Chapter 11
WELLER
I’m coming for you, Bianca.
The promise is a constant, silent mantra I push through our bond. It’s the only thing keeping me upright.
The hotel room stinks of stale cigarettes, and the couple next door is going at it for the third time today, their headboard slamming against our shared wall in a grating, uneven rhythm.
We picked this place for its anonymity. The desk clerk took cash and didn’t look at us twice. He barely looked up from his phone.
“Almost in,” Mason grunts through the laptop speaker. “Give me ten minutes. Lots of layers to get through.”
Tristan is hunched over the laptop Megan gave him, his fingers a blur across the keys.
The harsh blue light from the screen casts shadows across his face, highlighting the exhaustion there.
My eyes burn with the grit of days passing without real sleep.
A half-eaten protein bar sits forgotten on the table.
Food is tasteless and pointless. Tristan’s hands shake from too much caffeine.
We’re running on nothing but the ragged edge of adrenaline.
Megan sits on the bed, talking. She tells story after story about Bianca at the refuge, training other omegas, pulling them from dangerous situations. Every word chisels away at the girl who left.
The girl who was too precious for this world.
“Any word?” I cut Megan off mid-sentence. Owen, Freddie, and Ezra are staking out Montgomery’s facility, watching for any sign of movement.
Megan checks her phone. “Not yet.”
“Visual’s up,” Mason announces.
The screen on Tristan’s laptop shows a sterile white room, similar to the one I woke up in after we bonded. My heart seizes in my chest when I see her.
She’s sitting on a bed in a thin white gown. Her hair. Someone cut her hair. It’s short, barely brushing her shoulders. Shorter than I’ve ever seen it. I imagine Whitney or one of the others with a pair of scissors, a petty, vicious act of revenge, and my hands clench into fists.
There are bandages on her arms and legs. Scratches on her face. She fought. She fought hard.
“Zoom in,” I say, my throat tight.
The image sharpens. Her face is a blank mask, eyes fixed on something we can’t see.
What are you thinking, my love?
Megan’s voice is soft. “She’s okay. This is normal for her. She can shut it down like no one I’ve ever met.”
I just nod, my eyes fixed on the monitor. She was in preheat yesterday. Her body is a ticking clock, and she’s surrounded by people trying to hurt her.
“How the fuck did the guards not notice this happening?” Tristan snaps, echoing my own thoughts as he studies her injuries.
Whitney is manipulative, but Montgomery is obsessed with security.
What if Bianca hadn’t been able to fight them off?
The thought is a physical pain, a hot spike behind my ribs.
Tristan clicks around the screen. “What’s that?” A white badge is pinned to her chest.
Megan leans in. “Zoom, zoom, zoom,” she chants, and Tristan does until the logo is sharp.
Barrett Pharmaceuticals.
Her name is listed, along with an identification number.
The look Tristan gives the laptop is pure venom. “He’s dead.” He shoves back from the table and starts pacing, a caged wolf in the small room. “So fucking dead.”
The screen goes dark.
“Shit,” Mason curses. “They’re kicking me out—“
“Get it back,” Tristan barks, returning to his chair.
“Working on it.”
I think of the blankness in her eyes. Years ago, she sat on my bedroom floor, chewing on the end of her pen, debating which colleges to apply to. I never told her I’d already decided I would follow her anywhere she went. I wish I would’ve told her how much she meant to me.
I don’t know how I will work past my guilt.
“Back in.”
Bianca’s standing now. She tugs at the ends of her hair, then begins to braid it. I watch, transfixed, as she creates two tight French braids.
“She’s preparing for something,” I murmur.
Megan nods, leaning forward. “Oh yeah. She loves her battle braids. She taught all the girls at the refuge how to do them.”
Guards enter the room and grab her arms. She doesn’t fight. There’s no resistance at all, and that’s more terrifying than any struggle.
“Where are they taking her?” Megan whispers.
“Can you get us audio?” Tristan asks Mason.
“I’m in their system, not performing miracles,” Mason growls. “Video was hard enough.”
The feed glitches, then freezes.
“Goddamn it,” Mason curses, and the screen goes black again. “They’re onto me.”
Tristan smashes his fist on the table. “Bring it back,” he snarls. “NOW.”
“They’re moving her to a new location,” I say. The certainty is absolute, and my heart pounds. Where?
Megan’s phone rings. “It’s Ezra.” She puts it on speaker.
