Savage Surrender (Bittersweet Bonds #3)

Chapter 1

BIANCA

Dr. Montgomery didn’t pick me out of a crowd and decide I’d make an interesting experiment. He’s in every cell, every stupid chromosome. If blood gets a vote in who I am, I’m already halfway to becoming him. Maybe more.

My blood feels thick under my skin. Wrong. Like it wants out. I want to claw it free the way I clawed at my neck - open a vein and watch the grass drink everything he gave me.

Part of me votes yes. I let it.

I’m the daughter of a monster.

My gut tells me there’s no maybe about it.

Does my mom know? Has she spent my whole life looking at me and seeing him? Do I have his eyes? Neither of my parents has blue eyes. Winston doesn’t either.

Dad. No. He can’t know. He’s been making the same joke about my appetite since I was four.

Every pizza night, every holiday dinner.

That’s my girl. He claimed credit for my intelligence the second I learned the alphabet before the other kids - apparently the greatest academic achievement in Quinn family history.

Owen’s rough palm is warm against my cheek. When did he move closer? His dark eyes are fixed on mine.

“Back up.” His breath brushes my face. “What do you mean, he wants you to get pregnant?”

A laugh tears out of me, harsh enough to startle a bird from the tree above us. It bolts into the sky and disappears past the rooftops across the street. Lucky little asshole gets to leave.

“I mean exactly what I said. He wants to turn me into a baby factory for whatever sick purpose he’s come up with. The generous offer: I get pregnant during my next heat, or he hands your fathers access to Whitney’s eggs so they can grow the next generation of heirs.”

I watch their faces. Owen goes still. Freddie looks at the ground. Nobody says what the fuck. Nobody says anything.

“Wait. You already knew?”

“Not about him wanting you pregnant, baby.” Freddie says it carefully. “They threatened to use her eggs at dinner, but we?—”

“You knew and didn’t tell me.”

How long were they going to let me sit in that house with Whitney’s ghost while these fucking assholes made plans? Until one of those children existed? Would they have told me then?

Weller touches my arm. “We knew about the threat. We didn’t know whether they had the material or the ability to use it.” He says it like a briefing. I don’t think he hears how flat it lands.

“Were you planning to share any of that with me?”

“We were planning to stop it before we needed to,” Owen says.

I turn on him. “That’s bullshit, Owen, and you know it.”

“It’s not bullshit, Princess.” His jaw locks around Princess. “Look at you. You don’t sleep. You barely laugh. Every new piece of shit they pile on you makes me want to kill someone.”

“So you made another decision for me because I look tired?”

“No.” He steps closer. “We decided it’s not going to fucking happen, so you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it.”

“We’ve done this before. Five years ago, you let me believe everything was fine. Look what happened.”

“You’re right. We fucked up,” Freddie says quietly. “We thought if we handled it before it became real, you wouldn’t have to carry this too.”

“Thanks for caring. I’m a grown woman, Freddie. I decide what I can handle.” I sound steadier than I feel. “Keep coddling me until I don’t know what room I’m walking into? I can’t do that again.”

He frowns, like I’m the one being unreasonable.

Tristan cuts in. “Based on what we found, I think it’s plausible that Whitney isn’t Montgomery’s biological daughter. If that’s true, the eggs won’t give our fathers what they want.”

He moves toward me slowly enough that I could back away. I don’t. I’m not sure my legs would listen if I tried.

He looks exhausted. New shadows sit under his blue eyes, layered over the ones Whitney put there and the ones I’ve added since. His hair is a mess. Without the smirk or the raised eyebrow, he looks younger, softer.

He stops in front of me and presses his palm flat against my stomach, through my dress. Heat seeps through the thin fabric. The still-new omega inside me lifts her head and pushes into his touch before I can stop her.

This morning, Montgomery laid out his plan for my body like a lab schedule.

He didn’t look up from his tablet when he said it.

Optimal conception window. Like I was a petri dish with a due date.

