Page 3 of Sweet Torment

The water’s so cold it makes me shiver violently, my teeth chattering, but I don’t let up. Not yet.

Then the bubbles stop.

After another twenty seconds, just to be sure, I stand up. I’m soaking wet, filthy, and bleeding from the scratches on my arms. Using every ounce of strength I have left, I push his body out into the current and watch the river take him away. The water embraces him greedily, pulling him under and downstream.

You’re safe now, Stacy.

The van’s waiting for me half a mile from the bar, tucked away on a service road, out of sight of street cameras and potential witnesses. The door slides open before I even reach it.

“Get in.” Ezra’s voice could make it snow in hell.

I climb in, dripping with river water and blood. Disappointment radiates from Ezra, and it’s worse than anger. At least anger burns hot and fast; disappointment seeps into the cracks in my armor.

Megan passes me a towel without looking at me, which means she’s either pissed or trying to hide her amusement. With her, it could go either way.

“Your tracker showed you at the river,” Ezra says, already pulling away and driving faster than necessary, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “The Severance Unit just called asking where their package is. Want to let me know what I should tell them?”

“Tell them he went for a swim and forgot to come up for air.”

Ezra slams on the brakes so hard that my teeth clack together, and Megan has to catch herself on the dashboard. We’re in the middle of nowhere—no streetlights, no witnesses. Just us and the tension thick enough to choke on.

“You think this is a fucking game?” His voice is dangerously quiet.

“No one’s laughing, Ez, but he deserved what he got.” I wring out my hair, watching dirty water pool at my feet.

“There are other ways⁠—”

“The Severance Unit is a joke,” I interrupt. “They still get to live. They still get to breathe, eat, and exist while their victims—” I cut myself off, the images of Stacy and all the others I’ve met over the years flashing behind my eyes.

Ezra meets my gaze in the rearview mirror, and there it is—the look. The one that says he expected better from me. The one that makes me feel about two inches tall.

“This is becoming a trust problem, Bianca.”

My chest tightens. Rodney deserved it, but Ezra’s right. I know he is. They risk everything for me, and I keep crossing the line, dragging them deeper into my darkness.

“This isn’t you,” Ezra says softly. “This isn’t who you are.”

“But it is me.” I wring out more water from my dress, watching it puddle around my feet. “You just don’t want to see it.”

“What I see,” he says, “is you using other people’s pain as an excuse to self-destruct and giving no fucks about what happens to you.”

The truth of his words stings more than the scratches on my arms. I have no comeback, no clever retort.

Megan pipes up, turning to look at me. “He’s right, bitch. You keep throwing yourself at death over and over like it’s a challenge, like you’re daring it to take you. Rodney was a big-ass fucker. He could’ve killed you.”

But he didn’t.

“Are you okay?” Ezra asks after a moment, and the genuine concern in his voice makes the guilt swell inside me.

“I’m starving,” I admit, because it’s easier than saying I’m sorry, I’m broken, or I can’t stop.

Megan snorts. “Murder munchies strike again.”

“It’s not murder munchies⁠—“

“Babe, you literally just killed an alpha, and now you want food. That’s textbook murder munchies.” She turns around, grinning despite Ezra’s scowl. “What are we thinking? Burgers? Chinese? Oh! I wonder if that place we passed earlier with the cheese fries is still open.”

“You’re not taking this seriously, Meg,” Ezra says, annoyance clear in his voice.