28. Bianca
BIANCA
Night air bites at my skin as I creep through the woods toward the Montgomery estate. A small bow presses against my back, arrows jostling quietly in the quiver strapped to my thigh. Dead leaves crunch under my boots no matter how carefully I step.
Fuck stealth when the whole world is working against you.
Hours of practice until my fingers bled, my arms shook, and my shoulders burned. All so I could protect myself. So I could fight back.
And that’s what I’m going to do.
My mind flashes to Whitney and me as kids, running wild through these trees, telling ghost stories and building shitty forts that collapsed after one rain. We mapped those tunnels under her house and explored them for hours. Crazy how those stupid childhood games might actually save my alphas now.
The massive oak looms ahead, darker than the night around it. My heart hammers so hard I can feel it in my throat as I drop to my knees beside it.
"Be here, be here," I mutter, digging through wet leaves and debris.
The key should be here... unless someone removed it.
My fingers hit something solid. Holy shit.
I pull the tarnished key from its hiding place, dirt crumbling all over me. I turn the key in my palm, unable to believe that it's still here after all this time.
Time to move. Every minute I waste, Whitney has them, and after our run-in earlier, I’m worried. I hadn’t meant to escalate things, but I let her crawl under my skin and take up residence… like she’s been doing for over five years now.
Twisted bitch.
My stomach knots with a mix of rage and fear that's becoming way too familiar.
The tunnel entrance is close, hidden behind a wall of overgrown shrubs. I push through leaves, thorny branches scratching my face, until I find it... the rusted metal door set into a hill.
The lock fights me, scraping with rust as I turn the key. For a second, I think it's broken, that I'm fucked before I even start, but then it clicks.
Thank fuck.
Stale air rushes out, carrying the smell of damp concrete and moldy childhood memories. I switch on my phone's flashlight, revealing walls that disappear into darkness.
I never imagined I’d be using these tunnels to infiltrate.
I slip inside, pulling the door shut behind me. The darkness swallows me whole, except for the thin beam of light. Air presses against my skin, heavy and cold, making it hard to breathe. Each footstep echoes despite my attempts to move like a ghost.
Memories hit with every step... Whitney leading the way, blonde hair swinging in a ponytail as we explored.
Our laughter bounced off the walls as we claimed this underground kingdom.
That time we got lost for hours, both of us too scared to admit we were terrified.
The marks we painted after that... crude arrows. .. so we’d never get lost again.
I reach a fork and freeze. Left or right? Shit. Panic spikes in my chest before my light finds a faded arrow pointing left. Thank God for our paranoid younger selves. I follow the mark, tension easing slightly when the tunnel slopes upward.
After ten minutes of careful navigation, I reach the maintenance door that leads to the basement.
I press my ear against the cool metal, listening for any sound from the other side.
Nothing. I insert the key with trembling fingers and turn it slowly, wincing at the soft click of the lock disengaging.
This is my last chance to turn back.
I push the door open; there is no other option than to do whatever it takes to save them from her.
The basement hits me with bright, clinical light after the tunnel darkness. But what I see stops me cold.
Cages. Actual fucking cages. Human-sized. Empty now, but the dried bloodstains on the concrete floor tell their own story. My stomach heaves, acid burning up my throat.
The scent hits me next… mine . Their distress lingers here, soaked into the concrete and metal. Fear. Pain. Anger. All of it preserved like some sick museum exhibit.
Tools hang on the wall… things I don’t want to imagine being used on them.
This... this is a fucking nightmare hidden behind expensive furniture and designer curtains. The staircase to the first floor calls to me.
My heart is pounding out of my chest.
I move silently, avoiding the security cameras positioned in the corners.
The main floor is eerily quiet as I slip from shadow to shadow, my knife ready just in case. Every sound makes me freeze, count to three, then move again.
I know the alphas must be here somewhere. Whitney mentioned having some kind of party tonight…
The house I played in as a child feels like a prison now. Same expensive furniture, same tasteful art, but the air itself feels poisoned. Knowing what happens in the basement changes everything.
I pause at a corner, listening. Two voices drift from down the hall—household staff discussing preparations.
“The presentation is about to begin,” a woman says.
“Heading there now,” a man replies.
My blood runs cold.
