Page 61 of Sweet Torment

None of us want to be here.

Bianca stumbles getting out of the helicopter, and I catch her arm. Her heat ended way too fucking fast—trauma does that shit—and her body’s wrecked.

Inside, the foyer has become a triage center. Nurses are everywhere, the smell of alcohol sharp in the air. Bianca is steered into a chair, a white coat already at her side, scrubbing the blood from her various cuts. The nurse working on my shoulder might as well be on another planet. My attention is a fucking laser, fixed on Bianca. She’s quiet, too quiet.

Montgomery strides in. “I’ve held your fathers off for now, but they will be over in the morning.”

Translation: they’re pissed. About time something went our way.

“The house has been stocked. Food, clothing, toiletries. Everything you need.”

Everything except the one thing we actually want: control.

Bianca might’ve signed a contract for a year, but they’ll never let us go. Does she realize that yet?

Montgomery drones on about parameters and next steps. The medical team cleans everything up, packs their vans, and ghosts, Montgomery trailing behind. Suddenly, we’re alone in the too-bright foyer. We all look like hell. Bianca’s perched at the edge of a chair like she’s frozen there, barely breathing.

Weller breaks the silence. “Showers.”

The command slices through the tension. Everyone mumbles agreement, but Bianca’s staring holes through the living room wall. There’s a portrait of Whitney there, decked out in white, with us arranged around her, looking devoted. It’s always made my blood boil.

“You coming?” Freddie tries, his voice soft. A brave move after she verbally eviscerated him earlier. But with apologies like that, she’s welcome to hurt my feelings anytime.

Bianca doesn’t even look at him. Her fingers twist in her lap, knuckles white. “I need ten minutes, guys. Please.” She sounds kind of sad, and I hate that. “Just give me ten fucking minutes alone before I lose my fucking shit.”

Every instinct screams at me to gather her against my chest and breathe her in until that panicked scent fades. But the energy coming off her is a physical force pushing us back. I don’t like it. I’m struggling not to mark every inch of her skin until she doesn’t have the energy to deny me. Her chin is tilted up at that defiant angle that makes me want to put my hand around her throat and kiss the air from her lungs until she’s gasping.

This is gonna get interesting.

“Fifteen minutes,” Weller replies. “Then we’re checking on you.”

Bianca rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

Weller’s fingers flex at his side. Maybe she’s imagining the sharp crack of his hand against her ass, the pink bloom it would leave. But not today. Today she’s raw and wounded. A cornered animal that’s ready to lash out at the first hand that reaches for her. She thinks she can keep us at a distance, but she has no idea what she’s dealing with.

I catch Tristan’s eye across the room, and a silent understanding passes between us. We’ll give her space—for now.

The bond pulses. I feel like she can sense the anxiousness lurking beneath my skin. Her eyes dart to mine, wide and wary, before she looks away.

Yeah, Princess.

None of us are letting you go again.

I drag myself to the shower. The nurse gave me painkillers, which are already helping with the incessant throbbing. She said the biggest thing is watching for infection. The bandages are waterproof, thank fuck. I strip down and crank the knob all the way to scalding. The water washes away the grime, the blood… her scent. Fuck. I need her scent back on me. I need her back on me.

My cock bounces up at the thought. I wrap my hand around it, squeezing just enough to take the edge off. In my head, I see those blue eyes blazing as she gives me a verbal lashing.

“Fuck.” I drop my cock like it’s burning me. The thought of wasting a single drop when it should be hers… No. She gets everything from now on.

I want to belong to you forever.

Those words knocked the air right out of my lungs. This wild, beautiful woman wants me? No one has ever wanted me. The thought that she does makes it hard to breathe.

I close my eyes, forehead pressed against the cool tile.

I was picking Bianca up because Winston’s practice ran over. I’d been waiting twenty minutes, engine idling, pretending I wasn’t counting the seconds. Then she came bouncing out of those double doors, golden hair down to her waist, catching sunlight like it was only shining on her. She was wearing a light blue sweater, and those eyes—Christ—still trusting, still believing in good things. I hate that the world proved her wrong.

“Owen!” The way she said my name—like I was someone worth being happy to see.