Page 58 of Bitter Truths

Winston’s jaw ticks. He’s furious. “Move, Owen.”

“I know you blame us. I know you think–”

“I think you fucked my sister over.” Winston sounds quiet and menacing. “I think you destroyed her and now she won’t even talk to me.”

Owen’s hands shake. “We never meant–”

“Meant what? To bond her best friend the same night I stayed up with her—to make sure she would be okay after she got hurt on your watch?”

“It wasn’t a choice,” Owen pleads. “You have to understand–”

“I don’t have to understand shit.” Winston’s control snaps. His fist connects with Owen’s jaw, a sickening crack that echoes off concrete. “You were supposed to protect her!”

Owen staggers but doesn’t fall. Doesn’t even lift his hands to defend himself.

“Fight back!” Winston screams, hitting him again. Blood sprays from Owen’s nose. “Fucking fight back!”

But Owen just takes it. Welcomes it. Like he’s been waiting for this punishment for months.

I watch from twenty feet away with Freddie and Tristan, every instinct screaming at me to intervene. But Owen’s eyes find mine through the blood and he shakes his head once. No.

Winston lands blow after blow. Owen’s knees hit the concrete. His lip splits. His eye swells shut. Still he doesn’t fight back.

“She loved you,” Winston chokes out, his punches getting weaker as exhaustion sets in. “She fucking loved all of you and you threw her away like garbage.”

Security guards arrive, pulling Winston off Owen’s motionless form. Blood pools on the concrete. Owen’s face is unrecognizable.

“Stay away from my family,” Winston spits as they drag him back. “Stay the fuck away from all of us.”

It took over a year before Winston would speak to us again. Months after that before he believed we’d never hurt her.

After that, all we got were basics. She’s alive. She’s safe. She’s healing. Nothing more.

We knew she’d come back for Winston. Had to. He’s been her anchor since they were kids, the one person who never let her down.

Unlike us.

The memory slams into me without warning. Bianca in Winston’s car, hurt and drugged, struggling to form words. The way she looked at me…

“Alp–”

Alpha. I understood what she meant, told her to rest, that we’d discuss it in the morning. I didn’t know then I was lying to her. By the time the drugs cleared our systems enough to think coherently, she was gone.

I had no idea it would be over five years before I saw those blue eyes again.

All this time telling myself she was better off without us. Dying a little more each day, going through the motions of a life that meant nothing without her in it.

The only thing that’s kept any of us breathing is knowing that someday, somehow, we’d find a way to tell her the truth. That if we died with her believing the lie, she’d carry that poison forever.

“I need to see her,” Owen says, and there’s desperation creeping in. Raw, ugly need that he can’t hide anymore. “I need to touch her. I need to explain.”

“She’ll run again,” I say, though it’s taking everything I have to stay logical when all I want to do is follow him. Chase her down and keep her somewhere safe until she listens.

“Then we catch her.”

I consider it for a second. Consider abandoning strategy and just taking what we need.

“We need scent blockers first,” I say instead. “Industrial strength. Complete suppression.”