Chapter 28
BIANCA
“Maybe you’re coming down with something,” Freddie suggests, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead with exaggerated concern. “You feel a little warm.”
“I’m always warm,” I say dryly. “It’s a side effect of being surrounded by four alpha furnaces.”
I know they’re just trying to protect me, to delay the inevitable. But I might as well get it over with. The longer I wait, the more my imagination goes wild with the unknown.
I’m allowed to bring one of them with me to wait in the lobby, and the drama that ensued when I chose Tristan was slightly comical.
Owen’s jaw actually dropped, his offense clear as day.
Freddie clutched his chest like I’d stabbed him.
Weller’s eyebrow twitched uncontrollably…
which, for him, is practically a tantrum.
But Tristan’s the least emotional of all of them. He’s a fortress of logic and sarcasm, and right now, that’s the kind of armor I need. Unless his father talks shit about me, I guess. Then he becomes a feral beast with bloody knuckles and wild eyes.
I kiss the others goodbye, allowing them to get their fill. Owen turns a simple kiss into a hot make-out session that leaves me flustered, Freddie’s soft peck turns into ten, and Weller buries his face in my neck, pressing kiss after kiss there, accompanied by a whispered, “Be careful.”
I can taste their worry on my lips, feel it prickling through the bonds. I promise to come home soon.
I’m wearing a light pink dress with a cardigan I packed when I went to dinner at my parents’. It’s strategic. Maybe if I look less like the girl who isn’t afraid to get her hands bloody and more like the vulnerable, idiotic girl I used to be, I can get some information out of Dr. Montgomery.
It feels like I’m wearing a lie.
“You look very sweet and innocent today.” Tristan’s eyes travel from my face down to my sensible flats and back up again, lingering on the modest neckline of my dress.
The way he looks at me, as if I’m something delicious to eat, never gets old.
His pupils dilate slightly, and I feel a tingle between my legs.
“You could almost have me fooled. The bow is a nice touch.”
He takes my hand and walks me to the car, helping me into the backseat before sliding in beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. I’m glad he will be there with me, even though he won’t be in the exam room.
“You okay?” I whisper, though there’s no need to be quiet behind the privacy glass.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“You seem a little tense.”
“I don’t like the idea of him touching you.” His face is annoyed. “I don’t like that I can’t be in the room with you.”
“It’s just a checkup,” I say, though we both know it’s never just anything with Dr. Montgomery.
The drive is short, and we’re at Dr. Montgomery’s gigantic office that touches the sky in downtown Westmont in about fifteen minutes. Tristan has been running his thumb over my knuckles the entire way, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to soothe me or himself. Maybe both.
He winces when we get out of the car, the bruising all over his body looking worse today. His father’s handiwork. I’d love nothing more than to shoot the bastard between the eyes with an arrow. He’s the fucking worst.
I’m sore from whatever Weller was up to last night. I wasn’t sure at first if he would take me up on my offer, but I wake up every morning slippery between my thighs and covered in various new marks that make it seem like he feasts on me in the night.
Four alphas are a lot to contend with, especially these ones whose touch deprivation has transformed into utter obsession.
I’m not complaining. There’s something about the way they need me that makes me feel like I’m helping them by giving them unfettered access to my body.
It’s a pleasurable distraction for me too and maybe the only thing that’s keeping me sane.
I feel horny constantly. Every brush of their fingers against my skin feels like a spark to dry tinder.
Ezra and I had a lot of fun together, but it wasn’t like this.
Ezra loves me. I know that. But it’s as a friend—a soul-deep friendship with a side of sexual benefits I enjoyed greatly.
But it’s nothing like it is with the alphas who need to touch me every second or else they might die.
A girl could get spoiled.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Tristan asks as we approach the building’s entrance, his hand resting at the small of my back. “You’re blushing.”
“Just thinking about how insatiable you all are.”
“And here I was thinking that we’ve been taking it easy on you.” His lips brush my ear, and my body reacts, even as I scoff.
We make our way inside, and the woman at the front desk is pretty, blonde, and chipper.
She doesn’t look like she works for the world’s most evil doctor.
Her smile is too genuine, her eyes too bright.
