22. Owen
OWEN
I can’t stop fucking staring at her.
Bianca sleeps against Tristan’s chest, her face so sweet and innocent, breathing slow and deep. The blue dress barely covers her, and our marks show on her skin.
This is the way it was always meant to be.
Anger courses through me every time I think of the hell she’s been through without us. It’s enough to turn my blood to fire and my focus to revenge.
I would love nothing more than to grab her and run. Fuck Whitney. Fuck the bond. Fuck Montgomery. Fuck my dad and the rest of them.
They can all rot in hell.
I’d kill them, every last one, without hesitation if it gave her a future worth waking up for.
But instead, it would probably mean I’m dead.
And she’s alone. Again.
So it goes.
First things first, I need to clean up.
When I come out of the bathroom wearing fresh clothes, my hands are still shaking from the taste of her, from the way she said “yes, alpha” like it got ripped straight from her soul.
From coming in my goddamn pants.
Shame burns, but not as hot as the satisfaction. Absolutely worth it to feel her legs wrap around my neck, pulling me closer to her instead of pushing me away. To know I scent-marked the fuck out of her and claimed her in the only way I can right now. It gave me back an ounce of my sanity.
Just an ounce, though.
Peace doesn’t last long. Not when my mind goes to how the omega has given her hundreds of orgasms. I wish I hadn’t pushed for a number like a goddamn idiot.
I don’t know what answer I was expecting, but that…
was not it. Now I’ll obsess over it every minute of the day until I can mark every inch of her skin and chase the thought of someone else claiming her from my mind.
My jaw locks so hard my teeth might crack. It cuts deeper every time I think about another man’s hands on her. Another man inside her. Another man hearing the sounds she made for us tonight.
But he kept her safe. He found her when those alphas could’ve…
Can’t finish that thought. Can’t let myself see what was bound to happen if the omega hadn’t stopped them. If those fuckers had touched her against her will or taken what was mine forever.
And there was nothing I could have done about it. Nothing.
Now, more than ever, I want to wrap my hands around Whitney’s throat and squeeze until it’s over.
Weller stands, eyes on Tristan, whose stillness hums with quiet aggression as he keeps Bianca tucked against him. “I’m taking her to bed.”
He moves toward the armchair, reaching for her. I watch him approach, his expression blank, but I catch the way his hands clench and unclench. His restraint is one breath from breaking.
He’s as fucked up about this as the rest of us.
Tristan’s arms tighten around her instantly, fingers spreading possessively across her back. “She’s fine here.”
“She needs to be cleaned up and put to bed properly.” Weller’s voice remains composed, but the authority woven through it tightens the air. “Let me have her.”
“No.”
The word lands like a gauntlet. Tristan doesn’t back down, his eyes holding Weller’s with feral intensity, his scent thick with challenge and ownership.
I get it. Fuck, do I get it. The thought of letting her go makes my skin crawl. Every instinct screams at me to take her myself, to keep her pressed against me where I can feel every breath. But Weller’s right. She’s covered in our scents, in her own mess. She’ll be uncomfortable when she wakes up.
“Tris.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Give her to him.”
Tristan’s gaze snaps to mine, betrayed. “Seriously? You too?”
“Let him take care of her.”
Tristan doesn’t move, his jaw working, muscles jumping under his skin. He gives the slightest nod.
Weller picks her up like she’s the last good thing in the world, cradling her against his chest. She murmurs words I don’t understand, her face turning into his throat, and his entire body goes rigid.
“I’ll be back.” His voice sounds strangled.
The bedroom door closes with a soft click.
The silence that follows is fucking deafening.
Freddie slumps back on the couch. “Holy fuck, did that just happen?”
Tristan licks his lips and exhales slowly. “It happened.”
My fingers flex, remembering the feel of her thighs trembling against my palms. The way she arched when I sucked her clit. The broken sounds she made when she came on my tongue.
“She said alpha.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Freddie’s head snaps up. “Fuck, the way she said it...”
“Like she meant it.” Tristan’s voice drops. “Like she knows exactly who she belongs to.”
“Touching her doesn’t feel real. Like any second she might disappear.” Freddie’s voice is low, almost breaking. “She’s everything I ever wanted. And then some.”
Tristan’s stare turns feral. “She responded like she is already ours.”
“I need to mark her,” I growl. “It’s crawling under my skin.”
