Page 39 of Sweet Torment

It’s just me. I have to figure this out myself. Like always.

I stay quiet. My mind is spinning. I can’t think. This is a setup. Their fathers want me broken, dead, or vanished. The Havershams are just the weapon. A trap designed to look like a choice. They’ve been playing me from the start.

“When does the hunt begin?” I ask, my voice bored even though my heart is hammering against my ribs.

“Now, if you’re ready.” Nathaniel gestures to a large door and moves to a panel on the wall. “Your backpack is here.” I see it on the floor.

“Oh, and one more thing…” Carter says, joining his brother. He presses a different button, and the room goes silent.

Then it happens.

The air rushes back in all at once, but it’s not clean like before.

I smell them.

Nathaniel is pine and rain. Carter is leather and something sweet. Mav is citrus and cardamom. Each scent bypasses my brain and goes straight for my vagina. A cocktail designed to short-circuit every defense I have.

They smell like home.

What.

The.

Fuck.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were mine. My scent matches.

But they’re not. This is a trick.

Unfortunately, my body doesn’t care about that irrelevant detail.

I gasp, biting back a whimper. I’ve been wet before, but this is instant, almost violent. My underwear—soaked, my thighs trembling, every nerve screaming.

The omega I once wanted so badly to make an appearance goes on red alert.

Traitorous bitch.

They watch me, smirking, like they’ve been waiting for this.

“Surprise,” Carter says mockingly as the door slowly opens.

I snatch my pack and bolt, their dark, amused chuckles following me into the night.

Cold air slams into me but does nothing to stop the inferno under my skin. My body feels alien, hypersensitive, desperate. Too alive.

I don’t know this version of myself, and I already hate her.

A drone hovers overhead, humming. I grab a rock and hurl it. The rock hits but doesn’t take it down.

“Go fuck yourselves,” I tell the camera, flipping it off. Sick bastards. I have to move.

I run. Distance is everything. I need to think of what to do.

Hiding won’t work. Running won’t work forever. Climbing a tree might be an option. If I climb high enough, what are they going to do? Fuck me at the top of it?

Once I’ve been running for thirty or so minutes, I stop to breathe and check the supplies. The pack is stocked with water, freeze-dried meals, matches, first aid, a sharp but tiny knife, a small bow, and… a dildo. How thoughtful. Because nothing says omega like getting yourself off in the woods while you’re being hunted by strangers and watched by drones.

Will I be desperate enough to give them a show? Fuck, I hope not.