Page 114 of Unhinged
He grabs this little bottle from behind the bar and squeezes some pink syrupy-looking crap into the drink. “There. Stir it.”
I blink at him. “Okay,” I mutter like an idiot, and head back toward her, drink in hand, like it’s some offering to a damn goddess.
She’s standing near the dartboard, hips cocked, one hand on her thigh. Queen of the damn party.
“Omega,” I say, low and right behind her.
She turns, pupils going wide the second she sees me. Her hazel eyes catch the light, and for a second, they look almost gold—sharp, wild, untamed. That flicker of something in them—heat, curiosity, hunger?—it hits me straight in the chest.
Then her gaze drops to the drink, and her tongue flicks out to wet her bottom lip.
I want tobeher bottom lip. Fuck me.
“That for me?” she asks, voice coy like she doesn’t already know.
“Yup,” I say, handing it over like it’s sacred.
She takes it, nods in approval after one sip. “It’s vodka and water,” she explains, like I asked. “But I add Crystal Light. Adds flavor, but it’s still water, so I don’t get a hangover. Figured a biker party might be a marathon, not a sprint.”
I chuckle. “You’d be right.”
She smirks at me, sharp and playful. “You gonna watch me whoop your brothers’ asses in darts?”
“Sure am.”
“Sweetheart, you’re only in the lead by forty points,” Suave calls over, teasing. “Don’t get cocky.”
She sticks her tongue out at him like a damn teenager. Confident and careless in the best way.
And I can’t help it—watching her like that, laughing with them, fitting in without even trying—it hits me in the gut.
She belongs here. With us.
Withme.
I’m still standing there like some big, dumb dog when Stacy struts by. Her hips swing like she’s on a damn catwalk, smile stretched wide just for me. I don’t even look at her. Not really. Just enough to know it’s her, and enough to remind myself why I don’t give a shit.
She’s always too much. Too clingy. Too pushy. Always hunting for a patch and a promise.
The brothers don’t mind it. They like that she’s easy and down for whatever. Probably the blowjobs in the back lot help, too.
But me? I see through her. She ain’t after the dick. She’s after the title.Ol’ Lady.The illusion of mattering.
I don't got time for that kind of desperation.
Brydgett throws her first dart of the second round. I hear the thunk of it hitting the board and look up right as she turns her head toward me. Her hazel eyes light up when she sees where it landed.
Sixty.
Again.
She grins at me—sharp and smug—and that’s when her eyes flick to my left. And yeah, I see it too.
Fucking Stacy.
Green pleather micro skirt so tight it might be painted on. That black halter top with the keyhole showing off the little nothing she calls tits. She’s sashaying now, heading toward Arrow with a look like she’s already claimed him.
She slides her arm around him, brushing her boobs up against his arm like she’s a damn magnet. Arrow stiffens, his jaw ticking, but he doesn't pull away.
