Page 82 of Bitter Truths

There’s a beat of silence as we look at each other.

All this time apart, and Weller still thinks he’s the boss where I am concerned.

“You can tr–” I start to say, but his expression stops me cold. The intensity in his eyes, the way his jaw is locked tight. He’s not playing games.

He’s dead serious.

I set the knife down carefully on the table, hands folding in my lap. Blood beads on my fingertip where I tested the edge, and I automatically pop it into my mouth without thinking.

The reaction is immediate. They freeze like I just stripped down to nothing.

“Good girl,” Weller murmurs, and my eyes widen at the praise. My body goes warm all over.

Tristan chuckles. “Fascinating.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.

We finish dinner in charged silence, the air thick with tension and unspoken words.

When we move to the living room, they arrange themselves around me again. Freddie settles on my right side of the couch, close enough that his thigh presses against mine. Tristan claims my left, letting his knee bump mine. Owen takes a chair but leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, while Weller settles into the chair across from us.

They’re studying me like I’m a puzzle to solve.

“There’s more we need to discuss,” Weller’s gaze locks onto mine, and my insides immediately sink at his tone.

“What now?”

The room feels like it’s closing in on itself. Owen’s face drains of color, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. Tristan’s usual smirk has vanished, replaced by a hollowness. Freddie runs a shaky hand through his hair, then does it again. Weller’s fingers grip the arms of his chair like he’s anchoring himself against a storm.

Whatever they’re about to tell me, they’re dreading it.

They’re about to destroy me all over again.

“Here’s the deal,” Tristan sighs. “Whitney can force us to do things through the bond…”

“What kind of things?”

“Sex,” he says bluntly. “But not just that. She likes to watch us hurt each other.”

“Hurt each other how?”

“Fight. Humiliate. Degrade.” His mouth twists bitterly. “Whatever feeds her need for control.”

She turned them into her personal gladiators. My vision starts to narrow at the edges, that familiar red haze creeping in. I’ve killed people for less than this.

I stare at him, trying to process what he’s saying. “She forces you to fight each other?”

“Among other things,” Owen practically snarls.

“What other things?”

The silence stretches so long I think they’re not going to answer.

Freddie wrings his hands nervously.

“She invites others. Makes us…” He stops, swallows hard. “She likes to watch.”

They’re painting a picture so ugly I want to claw my own eyes out. “Watch what?”