Chapter 19 Bianca
BIANCA
Two hours.
The last time we spoke to Ezra, he said he had a pilot lined up—someone willing to risk flying into a corporate-owned preserve with this level of security. He was supposed to call back with a time and location. He never did. The silence from the walkie is its own kind of dread.
So we’ve been walking through these woods for two hours, and every step reminds me exactly how I spent my night. And the worst part? My stupid body actually still wants more. Heat or not.
Morning light bleeds through the trees above us, painting everything in shades of muted gold. I might think it was pretty if I weren’t a madman’s doll stuck here to play his little games.
Right now, all I care about is putting one foot in front of the other without letting them see how much I want to drop to my knees and let them make me forget everything again.
But I can’t.
I’m pretty glad my heat was mostly gone by the time I woke up.
Needing to be fucked every two seconds while you’re trying to strategize is a little obnoxious.
It leaves me feeling raw, exposed, hyperaware of everything, and bitchy as hell.
My neck throbs where three new sets of teeth broke the skin.
And between my legs... fuck. Even with multiple rounds of cleanup, I’m a mess, and each step makes me more aware of how empty I feel.
Knots are kinda addictive.
There’s something about sex that just blanks the fuck out of my mind.
Orgasms over anxiety.
My body is a roadmap of their possession, and every minute I can remember plays on a loop I can’t stop.
My omega brain basks in the warm fuzzies. Claimed. Mated. Finally theirs.
My rational brain screams in terror. Trapped. Controlled. Completely fucked.
My heat should last for days, not hours. But then again, when has my body ever done what it’s supposed to? The stress, the violence, the constant threats—of course my body decided to tap out early.
I touch the collar around my throat, fingers tracing the smooth metal as irritation fills me.
The collar. The bond marks. The juxtaposition makes me want to laugh.
Or scream. Claimed by my alphas, collared by Montgomery.
I’m struggling not to suffocate under the weight of it all. Freedom feels like an impossibility.
“You okay?” Freddie asks, his voice low as he falls back to walk beside me. His green eyes track my fingers on the collar.
I snatch my hand away from the collar and mutter something about being leashed in more ways than one. Freddie’s dimple twitches in response, but mercifully he doesn’t push for more. I keep my eyes forward, chin up, and try to pretend I’m not about to spiral out.
The drone that’s been following us makes me want to stab someone. It’s the same drone that’s been tracking us since we were at the cave, its little red eye a constant. I imagine Dr. Montgomery watching me on his little fucking tablet, and I seethe.
I found pants in my supply backpack, thank God.
No one’s trying to hike in a t-shirt. I also found a gun when I was digging around.
I stuffed it in my pants. I’m pretty sure I can shoot better than they can.
They didn’t want to waste any more bullets trying to take it down, but I’ve about had it.
I pull it out of my pants with no warning at all, disengage the safety, rack the slide, and shoot the motherfucking thing out of the sky.
The drone explodes in a satisfying shower.
“Bianca!” Weller is damn near hysterical.
“Jesus,” Tristan breathes, taking the gun from my hand.
Owen is too miserable to react. “Princess, a little warning next time. You scared the shit out of me.”
Oops. I guess gunshots will probably make him jumpy for a while.
I just shrug, calm settling over me. “It was pissing me off.”
Freddie is staring at me like I have five heads. Yep. That’s who you bonded with.
I think I need to come to terms with the fact that I probably am a psycho bitch at this point.
I murdered four of my childhood friends like a day ago, and it’s already off my radar.
I scare myself sometimes.
There is a version of me that would be horrified to know what I’ve become.
Had I not gone into heat, I would’ve killed those assholes myself. I’m claiming Carter.
Maverick would’ve done some damage, but I was just about to grab the knife from his pocket when everyone showed up.
And then one against one.
They would hate to know some of the situations I’ve been in. Er, put myself in.
The bonds feel high-pressure. Like I will have to behave.
