Page 46 of Sweet Torment

We reach a dense patch of woods, and it’s nearly pitch black. I hear it before I see it—a low, electronic whir zips past my ear. I catch sight of a sleek, black drone between the trees. It swivels, a red optical sensor locking onto me.

“INTRUDER,” a robotic voice calls out.

I dive to the side just before a projectile zings through the air where my head was, embedding itself in a tree trunk with a sharp thwack.

Before I can regain my bearings, a second crack echoes through the forest.

Owen’s body jerks beside me. “Fuck.”

His voice is soft, almost surprised. Then I see the blood, a dark stain spreading quickly across his shoulder. “Owen!”

The handgun Ezra slipped to me is already in my hand. It only takes one shot. The drone explodes in a shower of sparks.

“You good?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Blood runs down his arm.

“Peachy.” Owen presses his palm to the wound. More blood seeps between his fingers. But his eyes burn with rage. “Keep moving.”

I fumble for the walkie with my free hand. “Tristan! Weller! Owen’s hit.”

Static, then Tristan’s voice, filled with alarm: “What the fuck do you mean, hit?”

“Drone shot him. He’s up. Just get here. We⁠—”

Before I can say more, a scream cuts through everything.

I’ve never heard anything as horrific as that sound. It will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Bianca.

Owen’s running, blood seeping through his fingers. I’m right behind him, barreling through the underbrush. A branch whips me in the face, catching my eyebrow and making blood trickle into my eye. My heart feels like it will burst. Her scream is the only sound I can hear.

We burst through a cluster of thick pines into a small, open clearing, and the scene in front of me is pulled from my worst nightmare.

The world slows to a crawl.

Bianca is spotlighted by the moon. What’s left of her shirt hangs in shreds. It’s all she’s wearing. Her body is marked with scratches, caked in dirt and blood.

One man lies on the ground in a spreading pool of red. Another is next to him, hands pressed to a wound between his legs. The amount of blood suggests he’s likely gone or close to it.

And the third man has a knife pressed to Bianca’s throat. He’s already nicked her, a small red trickle of blood running down her neck. His other hand fumbles with his pants.

I don’t remember moving. I go from the tree line to slamming into him with enough force to send us both flying. We hit the ground hard, rolling through leaves and dirt. He’s bigger than me and gets on top almost immediately, huge hands wrapping around my throat.

He’s enormous.

I punch him while he’s strangling me. When he doubles over with a wheeze, I roll us into a better position.

“Freddie?” My name comes out soft, barely there. Bianca sounds confused, dazed. “Are you⁠—?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m here.”

My hand scrambles through the leaves and finds a rock. The first hit catches his temple with a wet thud. Blood spurts, but he’s still fighting. I hit him again and again, the rage a white-hot fire in my blood, unwilling to relent.

He. Will. Never. Touch. Her. Again.

He goes twitchy beneath me and then stills.

I look over to see how Owen is doing. The fucker goes for Owen’s bullet wound, jamming a finger deep inside. Owen lets out an agonized sound I’ve never heard from him but doesn’t let go. His forehead connects with the man’s nose in an explosion of blood and cartilage.