21. Bianca
BIANCA
My heart pounds in my throat as I knock on the hotel room door.
For a second, I think about leaving. Just turning around and pretending none of this ever happened. Running back to the woods where I knew how to exist. How to survive.
Where I knew who I was.
I don’t belong in this world anymore. Whatever place I had, it’s gone.
I’m too wild now, unwilling to conform to what society expects.
The adrenaline is still there, humming through me… a reminder of what I’ve done.
There could be consequences. How will the guys react when they find out?
Maybe mad. Disappointed. Scared for me.
But I’m not.
For too long, others have been pulling the strings, choosing for us, keeping us apart.
What other choice is there, except to fight back?
My fingers twitch, remembering the zip ties. The way those leeches looked at me when they realized they didn’t have the upper hand. They weren’t going to walk away without some form of punishment.
Afterwards, I went to my parents’ house and stood under the shower until the water ran cold. I scrubbed until my skin turned red, but nothing could erase the feel of it… what I did. What it meant. At least the blood’s gone from under my nails.
Although my knuckles are raw.
The dress I’m wearing used to be my favorite.
Soft blue cotton, fitted at the waist. Now it just feels like a costume.
Like I’m pretending to be someone who no longer exists.
The one who kept her voice down and tried to be a people pleaser.
The one who always said sorry. The one who would’ve never done what I did today.
I remove the hat and shake my hair loose.
The door opens, and just like that, there they are. All of them.
Their eyes find me, and I feel the air leave my lungs. My body won’t let me forget that these men are mine.
They look different tonight. A little looser around the edges, a little less guarded. Their hair is damp from recent showers, and they’re dressed casually.
More like the men I knew before everything went sideways.
It’s the first time since I’ve been back that they feel familiar… not just in the shape of them, but in the way they carry it. Like maybe the weight we’ve all been dragging is starting to lift, just enough to let a little light back in.
And maybe they see it too… the way we’re all slowly stepping out of the cells we’ve been locked away in. Not all the way. But enough to change everything.
“Hi.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, fingers brushing skin that feels too warm under their eyes.
Freddie’s grin spreads the second he sees me, all warmth and open relief. Like just standing in front of him makes the air easier to breathe. “You came,” he says, voice low and a little breathless, like he’s been waiting for hours.
“Of course I did.” I twist my fingers together, trying not to pick at the skin along my thumb.
His smile falters as his eyes drop to my hands. “What happened?”
I glance down, as if I’ve just remembered. The knuckles are raw, scraped open from when my fist met Rebecca’s face.
Too late, I try to hide them, folding my hands behind my back.
“Nothing,” I say too fast. “I slipped in the hospital lot.”
Owen pushes off the wall, crossing the distance between us. He reaches for my wrist, and I reluctantly extend my hand. His thumb brushes over the broken skin, gentle despite the suspicion darkening his face… like he’s already confirmed for himself I’m lying.
“This doesn’t look like a fall.” His voice drops low, almost a growl.
I ease my hand out of his grip. “Concrete’s rough. I wasn’t paying attention.”
They all glance at each other. That silent way they talk when they think I’m not watching. The way they always did when I was just Winston’s little sister, never quite sure what they were communicating.
Weller’s eyes narrow. Tristan’s mouth ticks at the corner. No one says it out loud, but they don’t buy a word of it.
“Well, we’re glad you made it,” Freddie says, clearly deciding to let my lie slide. His smile remains, though concern lingers in his eyes. His scent reaches across the room, wrapping around me like a blanket I desperately want to snuggle into.
Tristan leans back in a chair near the window, his legs stretched out like he owns the room. His eyes track over me slowly, not even pretending to be polite. When they settle on my bare legs, his expression doesn’t change, but the scent of the air does. Arousal.
“Nice dress,” he says.
I keep still, but my fingers itch to tug the hem lower. His focus stays right where it is… unbothered, and I feel the heat of it long after he looks away.
Weller stands near the minibar, a dark drink in hand. The amber catches the light as he tips it, the ice clinking against the glass before he sets it down.
“You want a drink?” he asks, eyes on the glass but voice directed at me.
“Whiskey… if you have it,” I say, stepping further into the room. “Straight.”
He pours and hands it over. Our fingers brush, and I feel the urge to move closer to him. But I don’t.
His eyes follow the glass as it touches my lips, but it’s not the whiskey he’s focused on. “How’s Winston?”
