Page 57 of Bitter Truths

My jaw clenches.

“They ensured she would never question what she witnessed,” I growl. “Visual evidence that appeared irrefutable.”

“Whitney’s heat,” Freddie breathes, understanding flooding his features. “Fuck.”

“Naturally,” Tristan says, his usual mockery replaced by coldness. “They documented our violation to guarantee her complete destruction.”

“I’m going to make them pay,” Owen says, his pitch going deadly in that way that makes intelligent people step back. “Slowly. For putting those images in her head.”

Bianca witnessed what appeared to be us eagerly claiming her best friend, our bodies performing while our minds screamed.

She can never unsee that footage. I cannot retrieve it or explain it away. But I will make someone pay for every frame. Then I will worship her until she can’t remember her own name, let alone that it exists.

“I’ll help,” Tristan snarls.

“I’m going after her,” Owen announces, taking a limping step toward the hospital entrance.

I move before he can take another step, blocking his path. Tristan mirrors me, forming a wall between Owen and her.

“Stand down.”

Owen’s head snaps up. His eyes lock on mine, and I watch civility abandon him. Every muscle in his body coils tight, ready to unleash pent up suppressed violence. What’s left of his restraint has narrowed to a single point: reaching her.

“Move, Weller.”

The words comes out flat. Final. “No.”

Blood continues its steady rhythm onto concrete. He doesn’t acknowledge the wound. “She drew her own blood trying to escape us. I won’t allow that to continue.”

The memory burns behind my eyes. Bianca’s nails raking across her throat, desperate to claw away the glands that make her vulnerable to alphas. Her face contorted in animal terror when we appeared. The sound she made…

My control wavers.

All our planning. All this time telling ourselves we’d find a way to explain. And this is what we accomplished. We turned the woman we love into an animal scratching at her own flesh to escape us.

“She requires careful handling,” I force out, though every instinct demands I follow Owen’s lead. “Look, we can’t fuck this up any more than we already have.”

“Careful?” Owen’s laugh could cut glass. “You witnessed how our girl moved.”

Our girl. He’s not wrong. The Bianca we knew never raised her voice and called us to deal with spiders for her. This version is someone else entirely.

“She is perfect,” I murmur, unable to suppress the admission.

Freddie stares at me like I’ve disturbed him… probably the fact that my restraint is failing.

“Owen.” Freddie’s face is alight with grief. “She was terrified. She couldn’t breathe.”

“She drew blood without hesitation,” Owen says. “I want to know why she needed those skills.”

While we’ve been trapped in Whitney’s web, playing devoted mates to a woman we despise, Bianca has been learning to survive without us. The thought should comfort me. Instead, it fills me with rage.

She was never meant to be without us.

We’ve gotten scraps about her life for years. After we bonded Whitney, Winston cut us off. Wouldn’t take our calls. Wouldn’t see us. We were dead to him.

But Owen couldn’t let it go. I can still see him three months after the graduation party, cornering Winston at the hospital.

“Just tell me she’s okay,” Owen pleads, blocking Winston’s path to the driver’s door. “Please. Just tell me she’s alive.”