Page 62 of Unhinged
"It’s not a routine," I shoot back, though I don’t deny it. "It’s just making sure you’re good."
"I’m good," she says, holding my gaze. "But thanks."
The conversation shifts as Keg finishes up breakfast, piling plates high with pancakes, eggs, and crispy bacon. Judge wanders back through the kitchen, eyeing the fresh batch of pancakes like he’s considering round two.
Keg’s movements are a little too careful. His usual bravado dimmed as he makes a plate and sets it in front of me. I catch the way his gaze flickers toward her, like he’s trying to size her up—or maybe shake off whatever image of her is stuck in his head.
He didn’t see what we saw yesterday. He wasn’t there when she turned ice-cold, giving Acid the order like it was just another task to check off. But he cleaned up the aftermath. Scrubbed away the blood. Hauled out what was left. And that kind of thing sticks with you.
I get it.
The Alpha Slayer.
We all knew the stories, the rumors. But seeing what she’s capable of? Knowing she gave the word without a second thought? It hits differently. And now Keg’s looking at her like he knows something is up. He saw the aftermath, but he doesn’t know the half of it. Not that she’s the Alpha Slayer. Not that a man begged for his life, and she didn’t flinch. And I’m not sure telling him would make him sleep any easier.
Still, there’s no fear in Brydgett’s eyes. If she notices the tension, she doesn’t let it show. She just takes another sip, her gaze steady, like she’s daring us to say something.
We eat together, laughter weaving through the conversation. It’s easy. Normal. Almost like the chaos of yesterday never happened.
"We were thinking of making a supply run later. Get you and the kid some essentials."
"Don’t bother," she snaps, plopping a piece of bacon into her mouth. "I’ve got what I need."
I don’t argue. Not now, at least. Instead, I just eat. I’ll get what she needs whether she likes it or not. Hell, if she’s still wearing my clothes tomorrow, I’ll consider it a win.
A coupleof days roll by in the same rhythm. Judge settles in like he’s been here forever, running around the clubhouse like it’s his personal amusement park. Brydgett still acts like every favor is a personal insult, but the sharpness behind her words softens bit by bit. She knows we aren't pushing.
Today, I swing by their old apartment while she's busy keeping Judge entertained. I gather up a few bags of clothes, stuffed animals, and whatever else looks like it belongs to the kid.
The door groans when I push it shut, and the metallic clank of the deadbolt echoes down the corridor. Maybe it’s the noise that draws her out, or maybe she’s just been waiting, watching. Either way, the door across the hall cracks open within seconds—just enough for a pair of sharp eyes to study me from the shadows.
"How’s she doing?" she demands without preamble.
I take a second to really look at her—lips pressed into a thin line, shoulders squared like she’s bracing for a fight. The dim hallway light casts deep shadows across her face, making her look older, wearier.
"How do you know she’s with us?" I ask.
Her lips curl slightly, but there’s no amusement in it. Just something knowing. Unshakable. Like she’s had thisconversation before, just with different people in different places.
"Let’s just say I know the signs," she finally mutters. "I wasn’t born yesterday, boy."
The door doesn’t open any wider, but she doesn’t shut it either. It hangs there, a silent challenge, waiting to see what I do next.
I chuckle, trying to play it off. "You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about."
She doesn’t flinch. "I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve got that look. The one you wear when you think no one notices. But I’ve seen it before, believe me. You can’t fool me."
She steps back, crossing her arms, waiting for me to say something more. But I know she’s already got me pegged.
"She’s alright. Judge too. Safe." I give her a quick look.
"Good," she huffs, narrowing her eyes like she’s daring me to say otherwise.
The words hang heavy, but then she sticks her hand out like she’s been waiting for the right moment. “I’m Georgia, by the way.”
There’s a lot of edge in her tone, and I can feel the weight of her words, but it’s not the threat I’m worried about. It’s the way she’s looking at me, like she knows more than she should. More than I want her to know.
I take her hand with a slow shake. “Arrow.”
