Page 29 of Sweet Torment

“Unknown. But alive.”

Ezra nods once, processing. “Inside,” he says, gesturing to the van. “We need to get the trackers out. Time is critical. Our hacker has been working to get into Montgomery’s surveillance, but no luck yet.”

As we follow them into the tight space of the van, I catch Tristan’s eyes tracking Ezra with the same intense focus I am. When he notices me watching, he raises an eyebrow. I roll my eyes. We’re on the same page then. This perfect specimen charmed the panties off our omega.

The inside of the van is a mobile command center: monitors, equipment, weapons. Megan grabs a few items and pulls a stool over. “Who’s first?”

Freddie immediately jumps into the seat like he can’t get the tracker out of him fast enough. Megan runs a scanner over his neck and then makes a cut, digging inside. His face twists up, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Freddie says, probably trying to distract himself from the pain. “About any of it...”

“That’s because we’re not,” Ezra replies flatly. “Bianca’s resourceful but impulsive. She will follow her instincts right into hell if she thinks it’s the right play.”

A laugh almost escapes me. This is fucking surreal. It’s like watching Weller with a different face. No wonder she gravitated toward him.

Megan makes a sound of triumph and flicks the tracker she’s just located into a small dish. She patches Freddie up quickly before saying, “Next.”

I take the seat, rolling my shoulders back. I hear a quiet chirp from the scanner, and then there’s a cut, no warning. The pain is sharp, but I relish it.

“There you are. Big guy, hold still,” she says, digging deeper. “I know you want to punch something.”

“Just do it.”

“She carved your names into trees,” Megan says casually. “Target practice. Hundreds of arrows, knives, and even some sessions with a hatchet... Poor trees look like they went through a war. I’m surprised they survived. But you know what?” The tracker finally comes free with a wet sound. “Meeting you guys? You’re not so bad.”

“How recently was she doing that?” Tristan asks hesitantly.

Megan chuckles. “Look, I know this really sucks, but you should know—Bianca’s no damsel. She’ll be okay.”

“She escaped a bear once,” Megan continues, like she’s trying to be reassuring while digging the blade deeper. “And got lost for a week in the dead of winter. Then there was the rattlesnake bite. The fall off that little cliff.” She’s rambling now, moving to Tristan with the scanner. “Oh, and that time she––”

Weller’s head turns a fraction. “Enough... please.”

I’m with Weller. Each story about Bianca’s near-death experiences in the wilderness twists my stomach into tighter knots. We could’ve lost her a dozen times over and never even known. Never had the chance to make things right.

Megan shrugs, but something in her eyes softens as she glances between us. “Just trying to make you feel better. She finds a way.”

Ezra speaks. “We need to move as soon as the trackers are out. Every minute we sit here is a risk.”

“Got it,” Megan says, dropping Tristan’s tracker into the dish with a metallic clink. She presses a bandage to his neck and moves on to Weller.

Weller sits rigidly on the stool, staring straight ahead as Megan runs the scanner over him. His face doesn’t change when she makes the incision, but I notice his hands gripping his knees.

“Jesus,” Megan mutters, digging deeper. “Yours is buried. Sorry.”

Blood trickles down Weller’s neck, but he doesn’t flinch. He just sits there, taking it.

“There,” Megan says finally, dropping Weller’s tracker into the dish with the others.

“Abandon everything tied to the guard.” Ezra opens the van door. “And the trackers.”

Then he hands us each a water bottle from a cooler bag as the engine of the van roars to life. Megan rides shotgun, typing furiously on her laptop.

“Anything?” Ezra asks, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Still working on it.” Megan’s voice is tight. “Mason says Montgomery’s security is next level. Multiple firewalls, rotating encryptions. He’s good, but this is taking longer than expected.”

“Mason?” Tristan leans forward between the seats, suddenly alert.