I follow the sound of voices echoing from deeper in the house. The murmur grows louder as I approach—a mixture of polite laughter and hushed conversations.
The double doors to what used to be the ballroom stand partly open, light spilling into the darkened hallway. I edge closer, positioning myself to see through the crack without being seen.
What I witness stops my heart.
The room is filled with people in expensive clothes, seated in a semicircle facing a raised platform. And on that platform...
My alphas. They stand rigid, faces blank, eyes empty. They're dressed identically in black pants and nothing else, their bodies on display like products in a store window. The sight of them sends relief and anger coursing through me in equal measure.
Whitney paces in front of them in a pristine white dress, microphone in hand. "As you've seen, the bond allows for complete control over even the strongest alphas."
Her voice carries the polished tone of a practiced sales pitch, but I catch the malicious glint in her eyes.
"Subject Three," she points to Owen. "Step forward."
Owen moves to the center of the platform.
"Subject Four," she continues, gesturing to Freddie. "Stand in front of him."
Freddie positions himself before Owen, his face blank.
"Subject Three, punch Subject Four in the mouth. Hard enough to draw blood."
Without hesitation, Owen's fist slams into Freddie's face. The sound of the impact turns my stomach. Blood sprays from Freddie's split lip, trailing down his chin.
"Again," Whitney commands.
Another punch. Freddie's head snaps back, but he doesn't defend himself. Doesn't even raise his hands.
"As you can see," Whitney explains to her audience, "the bond overrides even pack loyalty. Potential military applications are obvious."
She turns back to the alphas. "Subject Four, get on all fours."
Freddie drops to his hands and knees, blood still dripping from his mouth.
"Now bark like a dog. Loudly."
Freddie's face remains blank as he barks—once, twice, three times. The hollow sound echoes through the room.
"Now wet yourself," Whitney commands, her professional demeanor slipping just enough to reveal her cruelty.
I watch in horror as a dark stain spreads across Freddie's pants. The room fills with uncomfortable chuckles and whispers.
"Entertainment applications," Whitney explains smoothly. "Reality programming, adult entertainment, private collections. The possibilities are endless."
She turns to Weller. "Subject One, approach."
Weller steps forward, his eyes burning with hatred even as his body complies.
"Kneel and kiss my feet," she orders.
He drops to his knees, bending to press his lips against her expensive heels. As he does, she kicks him sharply in the chin. His head snaps back, but he maintains his position.
"Residential usage," Whitney continues. "Perfect obedience in household staff or... personal companions."
She turns to Tristan. "And now, Subject Two, for our final demonstration. The bond ensures not just obedience, but enthusiasm."
Tristan steps forward.
"You will seduce me," Whitney commands. "Make me believe you want nothing more than to pleasure me. You will use your mouth, and you will be convincing."
The muscles in Tristan's jaw work as he fights the command, but it's useless. His expression transforms, eyes darkening as he approaches Whitney with a level of compliance that's completely at odds with the fury I can see beneath the surface.
"You're beautiful," he says, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. "Let me show you how much I want you."
He circles her, trailing his fingers across her shoulders. Whitney preens under the attention, turning to the audience with a triumphant smile.
"The authenticity is remarkable," she boasts. "Indistinguishable from genuine desire."
Tristan kneels before her, looking up with manufactured hunger. "Let me taste you."
His hands slide up her legs, pushing her dress higher.
My arrow is loose before I make the conscious decision to shoot. It flies true, a deadly whisper through the air, piercing Whitney's hand as she reaches toward Tristan. The arrow pins her palm to the wooden podium behind her.
Her scream splits the air. Blood blooms around the shaft, spreading across her pristine white dress in a crimson stain.
Gasps erupt from the audience. Whitney's head whips toward the doors where I stand, bow already reloaded.
"The next one goes through your eye," I announce, kicking the doors open fully.
Panic erupts. Investors scramble from their seats, pushing toward exits, shoving each other in their rush to escape.
"Get the fuck out!" I shout at the fleeing crowd. "All of you! Unless you want to be next!"
Whitney's face contorts with rage as she recognizes me. "Guards!"
No one comes. The room empties except for Whitney, the alphas, and me.
