Page 32 of Sweet Torment

“The collar is for monitoring only. It will remain for the duration of your stay, but no one will have access to it after you land at the preserve.”

Sure.

Whitney lit me up like a Christmas tree last night, and I’m not looking forward to a repeat.

“Someone will come for you shortly,” Montgomery says.

I close my eyes, willing the pounding in my head to vanish, and wait.

11

WELLER

I’m coming for you, Bianca.

The promise is a constant, silent mantra I push through our bond. It’s the only thing keeping me upright.

The hotel room stinks of stale cigarettes, and the couple next door is going at it for the third time today, their headboard slamming against our shared wall in a grating, uneven rhythm. We picked this place for its anonymity. The desk clerk took cash and didn’t look at us twice. He barely looked up from his phone.

“Almost in,” Mason grunts through the laptop speaker. “Give me ten minutes. Lots of layers to get through.”

Tristan is hunched over the laptop Megan gave him, his fingers a blur across the keys. The harsh blue light from the screen casts shadows across his face, highlighting the exhaustion there. My eyes burn with the grit of days passing without real sleep. A half-eaten protein bar sits forgotten on the table. Food is tasteless and pointless. Tristan’s hands shake from too much caffeine. We’re running on nothing but the ragged edge of adrenaline.

Megan sits on the bed, talking. She tells story after story about Bianca at the refuge, training other omegas, pulling them from dangerous situations. Every word chisels away at the girl who left.

The girl who was too precious for this world.

“Any word?” I cut Megan off mid-sentence. Owen, Freddie, and Ezra are staking out Montgomery’s facility, watching for any sign of movement.

Megan checks her phone. “Not yet.”

“Visual’s up,” Mason announces.

The screen on Tristan’s laptop shows a sterile white room, similar to the one I woke up in after we bonded. My heart seizes in my chest when I see her.

She’s sitting on a bed in a thin white gown. Her hair. Someone cut her hair. It’s short, barely brushing her shoulders. Shorter than I’ve ever seen it. I imagine Whitney or one of the others with a pair of scissors, a petty, vicious act of revenge, and my hands clench into fists.

There are bandages on her arms and legs. Scratches on her face. She fought. She fought hard.

“Zoom in,” I say, my throat tight.

The image sharpens. Her face is a blank mask, eyes fixed on something we can’t see.

What are you thinking, my love?

Megan’s voice is soft. “She’s okay. This is normal for her. She can shut it down like no one I’ve ever met.”

I just nod, my eyes fixed on the monitor. She was in preheat yesterday. Her body is a ticking clock, and she’s surrounded by people trying to hurt her.

“How the fuck did the guards not notice this happening?” Tristan snaps, echoing my own thoughts as he studies her injuries. Whitney is manipulative, but Montgomery is obsessed with security. What if Bianca hadn’t been able to fight them off? The thought is a physical pain, a hot spike behind my ribs.

Tristan clicks around the screen. “What’s that?” A white badge is pinned to her chest.

Megan leans in. “Zoom, zoom, zoom,” she chants, and Tristan does until the logo is sharp.

Barrett Pharmaceuticals.

Her name is listed, along with an identification number.