“Helicopter on the roof,” Ezra confirms. “They’re loading her now. We had to stop Owen from hopping the fence.”
“Did you get visuals?”
“Sending pics now.” A pause. “And... Tristan, your father’s here. He supervised the loading personally.”
Tristan’s jaw locks. For a second, he just stares at the wall, then he’s moving again, faster, his hands a blur. “Mason, run the tail numbers as soon as you get Ezra’s photos.”
I lean closer as he cleans up the image of her name tag so he can see the number. “I’m locked out of Barrett systems,” he growls. “Let me try a backdoor.”
Mason’s voice crackles through the speaker. “Got the registration. Private.”
“Wait.” Tristan’s fingers pause, then hammer down. “I’m in.”
We all lean forward as he navigates his father’s company system. He clicks through files until he finds one labeled “TruScent Trial 37-B.”
“What the hell is TruScent?”
Tristan’s face goes pale as he scans the document. “It’s designed to...” He swallows. “To simulate a scent bond where none exists.”
“No.” I whisper the word.
“Maybe they’re trying to override her pull to us and make her choose someone else.” His voice is flat. “According to this, the trial date is today through next week. Location is Oakwood Preserve.”
“Where’s that?” Megan asks.
“About three hours north,” Tristan says. “Owned by Montgomery’s parent company.”
“Security?” I demand.
Tristan pulls up schematics. “Electric fences, armed guards, drones. A fucking fortress.”
“Who else is involved?” Megan asks.
Tristan’s jaw tightens. “The other test subjects are… the Haversham Pack. Three brothers. Two alphas, one beta.” He turns to Megan. “We’ve met them. They’re assholes.”
“They’re trapping her with them?” The question is a low growl from my own throat.
Mason’s voice cuts in. “I’m finding whispers on the dark web about TruScent. It’s meant to fake a scent match very realistically. Works on omegas, alphas, and betas.”
Megan sighs. “So it’s for men to trick women into choosing them.”
“Whitney,” Tristan points out. “There will be women out there that trap men too.”
“Fair.”
“What’s the play here though?” Tristan murmurs. “She’s already bonded to you. This wouldn’t solve that.”
“Maybe they just want to see if the drug draws her to different alphas even when she knows who her real scent matches are,” Megan suggests grimly with a shrug. “A good way to prove effectiveness.”
A possessive rumble builds in my chest. The thought of Bianca being chemically manipulated to desire anyone else makes me see red.
The door to our room slams open. Owen storms in, eyes wild, with Freddie and Ezra right behind him.
“Where the fuck is she?” Owen snarls, shouldering past me to lean over Tristan’s screen, his large frame blocking everything.
“Back the fuck up, Owen, I can’t see,” Tristan snaps without looking away from the monitor, shoving at his arm. “Based on what we’ve found, she’s headed to a preserve Montgomery owns. It’s three hours away.”
“They’re taking her to a preserve? Why?” Freddie asks. His face goes slack. “To hunt her?”
“It’s a trial for a new drug,” I say, my voice flat. “They’re testing her with another pack.”
Owen lets out a sound that’s pure, unrestrained fury. “Like hell they are.” He grabs a chair and hurls it against the wall. It splinters with a crack that makes Megan jump.
Ezra’s hand shoots out to press firmly against the center of Owen’s chest, halting his furious pacing. “Owen!” he says, his voice low and intense. “That doesn’t help her.”
“Neither does sitting on our asses,” Owen growls back, but he doesn’t react to Ezra’s correction as I would’ve suspected, and his shoulders drop slightly.
“We need a plan,” Freddie says, his usually easy tone gone. “We can’t just storm in there.”
“Why the fuck not?” Owen demands.
“Because they’ll either stop us or kill us before we reach her,” Tristan rolls his eyes at Owen.
Ezra cuts through the rising chaos by grabbing a duffel from the corner.
The harsh rip of the zipper pulls everyone’s attention.
Without looking up from his task, he issues the order, his voice a steady command.
“Everybody pack up. Weapons, comms, medical. Everything.” He glances at his watch.
“Every second we waste here is a second they have her.”
“Mason,” Tristan asks, already gathering gear, “can you cut the power to the preserve once we’re there?”
“Their system has backup generators, but I might be able to create a window.”
We pile into the van. As Ezra pulls onto the highway, I close my eyes and push everything I have through our bond.
Hold on.
We’re coming for you.
We won’t fail you again.