Page 132 of Unhinged
"And he told 'em... he told 'em to take me," Judge says, voice wobbling, "and kill Dillon."
"Or rape me," Dillon grinds out, jaw clenched so tight I can hear her teeth creak.
My blood runs cold. Gears whirls around so fast the air cracks behind him, his face pure death.
"What?" he snaps, voice like a shotgun blast.
Dillon doesn't flinch. Just nods once, sharp. "The guy… I think Brydgett called him Earl. He told his men to take Judge. Kill me. Unless they wanted me first," she says, each word like glass scraping her throat. "One of 'em volunteered. But Brydgett... she said no."
Everything inside me coils tight. Hot. Savage.
"Fucking brave," Acid mutters, shaking his head.
"Fucking heroic," Gears growls.
I push up slowly, blood pounding behind my eyes.
"Fucking bold omega," I say, low and fierce, my fists clenching hard enough my knuckles pop.
She's ours. She fought for them. She fought for us.
And whoever touched her…Whoever dared lay a fucking hand on her... Isn't gonna see another goddamn sunrise.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ACID
We tear the backlot of the clubhouse apart. High and low. Check every goddamn inch. Even search the strip of woods that kisses up against the fence.
Nothing. No sign of her. Gidge is gone.
My heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s gonna punch straight through my ribs.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I mutter, shoving a broken pallet out of my way. A useless piece of shit obstacle when what I need to find isher. We need a plan. A goddamn miracle. Some kinda clue. Some hint on where he would've taken her. I’d like to tell myself we need to look at every angle.
That we don’t know for sure.
But we do. We know exactly who it is.
Earl.
Judge and Dillon told us. Told us everything.
The bastard who hurt her years ago—he's back. And he took her.
I clench my fists so tight my knuckles crack. I'll rip him apart. Tear him limb from fucking limb. Paint the ground with what's left of him.
“Back to the clubhouse!” Gears shouts, voice cutting through the night air. “We need a fucking clue or lead.”
I need tofind her.
Gears is right. Can’t find shit when you’re running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
“I can help with that,” Franko says, stepping forward, a little breathless. “I think.”
We all turn to him.
"I had information for you. That’s why Brydge called me here. That—and 'cause she always loved a dramatic flair," Franko adds, with a small, humorless smile.
