Chapter 19
BIANCA
Honey shines on Freddie’s bottom lip. I drag my thumb through the sticky gold liquid, enjoying the way his eyes follow the movement before his mouth closes around me.
“You missed some,” I tell him as his dimples deepen around my thumb.
He went to the cute little bakery this morning and came back with enough boxes to feed everyone on the island because I mentioned wanting something sweet. If I let him, he’ll keep bringing me pastries until I explode.
I might let him. The fruit tart was to die for.
Our mess crowds the island - croissants shattered into buttery flakes wherever Owen has been standing. He eats like he’s never seen food before. The doors are open, and it’s breezy this morning. A gust lifts the hem of my cover-up.
Technically clothing. But slightly questionable when you’re not wearing anything underneath it. Freddie doesn’t seem to mind, although Weller keeps informing me that if I’m going outside, I need to put something under it.
His green eyes drift down when the breeze presses the fabric against my nipples. I take advantage of the distraction and steal the remaining half of the pastry on his plate. “Hey!” He pretends to grab for it.
“Ya snooze, ya lose. You were supposed to be eating it.”
“I was eating.” The timbre of his voice is rich and deep. “You.”
Pinch me. The whole world is still against us, but my belly is full, their scents are thick in the air, and for the first time since I returned to Emerald Hills, I can breathe.
My security notes keep disappearing under pastry flakes.
Bianca from the refuge wants to figure out how to guard every inch surrounding us.
The rest of me is already daydreaming about the tiny library I saw coming in, long days letting the warm sand roast me, and fucking my handsome-as-fuck mates on every surface. I could get used to this.
Heat crawls over my skin and settles solidly between my legs.
Which is still sore from last night... and this morning.
My scent pops in the air, the breeze carrying it far enough that Owen comes inside from where he’s been mapping all of the cameras and lights Weller and Tristan went to get from the store.
He’s bare from the waist up - broad, bronze, and oh so delicious. His bullet wound is healing well, but the sight of it sends a pang of guilt through me.
But then he gives me a heated look that makes my insides go soft and stupid.
“I’m also hungry,” he says, glancing at my hand.
“You ate two breakfast sandwiches already.”
“Freddie ate half of one.”
“Because you took mine.” Freddie hides his smile behind his coffee.
Owen comes around the island, gaze locked on the piece of pastry pinched between my fingers.
I hold the pastry just out of his reach. He could take it and me with it, throw me onto the island, and eat breakfast off my naked body. The hunger that rolls through our bond says he is thinking about exactly that, but Owen bends his head instead and waits for me to put it in his mouth.
My omega loves this.
It’s slightly humiliating, but my hormones win.
I feed him the bite, brushing the sugar from the corner of his mouth afterward, and Owen’s eyes close for half a second as though I gave him something far more precious than almond filling. His hands settle on my hips beneath the cover-up, rough palms traveling over bare skin while he chews.
I look down at the drawing we’ve created of the property. Three acres of dense trees surround us, and the beach is mostly private, although someone could wander too far down the private boardwalk.
I make notations of where I want cameras and alarms to go. It’s ironic since I’ve come to despise surveillance. Maybe one day we won’t need to be so paranoid.
“Weller mentioned Ezra tracking down a few people to come and keep watch outside during my heat.”
“Unnecessary. I’ll snap the neck of anyone who comes near you. I already feel an adrenaline buzz.”
“During my heat?” I laugh and reach around him for another slice of fruit, lifting it to Freddie when he drifts within range.
Juice runs over my fingers before he catches the orange between his teeth.
“You plan to yank your dick out of me, put on pants, and conduct a perimeter check? What if we’re knotted? ”
Owen’s body presses against mine and Freddie nearly chokes.
“I wouldn’t bother with pants.”
“Terrifying, but it isn’t a security plan. If Ez can spare the people, we should take them. I hate it, but we’re running out of options here.”
Freddie swallows and licks the juice from the side of my hand. “If Ezra can’t send anyone, we’ll figure out shifts. Two of us patrolling, two resting with you.”
“Resting.” Owen says the word as though Freddie suggested we’d be doing needlepoint together.
The sound of a golf cart whines somewhere beyond the trees before Freddie can answer. Its tiny electric motor complains, growing louder.
They appear around the corner with Tristan behind the wheel, one hand braced across a tower of grocery bags teetering precariously.
Cases of water fill the rear platform. They’ve used rope to tie everything down.
