Page 48 of Bitter Truths

“Lazy ass,” I mutter, but my tone holds quiet affection.

She nudges my arm, eyes sparkling with subtle mischief. “Go wake up your boy toy. Tell him there’s fresh coffee and banana pancakes.”

I roll my eyes. Boy toy might be pushing it, but it’s close enough. Ezra and I keep things easy—best friends, occasional lovers, zero drama. Three years in, and it still works.

And it definitely doesn’t hurt that he knows what he’s doing.

I find Ezra lounging on his porch, his long legs stretched out as morning sunlight spills across his faded jeans. He’s cradling a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, an old book about plant medicine balanced on his knee.

When he hears my footsteps, his gaze lifts, mouth tipping into a relaxed smile.

“There’s my deadly archer,” he drawls, eyes lingering over my shoulders and arms—still tense from my morning target practice. “How’d you shoot today?”

I lean against the porch railing, meeting his gaze. “It went well.”

Ezra nods, taking a slow sip of coffee. He sets the mug down, stretching his arms above his head, his shirt rising to reveal a sliver of toned, warm brown skin. “You sparring later?”

“After breakfast. I am working with Natalie first, and then Marc promised to give me a challenge.”

Ezra chuckles. “You’re a menace.”

These days, few people in the refuge can match me blow for blow. I crave the pushback, the bruises, the reminder that I’m still alive.

It’s an outlet I need.

“Megan made pancakes,” I say.

“Pancakes sound good.”

We walk toward the communal kitchen together, our footsteps quiet on the packed earth. My eyes drift briefly over Ezra’s face. It’s easy to forget sometimes how the three of us, including Megan, became inseparable. But that day in town is burned into my memory. It’s vivid, sharp, and permanent. The day we crossed a line we could never walk back from, when loyalty turned into blood.

We went into town for supplies, the three of us, same as always. My pulse had spiked when I spotted it… the same rusty brown truck that haunted my nightmares, paint peeling, parked carelessly by the curb. The same one from the night I was forced onto my knees.

“That’s them,” I murmur to Ezra and Megan, my blood turning to ice. “The alphas you stopped from…”

Megan’s face goes hard. Ezra’s hand moves to the knife at his belt.

“We could call it in,” he murmurs.

“Call what in? That I recognize them? That’ll go nowhere.” I shake my head.

I watch them through the store window. Same cruel presence. The tall, lanky one grabs the cashier’s wrist when she’s too slow making change. The stocky, mean-looking one makes crude comments about her ass. The smallest one laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

These are men who hurt people for fun. Who take what they want without permission. Without remorse.

“There’s another way,” I say.

The plan forms quickly. I walk into the store alone, letting them see me. Their eyes light up with recognition. The tall one elbows his friends and says something that makes them all grin.

I buy a few things, as casually as I can, then head toward the forest trail. Away from town, away from witnesses.

They follow. Of course, they follow.

“Well, well,” the tall one calls out when I’m deep enough in the trees. “If it isn’t the pretty little thing we had to give up before we were ready to. Miss us, beautiful?”

“Told you we’d find her eventually,” the stocky one says.

The thin one circles behind me, cutting off my escape route. “We’re going to make sure to take double the time to make up for last time. No interruptions.”