21. Bianca #2
His body’s angled toward me, still as stone, but I can see it in the way his fingers tap his thigh.
He’s always been the quietest when he’s the angriest.
“It definitely fucking matters.” Owen invades my space, his scent swamping me… dark, possessive, fury turning the blackcurrant acrid.
Freddie’s breath quickens beside me, the couch vibrating with his tension. “Did they hurt you?” His voice cracking on the final word.
I look up, weighing how much to share. The memory rushes back… the sound of a zipper being lowered, the alpha’s hand in my hair, forcing my head back. The terror that paralyzed me... how close I’d come to a reality so much worse than kneeling on glass.
“They wanted to. They didn’t get the chance.”
“What did they look like?” Tristan’s demand holds no trace of his usual casual manner. “Would you recognize them again? We could?—”
“It’s been handled,” I interrupt, meeting his eyes.
Every eye is on me, and the air is thick with questions.
“What does that mean?” Freddie asks carefully.
“They won’t be bothering anyone again.”
Understanding dawns across their faces. Their expressions vary from shock to horror.
“You...” Owen paces while staring at me.
A sharp knock at the door interrupts the moment.
Thank fuck.
Weller moves to the door. The waiter wheels in a cart with covered plates, sets it up at the table, then leaves with a generous tip.
“Let’s eat. I’m starving.” My voice sounds too bright, but I’m ready to move on from this topic.
We move to the table in silence. The aromas from beneath the silver covers are mouthwatering.
I dig in, unable to ignore the utter silence.
They watch me like they’re dying for answers... like if they got close enough, they’d tear me open just to see if the girl they knew is still curled up somewhere inside.
The truth is… I don’t know if she is.
I don’t know that I’ll ever feel safe enough to be soft and trusting like that again. I’m not the girl who cowers in fear now… I’m the girl who figures out a way to eliminate the threat.
But if anyone could find her, it would be them.
If they weren’t tethered to a rabid bitch…
The silence becomes unbearable, broken only by silverware scraping against china.
“What are we doing tonight?” I set my fork down. “Watching a movie? More talking?”
Owen snorts. “Like any of us could focus on a movie right now.”
“We could play a game,” I say with a smile that promises trouble.
They groan in unison.
One corner of Tristan’s mouth quirks upward. “Last time you wanted to play a game, we ended up hard and haunted for half a decade.”
A real laugh bubbles up. “I know the feeling.”
They all chuckle.
Freddie drags a hand down his face, shaking his head with a soft groan. “God. That day ruined me.”
Weller’s eyes drag over me, like he’s remembering the way his mouth felt against mine. I cross my legs under the table and pretend it’s not affecting me.
Owen shifts beside me, his thigh brushing mine under the table. His smile curves, all teeth and no warmth. “You’re not doing that to us again, Princess.”
I push my plate aside, and my skin hums under their attention. “I was thinking Truth or Dare.”
“Jesus.” Owen’s eyes darken with hunger despite his muttered protest.
“Is the big alpha scared of a little game?” I tilt my head, letting the challenge curl through my voice.
His thigh presses harder against mine, and his scent spikes, hot and wild. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Never.”
“I’m in.” Tristan’s fingers are laced behind his head, gaze dragging over me.
We clear the table and fall into a loose circle.
I sink into the couch, Freddie settles beside me, Tristan claims the armchair like a throne, and Owen and Weller drag over chairs from the dining table.
The air shifts with us. What was heavy turns electric, sharp with anticipation. Every breath feels like it might spark.
“Who starts?” Freddie glances at me, his fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. Nervous energy rolls off him in waves.
“Bianca.” Tristan’s voice is silk cut with teeth. “Her idea. Her move.”
I consider each alpha in turn, weighing my options. “Tristan. Truth or dare.”
His smile curves slow and dangerous. It hits me low, flipping my stomach. “Dare.”
I tap a finger against my bottom lip, drawing out the pause until I feel them all leaning closer, just a little.
“I dare you to go down to the lobby and ask for a plunger, condoms, and whipped cream. Tell them it’s for a special celebration.”
His laugh is quiet, dark. “Easy.”
Owen barks a laugh. Weller looks at Tristan like he’s already calculating how long it will take before the front desk calls security.
Ten minutes later, he returns triumphant, condoms in one hand, whipped cream and plunger in the other. His satisfied smirk tells me everything. “They didn’t blink. My turn. Owen, truth or dare.”
“Truth.” Owen crosses his arms over his broad chest, the fabric of his shirt straining against muscle.
“Coward.” Tristan’s lips curl with mockery. “How many times did you get off to that bikini picture Bianca sent?”