Tristan growls in agreement.
“Should I be worried?” Freddie’s question comes out on a laugh that sounds strained. “Because you both look like you’re about to cross a line we can’t come back from.”
“You should be,” Tristan agrees. “The only thing I can think about is marking her and hiding her away where no one else can even look at her ever again.”
“Fuck yes.” The words tear out of me. “Right there with you.”
“You’re going to get us all killed,” Freddie hisses.
“Then we die happy,” I shrug.
“Jesus Christ,” Freddie mutters. “You’re both unhinged.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
The need to claim her, bite her, knot her claws at my insides. I’d choose it over air if given the choice.
Does she know who she belongs to? Or was it just the heat of the moment when she said it, just pleasure taking over when we had our mouths on her?
The not knowing eats at me. Makes me want to storm into that bedroom and get down to the bottom of it. But Weller would throttle me, and she would probably help him.
“What happened tonight makes things even more dangerous for her.” The words taste like poison, but they need to be said.
Tristan laughs, sharp and bitter. “How the hell do we stop? You think either of us can keep our hands off her now?”
He’s right. I’m already planning how to get my mouth on her again.
“She won’t be safe,” I say, the thought terrifying. “Not when we go back.”
The truth settles low, slow and suffocating. The day after tomorrow, we return to Whitney’s cage. Back to the act. Back to being her fucked-up Ken dolls in a nightmare dream house.
“How long do you think we have before Whitney figures it out?” Freddie runs his hands through his wild-looking hair.
“Maybe a day after they return before they realize we’ve been... non-compliant.” I scrub my face with both hands. “Then they’ll probably up the dosages and keep us locked up.”
“We’re so fucked,” Tristan mutters.
“So is she,” Freddie says. “Whitney is going to lose her fucking mind.”
The idea of her touching Bianca…
“What’s the deal with her knuckles?” Tristan asks.
“Maybe she found a gym,” Freddie suggests. “Got hurt sparring…”
“She was dicey about it,” I say. “If it was the gym, wouldn’t she have just said so?”
The girl who used to tell us every detail of her day now guards her thoughts like they’re classified and we’re the enemy. Part of me wants to shake them out of her, pin her down until she confesses every lie, every evasion, every dangerous thing she’s done.
But a bigger part of me is proud as hell.
She learned to survive in a world that tried to break her.
I do need to find out what the little princess has been hiding, though.
The bedroom door opens, and Weller emerges. His hair’s messed up, shirt wrinkled.
“How is she?” Freddie asks immediately.
Weller’s throat works. “She woke up while I was cleaning her. Asked...”
“Asked what?”
“Asked if we’d sleep with her tonight.”
The air leaves my lungs. She wants us close.
The thought of her warm and sleepy between us makes my cock hard again. I want to feel every curve of her body pressed against mine and wake up with her scent on my skin.
“Fuck.” Tristan scrubs his face with both hands. “This is torture.”
Weller nods grimly. “Whitney’s not calling tonight. Told her we have meetings in the morning and need sleep.”
One night. One fucking night without having to pretend we belong to that bitch instead of the woman sleeping in the next room.
“We need to have a discussion with Bianca tomorrow,” Weller stands, heading toward the bedroom. “But tonight, we have this. Let’s go give our omega what she wants.”
Our omega.
One night to memorize the feel of her breathing beside us… getting a glimpse at what it would feel like to belong to her, and only her.
I follow him toward the bedroom, Freddie and Tristan behind me.
She’s curled on her side under the covers, wearing one of our t-shirts. Her long golden hair spills across the pillow, and her face is peaceful.
Mine.
The overwhelming urge to grab her and run crashes over me again. To hell with consequences. To hell with all of it, except her. I want to take her somewhere they’ll never find us.
The words echo as I strip down to boxers and slide into bed beside her. She murmurs sleepily and turns toward my warmth. Every possessive instinct I have roars to life.
She shifts closer, her body seeking mine. I press a soft kiss to her forehead, the gesture so fucking tender it breaks me a little.
This is everything.
Tristan settles on her other side, his arm draping protectively over her. Freddie claims the foot of the bed, sprawling across it like he’s guarding her from that direction.
Weller moves a chair close and settles into it, as if he’s keeping watch.
We’ll worry about all the bullshit tomorrow.
But tonight, she’s ours.
And I’m going to memorize every fucking second.