Page 49 of Bitter Truths

I let them get close. Let them think they have me cornered. Let them reach for me.

That’s when Ezra and Megan emerge from the trees with weapons.

“Miss us?” Megan asks, raising her pipe.

The alphas scramble backward, but there’s nowhere to go. We’ve herded them to the edge of the ravine.

“You fucking bitches,” the tall one snarls. “I’ll kill yo–”

Ezra’s knife opens his throat before he can finish.

The other two try to run. Megan takes down the stocky one with a blow to the skull. He tries to get up, but Ezra hits him with the pipe again before he can. I put an arrow through the third one’s spine as he runs away.

Coward.

It’s over in seconds.

We roll their bodies over the edge of the ravine and watch them disappear into the darkness below.

The communal kitchen buzzes with morning activity. People grab coffee, planning their day. Megan’s pancakes are already half gone, but she’s saved us a stack.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she says, sliding the plate toward us.

“We know,” Ezra and I say in unison, which makes her roll her eyes.

This is my world. These people who’ve known me at my worst know what I’m capable of and care about me anyway.

My satellite phone buzzes in my pocket. Not my regular phone—the emergency line we keep for absolute crises only. The one that almost never rings.

“Hello?”

“Bianca? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” she chokes out, words catching in her throat.

My pulse kicks into overdrive. Mom never calls the emergency line. Ever. We have our scheduled weekly check-ins on the regular phone when I go into town, carefully timed conversations where I tell her I’m fine and she pretends not to worry.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” I keep my tone level, but Ezra and Megan both look at me, instantly wary.

“It’s Winston. There was an accident. A bad one. He’s...” The world around me begins to crumble. “He’s in a coma, honey.”

Winston. My big brother, my protector, the one person who has always been there for me, even when I shut him out.

“What happened?”

“Car accident. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit him head-on. He’s been in surgery for eight hours. The doctors say the next forty-eight hours are critical.”

I’m already moving, my mind shifting into crisis mode. Winston needs me. That’s all that matters.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say, hanging up before she can respond.

I look at Ezra and Megan, who are already standing.

“How bad?” Megan asks.

“Bad. I have to go.”

They nod, no questions asked.

“I’ll drive you to the airport,” Ezra says.