sole of his polished shoe against the side of my neck and adds pressure until swallowing hurts.

I turn my face enough to look up at him. “Did you know she was our scent match?”

His eyes flick to mine. “She’s just a girl, and you’re a Dashwood. Act like it.”

Just a girl.

Or everything?