"You bitch," Whitney snarls, her bleeding hand still pinned. "You're dead!"
"Let them go," I demand, advancing into the room, my arrow aimed at her heart.
Whitney laughs, high and hysterical. "They're mine! They'll always be mine!"
“Wrong answer.” I begin to ready another arrow.
She jabs at the control panel with her uninjured hand. Alarms blare throughout the mansion.
"Stop her," Whitney commands the alphas. "By any means necessary. Kill her if you have to."
My blood turns to ice as all four alphas turn toward me in unison. Their expressions are tortured, fighting the command, but their bodies move forward.
Weller reaches me first. His hands close around my throat, lifting me off the ground. I drop my bow, clawing at his fingers as my airway closes.
"That's it!" Whitney screeches, blood streaming down her arm from the arrow wound. "Squeeze harder! Make her pay!"
Darkness edges my vision as Weller's grip tightens. His eyes are locked on mine… desperate, fighting, drowning in his own actions.
"Weller," I choke out. "I love you. I've always loved you."
His grip falters for just a moment, then tightens again.
"I need you to trust me," I gasp, spots dancing before my eyes. "If I get out of this..."
I slam my knee up between his legs. His grip loosens just enough for me to twist free, but he recovers instantly, lunging for me again.
Fuck this.
I dive, roll, and spring onto his back, clinging to him like a wild animal. Before he can throw me off, I sink my teeth into his scent gland, biting down hard enough to break the skin.
The taste of his blood fills my mouth, metallic and sweet. Something primal awakens inside me as his essence flows over my tongue. Heat explodes down my throat, spreads through my chest like wildfire, and races along my limbs until my entire body burns with it.
Weller freezes. His hand reaches up, touching the bite mark on his neck. "Mate," he whispers. "Mine."
I bare my throat to him, the pull too powerful to resist. His eyes darken, and he lunges forward, teeth finding the spot instinctively. The moment his teeth break skin, electricity surges between us, connecting us in ways I never imagined possible.
Weller goes completely still. The hands that were choking me seconds ago fall away as he stands frozen, his eyes wide with shock. His fingers drift up slowly, trembling as they touch the mark on his neck.
He’s mine.
And I am his.
The pain is exquisite, transforming instantly into pleasure so intense it borders on agony. I feel him everywhere… in my blood, in my bones, in parts of me I didn't know existed. The connection forms like a golden thread binding us together, humming with life and power.
His pupils dilate until his eyes are nearly black. The drug-induced emptiness vanishes, replaced by desperation for me.
Across the room, Whitney collapses as if she's been shot. Her scream is agonized… the sound of something being ripped from her very soul. With one hand impaled and the other arm already in a sling from when I twisted her wrist at the spa, she's left writhing helplessly on the floor.
"No!" she shrieks, her voice rising to a pitch that barely sounds human. "No! What have you done?!"
I realize whatever bond existed between them is dying. Her body contorts with each snapping thread of connection, leaving her completely defenseless.
"He's mine!" she screams, her face contorted in rage. "Mine! You can't take him! You can't!"
Weller looks at me like he's seeing the sun for the first time.
"Bianca," he breathes, and it's just my name, but the way he says it carries the weight of everything we've lost and found. Then his expression shifts to concern. "Your eyes..."
Something's wrong. My vision blurs until Weller's face fragments before me. My limbs begin to shake, first a tremor, then violent, uncontrollable spasms.
"Bianca!" Weller's voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. I try to answer, but my tongue feels thick, unresponsive.
My legs give out. I'm dimly aware of falling, of Weller's strong arms trying to catch me. My back arches off the floor as electricity of a different kind courses through me… not pleasure now but pain, wild and unpredictable.
Whitney's screams continue. “It hurts! Make it stop!”
The alarms still blare, but the sounds grow distant and muffled as darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision. Through the haze, I see Dr. Montgomery enter the room with a slew of guards around him, moving toward the alphas.
He approaches calmly, observing me with the detached interest of a scientist watching a particularly fascinating experiment. He kneels beside me, checks my pulse, and lifts my eyelids to study my pupils.
"Fascinating," he murmurs.
The last thing I hear is Whitney screaming as Montgomery picks me up and carries me away.
The pre-order for book two is available: Sweet Torment