Boxes have been tied to the roof. Weller sits wedged into his seat with no room to spare, and I can see immediately that he’s holding at least two bags full of condoms.
I cringe a little. Condoms sound absolutely repulsive.
But whatever it takes to prevent the next generation of science experiments.
I walk out onto the balcony to welcome them home.
The wind catches the cover-up and lifts the hem. Tristan looks up at that moment and the cart swerves off the path. He overcorrects, and Weller catches one of the water cases as they topple over.
“I’m driving next time,” Weller says while he stares at me.
Then he climbs out with the phone in his hand and a grim look on his face.
“What’s that face?”
Tristan takes off his sunglasses. His gaze passes over my body once, but none of his usual antics follow. He looks at Freddie and the sweetness of this morning curdles.
We meet them at the lower landing and everyone begins grabbing bags. Water cases thud against the kitchen floor. Cold groceries sweat on the counter while we find spots for everything.
“Mason found Colleen,” Weller announces, holding out the phone so Freddie can look through the messages.
Freddie enlarges an image. “When?”
“Eight fourteen this morning. Mason’s investigator contact spotted her in the window.”
We crowd around Freddie while Weller scrolls. “He also found out why they’ve both been missing as of late.” A website loads. It takes me a moment to understand what I’m looking at: Colleen’s picture at the top of a gated forum post, followed by Charles’s words.
My wife is having an adventurous streak and wants to try new things in the bedroom.
I want to show her I’m open to exploring with her.
After she stepped outside our bond, discontent with only one partner, we agreed honesty would be healthier than secrecy.
She has asked me to arrange a private experience with a group of carefully selected men while I remain present to support her fantasies.
The date sits at the bottom.
Next weekend.
“No fucking way. This isn’t something my mom would agree to.” Freddie’s voice is level, but his hands curl into fists. “Ever.”
Tristan’s mouth flattens. “Of course not. This is a punishment.”
I tap the line about stepping outside the bond. “Was she seeing someone else?”
“I don’t know. She hasn’t mentioned it to me, but I don’t get to talk to her or see her much anymore. But if she found someone who treats her better - good.”
“How could he stand it?” I read the listing again. “While they touch her,” I elaborate. “He’d feel it through the bond. If she doesn’t want it, won’t it hurt him?”
Freddie’s eyes shudder closed. “He takes medication that makes feeling her impossible. He fucks around on her constantly. She can feel it. He can’t.” He swallows slowly. “He hasn’t felt my mom in years.”
Bond inhibitors. At the refuge, we kept pictures of the packets and a list of how long each formula lasted. We had plenty of omegas who came in shaking because their alphas had abandoned them, but not broken the bond with them first.
“All of our fathers are on them.”
The question leaves my mouth before pride can stomp it down. “Would you ever block me?”
Owen steps between my knees and takes my face in both hands. His eyes are dark and furious and so naked that my breath stalls.
Freddie immediately says, “Hell no,” and Tristan and Weller shake their heads.
“A life without you isn’t worth living, Princess. I did it. I hated it. So did they. I want to feel everything.” His thumbs settle beneath my jaw, holding my gaze. “Wherever you go, I go. If you die, I die.”
I wrap my fingers around his wrists, soothing him. “That’s a tad intense.”
“You asked an insane fucking question.”
“I’m approaching heat. I’m allowed to be a little insane.”
I slide off the counter, grabbing the burner and looking through the contacts. “Let’s call Mason.”
He answers on the second ring. “Go.” Keys click in the background, fast and rhythmic.
“Mase. It’s me.”
The keyboard stops. “Bianca?”
I catch myself smiling. Owen’s knife stops halfway through the tape on a camera box. “How’s Jess? Did the twins start walking yet?”
“Jess is good. Both twins are walking now, usually in opposite directions. We get a lot of exercise these days.”
“Tell her I said hi.”
“I will. You all right?” His voice loses the last of its surprise.
“I’m fine.”
The keys begin again. “What can I do for you?”
Owen lowers two camera boxes to the floor, slices through the seals with a knife, and begins laying batteries and memory cards across the pale wood in clean rows.
Freddie steps closer. “This is Freddie. Are my brothers still at school?”
Mason’s answer comes without a pause. “Michael and Rex were both physically confirmed this morning. They’re still on campus, and neither one appears to be under watch.”
“Do they know about our mom?”
“Not that I can say. Their old numbers were disconnected, and I haven’t risked direct contact.”