But I don’t know how to do that. I tried for Ezra.
I did. It’s only a matter of time before I fuck up, though, and now I have the additional layer of bonds that expose me.
I need to practice learning how to block my emotions better.
It’s completely overwhelming to feel everyone at all times.
It’s a sensory overload you can’t really describe unless you’ve experienced it.
I want to rip my own skin off and run until the signals fade, but that’s the thing about bonds. You can’t really turn them off.
I’m stuck.
Most of the time, I’m going to love being stuck.
But sometimes I’m not.
The guilt is real.
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? Didn’t I want it?
Didn’t I crave them, obsess over them, scribble their names into the margins of every notebook I ever owned?
I did. That’s the truth, as undeniable as the ache in my chest now.
I know I love them, but anger keeps burning through the cracks, sharp and nagging, aimed at them, at myself, at the whole mess of it.
Five fucking years they spent knotted up with Whitney, tangled up in her sheets and her scent, while I was left to sweep up the pieces alone.
I went from a daydream to a nightmare. I don’t know how to be good anymore. I think I resent that a little?
I don’t feel things the way I used to.
And maybe if they had been honest with me and maybe trusted me to be able to handle their big boy problems… maybe it would’ve made a difference.
So yeah, I’m a little bit salty.
And not that I would point this out, but I was sort of rushed into the decision of bonding them because I was trying to save them.
And now, I have signed another contract I can’t take back. I am on display, stripped bare.
It’s going to take time to get used to this. The adjustment is making me feel a little raw, ugly, and sharp enough to cut.
If they think they’re going to start barking orders at me now, they’re dead wrong.
Fuck that. I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thank you very much, and I don’t need an alpha, or four of them, breathing down my neck or pretending to keep me safe.
I’ve survived plenty without them, and I’m not about to start rolling over now.
“Here.” Freddie appears at my elbow with a protein bar and a smile that makes me want to punch something. Maybe even him, as horrible as it sounds. “You need to eat.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Bianca, you haven’t eaten since—“
“I said I’m not hungry.”
“But you need to keep your strength up. Heats are draining on your body, and food is important in the days after to replenish you. You need to increase your weight. When’s the last time you had water? Here, can you take a sip—“
“Fuck off, Freddie!” Immediately, I feel his hurt bloom through our bond. It makes my chest squeeze because I can’t get away from it. Can’t ignore it. Can’t pretend I didn’t just severely wound him.
We’re newly bonded, and already I’m fucking it up. And the worst part is the question gnawing at me, relentlessly: Am I just like her? Am I someone who can’t love right anymore? I’ll probably just hurt them somehow. Like right now.
“Stop being such a brat.” Tristan grabs my arm to stop me. “He’s trying to help.”
I whirl on him, temper flaring. I’m a brat? “I don’t fucking need any help.”
“You’re overwhelmed. Angry. Lashing out…” His blue gaze pins me, piercing and surgical, like he’s dissecting me right now. “Textbook.”
“Fuck you, Tristan.”
It doesn’t faze him. Not even a flicker. “Oh, we’ll get to that.” He smiles, and it’s knowing. “But first, you’re gonna apologize to Freddie.”
“You don’t tell—”
His hand closes on my throat just below the collar. His thumb digs into the skin right over his bite mark. The sensation is pain meets pleasure, and my knees nearly buckle.
“What do you need to get out of your head?” His voice is a velvet threat. “Tell me.”
What I need is to not feel everything they feel. What I need is to be alone. “I need space.”
“Too fucking bad.” He laughs and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You don’t get space from us anymore.” I open my mouth to protest, but his palm moves over my lips, muffling the words.
“Now,” he says, his voice dropping low, his breath hot against my ear. “Are you going to apologize to him with your words, or with your mouth?”
My heart stutters.
The question hangs there, a dare.
I lick his palm.
Tristan looks lovestruck. “Her mouth it is.” He releases me and turns to Freddie, who looks horrified. “Get your cock out.”
