19. Bianca #2
“Come on, Princess,” he pushes, his voice dropping to that register that makes my knees weak. “Show me what you’ve got.”
I lunge forward, going for a takedown. He’s faster than I expected, catching my wrist and using my momentum against me. But I adapt quickly, hooking my leg behind his and sending us both tumbling to the mat.
I end up on top of him, straddling his waist with my hands pinned to his chest. The position awakens my core like a lightning bolt—it’s extremely intimate, the air between us is charged, and I’m where my body has been wanting to be for… too many years.
His chest rises and falls rapidly beneath my palms. I can feel his heartbeat, fast and erratic, matching mine. The black sweatpants do nothing to hide his body’s reaction to our position, and my clit tingles with anticipation.
“Bianca.” My name sounds rough on his lips, like a prayer and a curse combined.
I should move. I should get off him and brush it off. Instead, I find myself leaning closer, drawn by the magnetic pull that’s always existed between us.
He sees the movement, and his hands come up to grip my hips, holding me in place. Not pulling me closer, not pushing me away. Just anchoring me there while we stare at each other.
I bite my lower lip. “This isn’t smart.”
“I know.”
“We’re playing with fire.”
“I know.” His thumbs trace small circles against my hip bones through the fabric of my leggings, and I bite back a whimper. “But you’re not moving.”
“Neither are you.”
His pupils are blown, and I can tell this man is working hard to restrain himself. “Because if I move right now, I’m going to flip you over and pin you to this mat. And then I’m going to find out if you taste as good as I remember.”
The words send liquid fire through my veins. My hands fist in the fabric of his sweatpants without conscious thought, and I watch his eyes go pitch black with desire.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about.” The softness in his voice catches me off guard. He’s not known for being the gentle one.
You. Always you. How much I want to forget everything else and lose myself in you.
“Last night,” I say instead. “Everything you guys told me.”
His expression shutters. “What about it?”
“Freddie...” My voice catches. “I’ve never seen him like that.”
Owen’s jaw ticks. “He’s been holding it together for years. Sometimes the dam breaks.”
“What else did she make you do?” The question burns my tongue. “If you don’t want me to know, I won’t push, but?—”
“I want you to know.” He interrupts me. “I want you to know all of it, even if it disgusts you. Even if it makes you look at us differently.”
“It won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Try me, Owen.”
He studies my face for a long moment. Whatever he finds must satisfy him because he nods slowly.
“Whitney liked to watch us together,” he says, his brows furrowing, like he’s deeply concerned about my reaction.
Red seeps in around the edges of my vision.
“What are you saying? She made you—” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Fuck each other? Yeah.” His voice is emotionless. “I won’t go into all the graphic details because it got pretty disturbing at times, but…”
The horror of what he’s suggesting steals my breath. The image of them being forced into that kind of situation with each other against their will… her attempt to destroy them by breaking down their friendship… a bond they had long before she took them for herself…
A chill runs through me, and I know, without a doubt, that by the end of this, either Whitney or I will be dead.
Because there’s no way I’ll be content with anything less than her permanent destruction if I’m breathing.
“Owen.” My hands frame his face, trying to comfort him in some small way. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
He freezes at the contact, his eyes searching mine.
I continue. “Like I told Freddie last night… you’re still you to me. I hate them for what they’ve done to all of you… but never you . Even when I wanted to hate you… for what I thought you did… I couldn’t. Not really.”
He looks relieved.
“There’s more,” he warns.
“Tell me.”
“She filmed it all, and those recordings are not pretty, Bianca. We couldn’t look at each other for a long time… It did break us, more than I care to admit. The videos are kept as insurance in case we ever try to be too ambitious.”
My hands rub slow patterns on his chest, doing my best to soothe the pain away, to fix what can’t be fixed. The storm building in my chest threatens to choke me. Whitney didn’t just force them to do it—she documented it all so she could hang it over their heads forever.
“I assume one of you would’ve mentioned by now if you have kids with her…?” I swallow hard.
Owen’s expression darkens. “No, thank fuck. Whitney can’t have kids. Her father experimented on her when she was younger. Made her infertile.”
We sit in charged silence, processing everything that’s been said. The weight of his body underneath me should feel uncomfortable, but instead it grounds me. It makes me feel safe despite the horrible things we’re discussing.
“Princess.”
“Yeah?”
“I need you to know…”
I wait, watching emotions flicker across his face.
“When we were forced together like that… and with her, with the others—it wasn’t real. It wasn’t what we wanted. Never, not even once. It was just survival, doing what we had to do to get through it.”
“I know.”
His eyes search mine urgently. “I need you to understand that none of it changed how I feel about you. How any of us feel about you. I’ll be honest… you are the only reason some of us are still here.”