For science. Now Tristan’s hand is warming my ovaries, and my omega rolls shamelessly toward him because an alpha is touching us, and apparently that’s the only fact she cares about.

I will never get pregnant while that creep is alive.

“Interesting that he thinks he gets a vote.” Tristan’s thumb traces a slow circle over my abdomen, his gaze steady on mine.

“He doesn’t. Neither do our fathers. No one in the world gets a say except you.

” His thumb presses harder, and my skin melts under his touch.

It doesn’t help matters that I can still feel him inside me. “And maybe us...”

“No.”

His thumb stops.

“You can ask me. Beg. Make a color-coded presentation if Weller needs to feel useful. But nobody else gets a vote.”

“Fair,” he says finally.

I close my eyes and lean closer. “But if I refuse his request and he isn’t bluffing—if they use her eggs and your...”

Even if Whitney isn’t here to gloat, it would still feel like losing them to her again. I barely survived it the first time.

Their scents and familiar bodies close around me, and for one breath, I let the wall of them feel like safety.

Through the gap between Owen’s arm and Tristan’s shoulder, there’s still a slice of open green with one black uniform planted in the middle of it.

Weller takes my hand and locks his fingers through mine.

“I’ve done a poor job of protecting you.

” He looks as tired as Tristan. “You have no reason to trust my reassurances, but I won’t let them hurt you again. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“How can you be sure? Look at everything they’ve done to all of us. We haven’t stopped any of it. We’re still playing their games. Contracts, blackmail, DNA?—”

“Bianca.”

Weller’s hazel eyes don’t leave mine. His face could be asking, Trust me. Please. The trap is that I do. His thumb brushes my cheek, and I nod before deciding whether he can keep what he just promised.

Freddie has gone very still. “I’ll murder all of them before I let them touch you again.”

Pretty words.

I raise an eyebrow. “Murder? Now you’re just talking dirty to me, Freddie.”

Freddie doesn’t laugh. He drags me into a hug so tight I can barely breathe, his chin settling on top of my head. The fight stays, but my shoulders loosen one painful inch.

“Okay.” I breathe against his chest. “Let’s talk to my mom. Winston can put his medical skills to good use.” I glance toward the guards watching us from across the lawn. The photograph is still in Tristan’s hand. I miss the version of myself that didn’t know it existed.

I pull back far enough to look at all four of them. “We’re not done with this.”

“No,” Weller says. “We’re not.”

Movement cuts across the lawn. Two guards are heading straight for us, so I guess our little field trip is over. Owen reaches for the back of his neck, his body going tense.

The larger guard stops in front of us. “Ms. Quinn. Gentlemen. Dr. Montgomery has requested that you return to the estate for the evening.”

I lift my chin. “You can tell Dr. Montgomery to go fuck himself.”

The guard almost hides his wince. “Ms. Quinn, I really must insist?—”

He reaches for my arm. Owen catches his wrist and twists before the man’s fingers touch me. The guard stumbles with a sharp cry and falls to his knees.

“Don’t.” Owen tightens his grip. “Touch. Her.”

A second guard runs up behind him and draws his gun, the barrel pointed at Owen’s head. The park goes very quiet. Somewhere behind me a sprinkler keeps ticking like nothing’s happening. My breathing is too fast and too loud.

“Release him,” the armed guard snaps. “Now.”

Owen squeezes harder.

“Owen, please let him go.” The words come from somewhere far away. I glare at the man with the gun. “If you shoot him, you’d better shoot me next, because I will destroy you.”

An arm bands around my waist and pulls me into a solid chest. Freddie. It’s not a gentle hold. His forearm presses under my ribs hard enough to remind me how easy it would be to keep me there.

“Owen,” I snap. Stand down.

The guard glances at me, then back at Owen. Owen finally releases the man’s wrist, and I start breathing again.

