Page 27 of Unhinged
We walk in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on me. My mind drifts to the Kismets. To the pull I felt. My body yearns for them, but my heart and mind know better. They won’t protect me. They won’t love me for who I am. They’ll only want me for what I can give them.
But I won’t be anyone’s pawn. Not anymore.
I squeeze Judge’s hand tighter, my resolve hardening. We’ll get through this. We always do.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GEARS
I hated Church twice in one damn week. Makes me feel like I don’t have my shit together. Makes me feel like the walls are closing in and I’m the idiot who built them too tight to breathe inside.
Still. I do it.
The gavel's in my hand, heavy like guilt. Or maybe regret. The room’s full, my brothers around me, tension thick enough to chew through. Arrow leans back in his chair like his muscles are made of steel rods, arms crossed. Acid's beside him, leg bouncing, eyes flicking between his laptop and the door like he's ready to bolt or bite, maybe both.
"Thanks for comin’ back," I say, standing. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "I wouldn't have pulled you all in unless it mattered."
A few nods. Some murmurs. No one's relaxed. That’s fair.
I blow out a breath. “We—me, Arrow, and Acid—we made a call.”
A pause.
“We took a woman. Believed she was connected to the Alpha Slayer.”
The room doesn’t react all at once. Just a slow ripple of silence, then shifting bodies, narrowed eyes. It’s Nitro who speaks first.
“The fuck?” His voice is sharp, not disrespectful, but close. “We don’t fuck with women and kids. That’s always been the line. What the hell, Gears?”
Acid’s chair screeches as he stands.
“Your president made a call,” he growls. “And you’ll respect it.”
Nitro raises both hands. Not backing down, but not throwing punches, either.
“I got a little sister, man,” he says. “I patched into The Renegade ‘cause there were lines. Morals. Shit we didn’t cross. I respect you three immensely, but I won’t be a part of a club that hurts women and kids.”
A few murmurs of agreement echo. A cough. Someone shifting their weight like they want to say more but won’t be the first to mutiny.
I slam the gavel. Hard. The wood cracks against the table and everyone shuts the hell up.
“I made a call,” I say again. Not yelling. Just owning it. “Turns out it was a bad one. And I’m alpha enough to admit that.”
Acid doesn’t like it. I can feel his frustration rolling off him like steam, but he sits back down. Arrow doesn’t move.
“We took the woman thinking she’d lead us to the Alpha Slayer.” I pause. “She didn’t.”
Lie. They don’t need to know sheisthe Slayer. Hell, I’m still choking on that truth myself.
I rake a hand down my face. My nose hurts—bruised, maybe cracked. “Turns out…” I look at Arrow. He gives me the smallest nod. “She’s our Kismet.”
That gets ‘em.
A roar goes up—cheers, whoops, the sudden clatter of hands slapping the table. Someone whistles. Someone yells“Finally!”
I slam the gavel again. “She left.”
The room quiets.