The vulnerability in his voice makes my throat knot up. This man is laying himself bare for me. The thought that I could have lost any of them permanently because of this sick game she’s been playing is too much to bear.
He flips us over so I’m pinned beneath him, his hands braced on either side of my head.
It feels like coming home… The space between us crackles with tension as his scent surrounds me, making it impossible to think clearly.
All I can focus on is the weight of him above me, the way his arms flex as he holds himself up, how easy it would be to arch up and close the distance between our mouths.
“Owen.” I slide my hands into his hair, and he closes his eyes. “She didn’t change how I feel about you either. You’re still?—”
Mine. The word sits on my tongue, too dangerous to say aloud.
“Still what?”
“Still the man I always thought you were.”
The words hang between us, soft but weighted with everything I don’t say.
“You have no idea what you do to me.” His voice drops to that gravelly register that sets my insides alight.
The admission shatters what’s left of my control. My hands tighten in his hair, and I arch up toward him instinctively.
He meets me halfway, lowering his head until our breaths mingle. We’re so close, I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
His mouth hovers just above mine. “Tell me to stop.”
“I can’t.”
Raw hunger flashes in his eyes. His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
“I’ve thought about kissing you every day since your birthday,” he confesses. “Wondered if you’d still respond the same way. If you’d still?—”
Our lips brush, just a hint of contact, but it sends electricity shooting through my entire body. I gasp against his mouth, and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating between us.
“Well, this is fucking interesting.”
We spring apart like we’ve been electrocuted. Tristan stands in the doorway in black athletic shorts and a white shirt that shows off his lean frame, taking in our position with raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk.
Of course he looks perfect too. This is like some sick nightmare—all of them within reach but untouchable... if I were being smart like the girl I’ve forged myself to be.
But based on the fact that I can still feel the ghost of Owen’s lips on mine… I’m not.
Owen rolls off me immediately, but not before I catch the frustrated growl that rumbles through his chest. The loss of his weight leaves me feeling cold and exposed.
He sits up, running both hands through his hair, jaw locked tight.
His breathing comes harsh and uneven, hands clenching and unclenching like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me again. Or strangle Tristan.
I sit up quickly, tugging my hoodie back into place and trying to look like we weren’t seconds away from devouring each other.
“We were just—” I start.
“Sparring,” Tristan finishes, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. “I can see that. Very... hands-on technique.”
My face burns.
Right. Because that’s totally what it looked like when I was melting into a puddle under Owen on that mat. At the waterhole, I’d kissed all four of them without a hint of embarrassment, spinning that bottle like I owned the world. Now here I am, acting like some caught teenager.
“Looked intense.” His gaze moves between us, cataloging everything—our flushed faces, rapid breathing, the way Owen’s hands are still clenched into fists.
He sounds almost... jealous. He’s looking at me like he wants to do the same damn thing to me and much more.
He moves closer, each step deliberate. My heart beats wildly as his scent reaches me, making me dizzy.
God, I’m so turned on right now it’s not even funny.
“Where’s everyone else?” Owen asks, his voice steady but strained.
“Freddie’s making breakfast. Weller’s already working on the reports for our meeting today… don’t forget you need to take care of that thing for the fathers this morning.” Tristan’s eyes linger on me as he stops just a few feet away.
Owen grunts a response.
My skin tingles with awareness. This close, I can see the way his shorts cling to his... fuck . Every nerve screams at me to either run… to… or from… I am not quite sure which one. The fire in his eyes is doing things to me.
“Put me down for the next sparring session,” he says, those blue eyes never leaving mine. “Whenever you’re feeling up for the challenge .”
His offer sends a thrill through me. He’s not talking about sparring, and we both know it.
“I’ll take you anytime, Tris.” I mean to sound confident, but the words come out too breathless, too... needy. Oh god. Both men freeze at the wording, and it makes my skin scorch.
His eyebrows shoot up, and that familiar smirk spreads across his face.
I groan, pressing my palms against my eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Are you sure?” His tone deepens to that silky register that makes my skin prickle.
The thought hangs in the air between the three of us, electric and dangerous.
But reality crashes back into me with a jolt—I have a mission.
There are people who owe a debt that is impossible to repay, but I’m going to take what I can from them anyway.
I can’t afford to get distracted, no matter how badly my body wants to bask in their attention right now.
“I should go take a shower,” I say, standing and moving toward the door on unsteady legs. “Get ready to head back to the hospital.”
And finalize my other plans, I think, but keep that to myself.
At the doorway, I can’t help but glance back. Owen sits on the mat, still shirtless, still looking at me. Tristan leans against the wall now, arms crossed, watching me.
I know my refuge training won’t save me from what these men make me feel.
Not for much longer anyway.