Page 3 of Savage Surrender

“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.