Page 56 of Unhinged
I can feel their frustration rising, but they’re not pushing me further. They don’t understand, but they’re respecting my wishes.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, a grunt escaping me as I try to stand. Every muscle in my body protests, but I power through it.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Arrow barks.
I roll my eyes, barely holding back the sarcasm. “I was planning on making a run for it, but thought I’d pass out in style first. You know, for the dramatic effect.”
I sound like a dick. I know it. But it’s the only defense I have right now.
Acid leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes scanning me with a mixture of concern and disbelief. He lets out a short, humorless laugh before his gaze drifts to my side. His face hardens. “You’re lucky Ike’s a damn miracle worker,” he mutters. “You should be dead.”
I blink, letting the words settle in the air like a bitter taste. “And here I thought I was just that badass,” I quip, the corner of my mouth twitching into something resembling a grin.
But my voice turns serious, steel creeping into every word. “Now, I’m going to see Eric.”
That gets their attention. They freeze, exchanging glances.
“You’re not fully healed,” Gears warns, concern evident in his words. "This isn't the right time."
“I don’t give a shit,” I snap. “I’m not waiting any longer. If you want to help me, then help me get to him. I need to see him. Now.”
They exchange another set of looks, but none of them dare question me. They’ve seen me at my worst; they know better than to think they can hold me back.
My scent sharpens. It’s tinged with frustration that I can’t hide. The air is thick with it.
“Fine,” Acid grumbles. "But you're not in any condition to?—"
“Just get me to him,” I interrupt, frustration bubbling up. I’m done with waiting. Done with the silence. I want answers from Eric, and I’m going to make sure he gives them to me.
Just as I start to rise, the world tilts, and I lose my balance. They finally relent, helping me to my feet and steadying me as we move toward the basement. The cold air hits me first, like a slap in the face, the smell of cement and oil filling my lungs. I push past it, focusing only on the task at hand. Eric. My betrayer. The one who sold me out for whatever the hell reason.
When we reach the basement door, I can hear his voice from the other side—weak, panicked, just the way I want it. They open the door, and there he is, dangling from the ceiling by chains around his wrists, forced to stand on his tiptoes. His body sways slightly with the weight, and I can see the strain in his posture—just the way I want him to feel.
For a moment, the world holds still. The blood in my veins feels like it’s turned to ice, but I don’t care. I stand there, staring at him, watching the fear flicker in his eyes.
And then I speak. My words are cold and sharp, breaking the silence.
“Surprise, Eric,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me, did ya?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ACID
The basement smells like damp concrete and stale sweat. Chains rattle softly from the ceiling, the only sound aside from the steady drip of water from a leaky pipe. The shadows in the corners seem thicker down here, swallowing the weak light from the bare bulb swinging overhead.
Eric hangs like a slaughtered pig, his wrists bound and stretched above him, forcing him to balance on his tiptoes. His head droops, greasy hair plastered to his forehead. Even now, with the bruises blooming across his face and the blood crusted on his temple, there’s a flicker of defiance in his eyes. Fucker doesn’t know when to quit.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching. With a grunt, I push off and shrug out of my cut, rolling my shoulders as the leather slides free. No reason to risk getting it dirty. Arrow’s in the corner, sharpening a knife with slow, deliberate strokes, the sound slicing through the tense silence. Gears stands by the door, fists clenched, his entire body coiled tight.
None of us speak. Not yet.
Brydgett’s small frame is dwarfed by the chair she lounges in. But even seated, she carries herself like a goddamn warrior. She’s an omega, but her presence crackles with an energy that has me on edge, something dangerous and intoxicating. Her auburn hair falls in loose waves, strands curling wildly around her face. There’s a cut on her forehead, still pink from the fight. Ike stitched her up good, but the bruises remain. They make her look fierce. Untamed.
She crosses her legs with a casual confidence that only makes her presence more commanding. Her scent lingers in the air. It’s intoxicating, but it also warns us. She’s not just an omega, she’s the storm in the eye of the hurricane. Her eyes lock onto Eric, amusement flashing in them as he watches the alphas around her shift in their positions.
I can see the flicker of something in her eyes, something cold. She’s playing it cool, but deep down, she’s aching for this. The control, the power, the satisfaction of watching him crack. It's not just about the answers. It’s about sending a message.
A slow smirk curls her lips, amusement flashing in her eyes as she meets Eric’s gaze.