I gasp, heat flooding my face. “I thought you were joking about that!”
The playfulness evaporates as Owen’s jaw works, the cords in his neck standing out as he swallows. When his eyes find mine, the hunger there steals my breath.
“Too many to count.” His voice drops to a rumble.
I can’t decide if I’m mortified or flattered that a photo of my fucking swimsuit was enough.
“Weller. Truth or dare.”
“Truth.”
“What would you do if Bianca decided to disappear again?”
My pulse jumps erratically. The air in the room thickens, pressing against my chest, making each breath an effort as Weller turns slowly, fixing his eyes on mine.
A dark chuckle slips from his throat, full of threat and promise.
“I’d hunt her down and make sure escape is the last thing she ever craves.”
His words sink deep, possessive and certain.
It’s getting hot in here. And Weller isn’t the only one looking like he’d use questionable methods of keeping me here if I ever decided to run.
They look downright unhinged at the thought.
Not that they have a choice in the matter… but not the time to bring my mood down. We can all just live in fantasy land for the night and pretend we don’t have a gaggle of big bads trying to keep us apart.
“Bianca.” Weller’s eyes pierce through me, dark and intense. “Truth or dare.”
I swallow hard. “Truth.”
“Did you lie about what happened to your knuckles?”
The question steals my breath. I braced for intrusive curiosity about the lost years, not about tonight’s fresh damage.
“I...” I hesitate, the truth burning under my tongue. “Yes. I did. But I don’t want to get into it right now. Please.”
Weller studies me in silence, eyes narrowed as if weighing the cost of pressing further. After a long moment, he gives a single nod and leans back, signaling he will let it rest. The others follow his lead but not his calm. Regardless, tonight the question stays unanswered.
“Freddie.” I pivot quickly. “Truth or dare.”
“Dare.” His smile remains sweet and trusting, golden boy to his core.
“I dare you to let Tristan draw on your face with this.” I snatch a pen from the desk. “No looking until we finish playing.”
Freddie laughs, tension releasing from his shoulders. “Go for it.”
Tristan accepts the pen with evil glee, drawing what looks suspiciously like a dick on Freddie’s cheek. We laugh as he works, lightness returning to the game.
“Tristan.” Freddie remains oblivious to his new facial art, and it makes me giggle every time I look at it. “Truth or dare.”
“Dare.” Mischief sparks in Tristan’s eyes.
“I dare you to let Bianca sit on your lap for fifteen minutes.”
The laughter dies instantly. Tristan’s eyes darken to midnight.
Oh geez.
“If she’s willing.”
My legs tremble as I stand. “Why not?”
Tristan shifts in his chair, making room. I perch on his thighs, trying to maintain distance between our bodies. His hands circle my waist, long fingers spanning wide as he pulls me flush against him.
“Fifteen minutes.” His breath burns against my ear. “Settle in, sweetheart.”
His hold claims me, hands splayed across my stomach. I feel his heat through my dress, solid beneath me. Each breath presses my back to his chest, my ass against his?—
Oh.
Oh.
I shift, testing, and feel him harden. His fingers dig into my hips, stilling me.
“My turn,” Tristan says, breath tickling my neck. “Bianca. Truth or dare.”
“You can’t pick me,” I protest. “I’m already doing a dare.”
“Different dare. Different person. Answer the question.”
I sigh, hyperaware of every point where our bodies connect. “Truth.”
His arms tighten around me. “Who is Ezra to you?”
I stiffen against his chest. “How do you even know about him?”
The alphas exchange glances, unspoken words passing between them.
“In the hospital garden,” Owen says, jaw tightening. “You were on the phone with him… plus you smelled like male omega.”
Tristan’s fingers trace circles on my hip. “So. Tell us about him.”
I feel them go still, listening. They’re already preparing for the answer.
“He stopped those alphas from... you know,” I say, navigating this as carefully as I can.
“And then?” Owen presses, leaning forward. Veins stand out on his forearms as his fists clench.
“And then he told me about the refuge,” I try to keep my voice steady.
“What is the relationship between you?” Weller asks directly, his tone deceptively calm.
“He’s my best friend.” The words come out quiet but firm.
“And what else?” Owen’s expression darkens.
“What are you asking?” My voice sharpens, defensive.
“Were you with him?” Tristan asks directly, fingers tightening on my waist. “Sexually.”
The question hangs heavy as a storm cloud. I feel Tristan’s chest expand against my back as he holds his breath.
“Yes.”
A chill bleeds into the suite. Tristan’s grip turns merciless, pressure bruising my skin, as their scents darken, harsh and possessive enough to choke me.