Chapter 20 Owen
OWEN
The noise of the rotors is a dull throb in my skull as the helicopter slips beneath the clouds, descending toward the Montgomery estate.
This is so fucked.
Not one of us has spoken since liftoff, but my hand hasn’t left Bianca’s thigh. Through the thin fabric of her pants, I can feel her shaking, that restless energy building. Why the hell is Montgomery dragging us back to Whitney’s palace of horrors?
The only comfort is knowing the witch is dead. I’ve seen what Montgomery can do, but resurrection? Nah.
I wish I’d been there to see her take her last breath.
Pain flares in my shoulder where the drone nailed me, a burn that gets worse every time I move. Montgomery gave it a quick once-over when we boarded. The nurse said the bullet went clean through based on the X-ray. “That’s lucky.”
I’ve had worse. I’ve done worse to myself, just to feel something besides the perpetual ache of missing Bianca. But now she’s right next to me. She’s mine. There will be no more emptiness with the bond between us sparking under my skin.
I love the feel of her inside me.
Bianca’s wedged between me and Freddie, her spine straight.
She looks like she’s seconds from throwing herself out the door and taking on whatever is waiting barehanded.
Her blue eyes miss nothing, analyzing every inch of ground as we angle down.
Through the bond, I can feel her fury building, a pressure tight enough to splinter bone.
When she starts muttering no, no, no, I clamp my hand around hers and squeeze, grounding us both.
Just to remind her I’m here. She’s not on her own anymore, even if she wants to be.
“Why are we here?” she asks, not taking her eyes off the estate below. Her voice is steady, but the bond is alight with her panic.
Montgomery doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “The house is already fully equipped and secure for observation. I have a medical team waiting.”
“I’m not staying in that house.”
“There isn’t another option at the moment, Ms. Quinn.”
The flippant way he says it makes me want to rip his throat out with my teeth, but the new collar around my neck is a physical reminder that murder will have to wait.
For now.
The helicopter touches down, and six guards are waiting, fingers on triggers. Darts, probably. Killing isn’t really Montgomery’s style—he prefers his subjects alive and reacting. The house looms ahead, with white columns and the rose gardens Whitney obsessed over.
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.
She climbed on the bike behind me, hesitant. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”
“Hold on tight, Princess,” I told her, passing her my helmet. “Don’t let go.”
She gripped me tentatively, then tighter when I accelerated.
I took the long route home. Every time I leaned into a turn, her arms would tighten, her chest pressing against my back.
I drove slower than I’d ever driven, dragging out a ten-minute ride to thirty.
All I could focus on was her thighs pressed against mine.
Then we hit that bump on Miller Road. She shifted, her hand slipping from my stomach, grabbing lower—right on my dick. I felt her freeze. Her hand against my cock, even through denim, made electricity spark throughout my entire body.
She made this little squeak and jerked back so hard we nearly wiped out. The space between us for the rest of the ride felt like the Grand Canyon.
When we pulled up to her house, her cheeks were flushed pink. She practically jumped off the bike, refusing to look at me.
“You okay?” I asked, killing the engine.
“Fine! I’m fine.” Her voice was higher than normal.
She finally met my eyes, and the wild, curious look there knocked the breath out of me.
I stepped toward her. She didn’t move. I leaned in to help her with the helmet, and her mouth parted, like she was waiting for me to kiss her.
Then Winston’s car turned into the driveway.
“Night, Owen. Thanks for the ride.” I watched her sprint up the steps until the front door slammed behind her.
When I got home, I knew something was wrong.
I could hear my father’s voice from the street, that particular pitch that meant someone was bleeding or crying.
My mother’s soft pleading filtered through the walls.
I found them in the kitchen. He had her backed against the counter, his finger jabbing into her chest.
“Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking arm,” I said, stepping between them.
My father’s eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t concern you, son.” The way he said “son” made it sound like “disappointment.”
“It concerns me.” I straightened to my full height. We both knew I could take him.
He backed off. My mother slipped away, that vacant look settling into her eyes. I listened for Emma as I climbed the stairs. The soft, hiccuping sobs from behind her door made my chest ache.
“Em, it’s me. Open up.”
The lock clicked. Her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen. Fourteen years old and already carrying the weight of our father’s cruelty.
“He said he’s compiling a list of alphas to set me up with,” she wiped tears from her face. “But that I need to lose thirty pounds first, or my options won’t be as good.” Her voice cracked. “Owen—I don’t want someone like him.”
I pulled her into a hug. “You’re perfect, Em. And I won’t let him do that to you.”
I stayed in her room until she fell asleep, thinking about Bianca.
How clean and safe her house always felt compared to the minefield of mine.
That night, I lay in bed, my hand wrapped around myself, imagining a different ending where Winston never showed up.
Where I pressed my lips against Bianca’s and showed her how to touch me for real.
I came so hard I bit through my lip, tasting copper. Bianca was the only light cutting through the shit.
When she disappeared, it felt like a living death. Those years without her—I was fucking lost. So while I get she wants space... I’m afraid I can’t give her that. I’ve had all the space I can take.
I throw on clothes and head back out to hunt her down. Tristan and Freddie are standing where I last saw Bianca, staring at the portrait above the fireplace.
“Holy shit,” I breathe as I take it in.
An entire set of knives is protruding from Whitney.
I laugh. I can’t help it. It bubbles up from somewhere deep. Then Tristan snorts, and Freddie’s shoulders start shaking, and suddenly we’re all howling like madmen in this house of horrors, bent double with tears streaming down our faces.
Weller comes up behind us. The laughter dies in my throat when I see his expression. He’s too worried about her to find this amusing—too serious, too Weller.
We’re all so fucking damaged it’s not funny, but I can’t help it. I wipe tears from my eyes, my shoulder aching.
“Girl’s got perfect aim,” Tristan says, reaching up to wiggle one of the knives. It’s deeply embedded.
Freddie is the first to recover. “How do we help her? It can’t be easy being here. It still smells like Whitney.” He wrinkles his nose.
“She needs cuddles and lots of dick,” Tristan says immediately, dead serious. “We need to wear her out, get her out of her head. Orgasms will be therapeutic for all of us. And good for the bonds.” He nods sagely. “It’s science.”
“Sure,” I say, “except when she starts stabbing us in the dicks. You see what she did to Whitney’s face, right? Imagine what she can do to your junk.”
“She wouldn’t stab my dick,” Tristan says with absolute confidence. “She likes my dick. I have a very likable dick.”
“She needs us to not be idiots,” Weller cuts in, looking at the three of us like he doubts that is possible.
“We’ll ask her what she needs. Once we figure out if we’ll be able to leave the house, we can make some plans.
She’ll want to see her brother. Her parents.
” He continues, “But tonight... we feed her. We let her rest. We follow her lead.”
“The way to her heart is definitely through dick, though,” Tristan insists, earning a glare from Weller. Tristan just grins wider.
“You’re a menace,” Weller mutters. “Don’t harass her.”
Freddie heads to the stairs. “I’m gonna go find her.”
He’s a glutton for punishment.
“Brave man,” I call after him. “Try not to bleed on the carpet.”
He chuckles.
“I call dibs on your sneaker collection,” Tristan throws in as he disappears up the stairs.