“Better.” The burn goes down smooth, settles low in my stomach. “He’s awake. Talking.”
My mind drifts to my conversation with Winston earlier today. His theory about pre-bonding still rattles around in my head.
I’m not ready to tell them. Not yet. Not when I’m still processing what it means. Not when I’m still trying to figure out who I am and what this situation is. If I tell them now, everything changes before I even understand what I want.
“I’ll order room service.” Weller reaches for the menu sitting on the desk. “Preferences?”
“Whatever.” Owen hasn’t taken his eyes off me, still trying to decipher what I’m hiding.
“I’ll eat anything.” I move toward Freddie on the couch, away from Owen’s unsettling scrutiny.
Weller nods. My stomach rumbles as I hear him order steak, pasta, salad, and dessert. I guess my little rendezvous earlier worked up an appetite.
“Come sit.” Freddie pats the cushion beside him.
I cross the room, hyper-aware of my dress brushing my thighs with each step. They all track my every movement, and blood rushes in my ears as my heart skips erratically.
The couch dips beneath me as I perch beside Freddie, maintaining distance between us.
“How are you feeling?” Genuine concern softens his features. “Really?”
“I’m okay.” Even though nothing is okay.
The truth? I’m buzzing from knowing I made them pay for touching what’s mine. My knuckles throb, my muscles burn with exhaustion, and a dark and powerful feeling purrs in my chest. I feel fucking alive. But I can’t let them see that side of me. Not yet.
“What did you do today?” Freddie asks. “After you left the hospital?”
I shrug and avoid making eye contact. “Ran some errands, went to shower at my parents’ house.”
“You should’ve texted.” Restless fingers tap against Tristan’s thigh.
“Why?” The question cuts sharper than intended.
“Because we worry.” Owen’s scent darkens, spice and blackcurrant turning heavy in the air.
“I can handle myself.” My chin lifts automatically.
“We know you can. We just...” Freddie stops, raking fingers through his curls in frustration.
I’m used to the freedom living at the refuge has given me. The ability to get lost in the woods for hours alone… without the pressure of needing to check in.
“We need to know where you are.” Weller returns from his call, voice casual. “When you disappear, we...” He trails off, but his eyes say what his words don’t.
A bitter laugh escapes me. “What I do and where I go isn’t your business...”
Tristan arches a brow, that lazy, infuriating smirk of his stretching wider. “Sure, sweetheart. Keep telling yourself that.”
I roll my eyes.
My dress rides up when I cross my legs, and their eyes freeze on the jagged scars carved across my knees.
Shit.
I yank the fabric down, but it’s too late.
Weller moves before I can say anything. He crosses the room and drops to one knee in front of me, quiet and composed in that way that always feels like a warning.
His thumb brushes over the scars, and my whole body reacts.
My thighs press together on instinct, trying to quiet the ache his touch sparks to life. My breath catches in my throat.
“Bianca, what happened to your knees?” His voice is low, but I can hear the strain in it.
“Those are old scars. I fell on glass.” My fingers smooth fabric against my thighs, pressing hard enough to feel bone beneath skin.
“Bianca.” My name on Owen’s lips is both command and plea wrapped into one sound.
“It’s ancient history. Leave it.” I keep my voice deliberately light.
Tristan leans forward, bracing his elbows on his legs. “How ancient?”
“Five years, give or take.” The words stick in my throat.
Freddie shifts closer, the cushion dipping beneath his weight. Heat radiates from his thigh, almost touching mine. “Please tell us how it happened.”
I always did find it hard to say no to Freddie.
“Three alphas caught me alone one night after group therapy. Commanded me to kneel…” I stare at the crescents my nails left in my palms. “There was broken glass on the ground… someone stopped them before they could— anyway, like I said, old shit that’s irrelevant now.”
I hear the collective intake of breath, the way their scents sharpen with anger.
“Where?” Owen growls.
I shrug without looking up. “Hunter’s Creek... where I lived for a little while after everything.”
“And these alphas… what happened to them?” Weller’s thumb keeps moving over the scars like he’s memorizing them, but the pressure has changed. Firmer now.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, hard. My fingers curl into the cushions beside me, trying to anchor myself against the heat creeping up my thighs.
His touch is making me dizzy. I don’t think I should be getting turned on right now while discussing my own trauma.
But I am.
They feel so safe.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Tristan hasn’t said a word, but I feel him.