Page 56 of Sweet Torment

The guilt of all she’s been through when I should’ve been there sits in my chest like shrapnel that I can never remove. Every mark on her body pushes them deeper. The collar around her throat. The injuries we all check obsessively. The wounds she carries inside that go much deeper than the ones on her skin.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Tristan says, cutting through my spiral.

I look over to find him watching us, his eyes tracking every place we’re connected. The way my hand spreads possessively over her stomach. How her leg hooks back over mine. Where we’re joined beneath the blanket. He’s been on watch for the last two hours, a gun on his lap, but his attention keeps returning to her like she’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Or memorize. In case we lose her again.

“Can’t turn it off,” I admit.

He nods, understanding in his expression. We’ve all been there since we got her back, our minds racing through possibilities, probabilities, escape routes, and worst-case scenarios.

“Her heat’s all wrong,” he observes, tapping his knee. “The scent is fading.”

It is. She’s fighting it even in sleep. Some part of her still trying to maintain control when her body wants to surrender. Years of suppressants twisting her hormones. The forced awakening through our bond adding another layer of complexity. The trauma of everything that’s happened making her distrust her own needs.

“I think it’s breaking,” I say.

“All the stress,” Freddie murmurs from his spot near the fire. “Her body probably shut it down to protect itself. Survival instinct.”

A blessing, maybe.

“First order of business is getting out of here,” Tristan continues, shifting against the cave wall. “Then Megan can handle the collar. Check for any other surprises Montgomery might have left.”

I nod. Trackers. He’d have backup plans. The man doesn’t leave anything to chance.

“Then we run,” I say.

“She won’t leave Winston. Or her parents.”

“I know.” It’s true. She won’t go willingly. “But we can’t leave her in his crosshairs.”

Owen groans, a low, pained sound that makes Bianca’s fingers tighten around his. She responds to his pain, trying to comfort him. It’s so her that my chest tightens. He’s pale, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. Too much blood lost. He needs real medical attention.

Freddie appears at Owen’s side immediately, a water bottle in hand. Always caretaking, always watching for what we need before we even know we need it. “Drink.”

Owen grunts but takes it, his movements sluggish. His eyes find Bianca, checking on her even through his own pain. The devotion in that look… we’re all so gone for her.

“She’s okay,” I tell him. “Sleeping.”

Another grunt. That’s all we’ve gotten from him for the last hour.

“He’s not going to just let her go,” Tristan says, and we all know who he means.

“Then we disappear,” I say, the only real solution I can think of. “Take her and run as far as we have to go.”

“She’ll fight us,” Freddie points out, but there’s acceptance in his voice. He knows as well as I do that her fighting us is better than the alternative.

“Let her.” The words come out rough. “Better she’s angry and alive than…” I can’t finish. Can’t even contemplate a world where she’s not breathing, not fighting, not ours.

Owen makes a sound. Agreement, maybe, or pain. Hard to tell. But his hand tightens on hers.

The thing is, I understand why she did it. The contract, the trade, all of it. It’s exactly what she would do, sacrifice herself for others. It’s who she is beneath all the toughness. She loves with everything she has, even when it destroys her.

I press my face to her neck, breathing her in. Bianca shifts against me, and I can tell she’s surfacing from sleep. Through the bond, I feel the shift, the confused contentment of waking somewhere warm and safe. She flutters around me. Testing. There’s a slow clench that makes me bite back a groan.

She rocks back experimentally, humming when she feels how hard I am inside her. “Could get used to this,” she murmurs, and it kills me because she should be used to it.

Pushing back harder, she grinds against me. I rock into her, slow and deep, giving her what she needs. I tease her clit, and she sighs.

“That’s it, my love.” Her body pulls me in like quicksand.