Two more guards rush in from the SUVs. One drives Owen facedown into the grass. The other wrenches his arms behind him and plants a knee between his shoulders while the armed guard keeps the barrel trained on his head.

The guard with the gun turns away, presses two fingers to the earpiece under his collar, and lowers his voice. “It’s Hale, sir...” He steps away, too far for me to hear.

The injured guard has moved away from Owen, cradling his wrist against his stomach. He flexes his fingers, winces, and mutters something that looks a lot like fucking psycho. His eyes stay on Owen. Owen stares back like he’d be happy to do it again.

The lead guard drops his hand from his ear. “Back to the estate. Now.” He gestures toward the SUVs. “No detours.”

A police car rolls slowly along the main road. I could run into the street and wave it down. Then what? They’re in on it? The guards produce paperwork about a mental health facility? Montgomery tells them I’m unstable, confirms the breakdown story? The cop doesn’t even look over.

I watch the car disappear around the corner.

“You three.” He points at Tristan, Weller, and Freddie. “Hands in front of you.”

Three guards move at once. Freddie’s arm slides from my waist. Black plastic ratchets around Tristan’s wrists, then Freddie’s, then Weller’s. They haul Owen upright last and bind his hands in front. He never takes his eyes off me.

I step forward. “No, we’re not going with you.”

The guard with the injured wrist blocks me. “You are coming with us. You have no say here, Omega.”

My throat closes. Owen’s scent turns hot, sharp, violent.

“Please.” The word comes out thin enough to make me hate it. “I want to go visit my mom... one hour. That’s all I’m asking.”

The lead guard’s finger hovers near his earpiece, and then he shakes his head. “Orders are orders, Ms. Quinn.” He approaches Owen with a collar.

“Wait.” I grab his arm. He shoves me hard enough to knock me backward, and I land on my ass with a thud.

The alphas all start to move, but Owen gets there first. Even with his hands bound, he slams into the guard who pushed me, and they crash onto the grass. A gun fires into the air. I scream.

Freddie’s bound arms close around me and haul me up and back against his chest.

The asshole in charge, Hale, swings his weapon toward Owen, but Weller lunges and clamps both bound hands around Hale’s wrist, forcing the barrel down. Tristan drives his shoulder into Hale’s ribs as Owen rolls to his feet.

Then three more guards sprint across the lawn, radios crackling at their shoulders. I’m not even sure where they came from or when they got here. It takes all three of them to hold Owen. Someone fastens the collar around his throat. The click is small and obscene.

Freddie’s heart is hammering against my back.

Hale pushes himself up, mud streaking his uniform and rage twisting his face. He yanks the collar remote from his belt.

Owen’s collar fires and his body hits the ground. He convulses, and the sound he makes is worse than the gunshot.

“Stop!” I twist against Freddie’s arms. “Please, stop!”

The guard releases the button.

Owen gasps and shakes on the grass. I tear free, drop beside him, and put my hands on his face, his shoulders, anywhere I can touch. The grass is wet. Soaking through my dress at the knees. I register that from very far away, like it’s happening to someone else’s body.

“Owen. Look at me.”

His eyes find mine. He’s conscious. He’s breathing. The muscles in his jaw jump under my palms.

The guard crouches beside us. “All of you need to get the fuck in the vehicle. Now. Or I shock him until he stops moving.”

We walk toward the SUVs at the edge of the park.

Hale gestures to the man holding his wrist. “Tommy, head back and get that looked at. You’re done for the day.” He points at a thick-necked guard from the second vehicle. “Ellis, you’ve got the omega and Mr. Dashwood.”

The guards force us into two cars. Owen, Tristan, and Freddie are pushed into one with Hale and two others. Weller and I are herded into the second SUV.

The doors slam and the SUVs pull away in opposite directions.

I twist in my seat and watch the other car disappear.

My body remembers what separation feels like. The omega under my skin starts clawing for the car vanishing behind us, and I let my forehead rest against the window glass and watch until there’s nothing left to watch.