Page 35 of Sweet Torment

We pile into the van. As Ezra pulls onto the highway, I close my eyes and push everything I have through our bond.

Hold on.

We’re coming for you.

We won’t fail you again.

12

BIANCA

The guards’ fingers are clamped down on my arms as we make our way down the hall to the elevator where he waits for me.

Alexander Barrett.

The suit is expensive. His eyes are the color of ice, his hair pale and perfectly styled, and his jawline is sharp. Tristan’s eyes always flicker with life—whether laughter or pain or both—but his father’s are empty.

If evil has a face, it’s wearing a tailored suit and a fancy watch.

He gives me the fucking creeps.

“Ms. Quinn.” His voice is flawless, the kind of smooth tone rich men use when they want to pretend they’re civilized. “The omega who killed my VP and my daughter-in-law.”

The guards stop short.

“Among others,” I can’t resist adding.

His expression is blank, but I see a flicker of calculation in his eyes. “Rebecca Wells was instrumental to me. Such a talented young woman. Very... accommodating.” He steps close, invading my space, and I have to fight the urge to jerk back.

“She raped your son while Whitney filmed it.” I don’t break eye contact.

He checks his watch. Guess he has an appointment after ruining my life. “My son is an alpha. When a beautiful woman like Rebecca shows interest... well, that’s hardly torture, is it?”

The indifference in his voice makes my hands twitch.

“And Whitney,” he goes on, “the mother my grandchildren were supposed to have.”

“Did you fuck her, too?” I roll my eyes.

He freezes for a single heartbeat, and then he bares his teeth in something that isn’t a smile.

“Careful, Ms. Quinn.”

The elevator dings open. They shove me in first. Alexander follows, and the small space becomes suffocating, his scent pressing in on me. The elevator climbs, floor after floor, and he just stands there, staring. Dissecting me.

“You’re pretty,” he says abruptly. “They will appreciate that.”

He must be talking about my hunters.

I give him nothing.

He sees that. “Three brothers, no omega for two years. They’ll pass you around. One after another, until you can’t remember which one’s inside you.” He clicks his tongue in mock regret. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”

My throat tightens until it hurts, but I don’t let it show.

The elevator slides to a stop. He waits until the last second, then lays a hand on my shoulder. The touch is light, almost polite, but the power in it pins me.

He bends close, his lips brushing my ear. I hate that it makes me shiver. “That’s what omegas are best for. Pathetic, really, but a good time.” He drops the words into my ear. “You’ll be crying, pleading, promising anything just to have them fill you up.”