She must know some of the horrible things he does.
Right? How could she not sense the wrongness that oozes from every pore of that man?
“Good morning! You must be Bianca Quinn,” she chirps, tapping away at her computer. “Dr. Montgomery is running just a few minutes behind. Can I get either of you something to drink while you wait?”
“No,” I say, perhaps too sharply.
“We’re fine, thank you,” Tristan adds, guiding me toward a seat.
I’m not sure how to address the photo we found of Dr. Montgomery, my mom, and me.
Do I call him out and expose that I’m digging around for answers?
Do I ask my mom more questions first? I’m undecided on how to proceed.
It’s unsettling to know that the man who destroyed my life has known me since I was born.
The thought makes my skin crawl. When did he start tinkering and playing God?
When did I become his subject? Was I even out of the womb yet?
There are several other women in the waiting room, and I’m suddenly wondering if he’s ever done anything to them they didn’t know about.
If they’re walking around with altered biology, with chemical time bombs in their blood, with destinies that were decided in a lab.
They don’t appear to be upset or resistant in any way, but neither am I.
Dr. Montgomery has a way of making really fucked-up shit appear normal.
Tristan picks up a magazine and starts flipping through it, but I can tell he’s not reading a word. His eyes scan the same page over and over, and his knee bounces slightly.
A woman opens the door and calls my name. “Ms. Quinn? We’re ready for you.”
Tristan’s hand tightens on mine for a brief moment before he lets go. “I’ll be right here,” he says. “Yell if you need me. I’ll come for you.”
I’m taken to an exam room where she takes down my vitals and stats. I pee in a cup, and she takes a blood sample. With a bright smile, she tells me the doctor will be in shortly. Paper crinkles beneath me as I sit on the examination table and begin swinging my legs. My life is too fucking weird.
The door opens, and he comes in, looks me over, and.
.. smiles. I take the time to really look at him and imagine him with my mother.
He’s not a bad-looking man, and he doesn’t appear outwardly sinister.
It’s what makes him more horrifying. A tall beta with light-colored hair, glasses that make him appear scholarly, and, as usual, a pristine white lab coat.
He could be anyone’s family doctor. The monster hiding in plain sight.
“How are you today, Ms. Quinn?” His voice is warm and calm.
“Spectacular.” I infuse the word with as much sarcasm as I can muster.
“Wonderful. Well, as I suspected, you aren’t pregnant.
You were given birth control before the trial, and it was a short, stressful heat, so this is not surprising information.
” The birth control tidbit would’ve been nice to know before I worked myself up over it.
I guess he didn’t want the Havershams knocking me up if they were successful.
“How have things been going at home with your new mates?”
“As good as they can living in a prison where our every private moment is recorded and jerked off to by—”
“Ms. Quinn, I assure you it’s all very professional.
” He cuts me off with a raised hand. “I don’t personally watch the recordings.
Notes are taken by my trusted team of data analysts, who are all women, by the way.
It’s all very straightforward and scientific.
It’s not to invade your privacy. It’s merely to study behavior. ”
Actually, that is slightly reassuring. The thought of him observing our intimate moments made me sick.
I consider asking him about the yacht news story, but I’m not sure I should.
Remember how I killed your daughter and her friends?
Yeah. Probably not the best conversation starter with the man who holds my fate in his hands.
He’s busy tapping away on his tablet and then says he wants to do a physical exam. It only takes a few minutes for him to look over my injuries and say, “Everything looks like it’s healing properly.”
“Great.”
“I’m adding more guards to the rotation for the safety of you and your mates.”
My stomach hits the floor. More guards means more eyes, more restrictions. “That seems like overkill.”
“Maybe. The Havershams are still a concern, and I’d rather be safe than sorry.” His fingers tap against his tablet, recording God knows what.
“I thought they accepted a deal?”
“They did; however, losing a child, or three, can make you quite irrational. No need to worry; just some extra precautions,” says the man who just lost a daughter.
“As you may be aware, the fathers of your mates are none too happy about this situation. They have been badgering me about how to resolve this.”
Why is he telling me this? “You’re not going to touch the bonds, right?” My voice sounds small, and I hate the fear it’s laced with.