“Tristan, no,” Freddie says, shaking his head. “She doesn’t have to do that. It’s fine, Bianca, I’m not—”
“Shut up, Freddie,” I interrupt and drop to my knees in front of him. “Just accept my apology.”
He hesitates, but when I reach for the button on his jeans, he doesn’t stop me.
I free him, his cock already hard and thick, and take him into my mouth without another word.
It’s not pretty. It’s sloppy and wet and intentionally obscene.
I want them to see this. I want them to see that the girl they knew is as good as dead.
A hand tangles in my hair. Tristan. His fingers slide between my legs from behind, finding me eager.
He pushes two fingers inside me while his other hand shoves my head down harder on Freddie’s cock, forcing me to take him deeper than I thought possible.
A strangled noise escapes my throat, a mix of protest and pleasure. I absolutely fucking love it.
Freddie groans, his hands fisting in my hair, his hips starting to buck into my mouth. The combination of Tristan’s fingers inside me and Freddie’s cock down my throat is overwhelming. I’m close, too close.
“No more.” Weller’s voice is a low warning.
I try to wave him off. Tristan whispers in my ear, “Daddy wants us to stop.” I push back on his fingers harder.
He kisses my neck ruthlessly while Freddie moans, loud and long, lost in the feeling of my mouth on him.
It’s all too good. Tristan lazily strokes my clit, his fingers still working deep inside me.
My moans are swallowed by Freddie’s cock as I come hard, the orgasm making my throat muscles clench violently.
The sensation sends Freddie over the edge.
He comes with a guttural groan, hot and thick down my throat.
When he’s finished, I pull back, kiss the tip of his dick, and smile up at him.
“You taste better when you’re not trying to mother me,” I say.
Owen lets out a rough sound that might be a laugh. “Princess, get over here and hold my hand.”
And because he got shot for me, I do.
Before I’ve even had a chance to find my balance, a helicopter’s roar appears out of nowhere, yanking me back to the present. “We should assume that isn’t Ezra,” Weller says, his body instantly tense.
The sound circles us, closing in.
“Stop right there.”
The command comes through the woods. Six guards emerge with dart guns, and I’m sure they have a remote for my collar. The lead guard grins. “Dr. Montgomery wants his property back.”
The alphas go on defense immediately, but it doesn’t matter. We’re herded through the trees to a clearing where Dr. Montgomery is waiting for us.
“Ms. Quinn.” His smile is unsettling. He barely glances at the alphas. “The trial has concluded.”
A flick of his finger, and the tablet in his hand shows an image of Ezra and Megan, each in their own cell. “Your friends are currently in custody.”
“You fucking asshole,” I bite out. “They didn’t—“
“They’re looking at significant prison time,” Montgomery says. “Unless, of course, you cooperate.”
I force the words out. “What do you want?”
“Simple. You return to Emerald Hills. Complete your contract. I’ll even let you keep these four with you. Your friends go free. Everyone wins.”
Through the bonds, I feel their anger. We’re boxed in.
“The helicopter is waiting.” Dr. Montgomery leads the way without looking back. “Shall we?”
It’s not a choice. It’s a sentence. “Fine.”
Montgomery’s smile smooths out, pleased. “Oh, and gentlemen? The Havershams are particularly upset and causing a ruckus over their only sons. Be prepared for your fathers.”
“They were going to—” Weller starts.
Montgomery cuts him off. “I’m aware of what was happening.
The purpose of the drones is to keep the participants safe.
We require consent for the integrity of the trial.
Had the drone not been busy with unauthorized guests, its next stop would have been Mr. Haversham.
He would have been neutralized, not killed. ”
The walk to the helicopter is a funeral procession. As we climb in, Montgomery adds cheerfully, “Don’t look so glum. You got what you wanted, right?”
I want to tell him that one day, when he least expects it, I’ll make him pay for all of this. But I bite it back and stare out the window as the helicopter lifts us away.