Page 29 of Unhinged
We move quickly, my steps silent but urgent. I don’t look at Judge. I don’t want to see the fear in his eyes. He knows the rules by now. He knows what’s at stake, even if he doesn’t fully understand the danger we’re in.
I reach the unit and pull open the door, the metal grinding against the track. The sound seems too loud, too sharp, in the stillness of the night. But it’s too late to turn back now. The car is inside, parked as I left it, a nondescript silver Honda Civic. Nothing flashy, nothing that’ll attract attention, but it’s mine. It’s my ticket out.
I pull the key from the box under the seat, my fingers shaking slightly as I turn it in the ignition. The engine roars to life, and I hear Judge’s quiet breath behind me. He’s still here. Still with me. We’re still moving.
I pull out onto the main road, keeping the car steady, eyes flicking constantly to the rearview mirror. Every turn, every shadow, every flicker of movement behind me has me on edge.I know they’re out there. The Renegades are somewhere close, and I can feel it. They won’t stop until they find me.
But not tonight. Tonight, I won’t let them catch me.
Each mile between us and the storage unit feels like a small victory, but I know it’s only a temporary one. Ike’s place is close, but the Renegades are still hunting. And I can’t afford to make any mistakes now.
Judge shifts in his seat behind me, his small fingers tapping lightly on the back of my seat. He doesn’t speak, but I feel the tension in his movements. His fear, his anxiety. It echoes in my chest, but I don’t let it show. Not now. I glance in the rearview mirror again. The headlights of passing cars blink like fleeting shadows, but there’s nothing else.
We’re safe—for now.
But I can’t stay still for long. Not while they’re out there.
I push the Civic harder, the engine humming louder as I take another turn, my mind spiraling through everything that’s led to this moment. My thoughts are a whirl of survival, of what’s coming, of what I need to do to keep us both alive. The urge to drive right back to the clubhouse nags at me, a constant reminder of what my designation demands. But I can’t afford to be weak. Not again.
When we finally pull up to the modest two-story house, my body sags with relief. My fingers ache from gripping the wheel too tightly, my nerves frayed from the constant need to stay ahead. The porch light flickers on, casting a warm glow over the front steps, and a familiar figure emerges from the doorway.
Ike.
He’s barefoot, his jeans slung low on his hips, his t-shirt wrinkled from sleep or just sheer indifference. His beard is streaked with more gray than the last time I saw him, but his sharp eyes—those same eyes that have seen me at my worst andstill never wavered—lock onto me with a mix of concern and surprise.
“Brydgett?”
I barely get the door open before I’m moving, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten as I launch myself at him. My arms wrap around his solid frame, the scent of leather and old spice grounding me in a way nothing else has. The fight drains from me, leaving behind a hollow, aching need for stability, for safety—even if it’s just for a little while.
“We need to stay awhile,” I whisper against his chest. “I need to figure out what to do next.”
Ike doesn’t hesitate. He nods, his arms tightening around me briefly before he pulls back and glances at Judge. A grin tugs at his lips, softening the hard angles of his face, before he effortlessly swoops the kid up.
Judge shrieks with laughter as Ike swings him around, his small fingers clinging to the front of Ike’s shirt. “Ike!”
“C’mon, kid. Let’s get you inside.” He shifts Judge onto his back in one smooth motion, piggybacking him toward the house like it’s second nature. Like we belong here. Like we’re not running.
I follow silently, my muscles aching with exhaustion, my mind a whirlwind of regret and indecision. As soon as I step inside, I head straight for the room Ike keeps for me. It’s untouched. The same neatly made bed, the same old dresser, the same scent of cedar and the faintest hint of gun oil. My safe haven.
Piled high on the bed are soft blankets and way too many pillows—comfort I didn’t ask for but always end up needing.
Guess some omega traits, not even suppressants can fix.
I set our bags down, releasing a slow breath as I run a hand through my tangled hair. My reflection in the mirror over the dresser catches my eye—dark circles smudging under my eyes,my skin paler than usual, my mouth pressed into a thin, wary line. I look like someone who hasn’t slept in days. I look like someone who’s running from something she might not actually want to escape.
A knock sounds at the door before it creaks open. Ike steps inside, shutting it behind him with a quiet click. He crosses the room with that steady, measured stride of his, settling into the chair at the desk. His arms folded across his chest, his sharp gaze pinning me in place.
“Where’s Judge?” I ask, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips beneath me, an unfamiliar comfort.
“With Jackie. They’re making cupcakes,” Ike replies, leaning back in his chair, one brow arching slightly. “He asked, and you know she can’t say no to him—grandma thing. Now, seriously, what’s going on?”
I swallow hard, my hands twisting together in my lap. How do I even start? My throat feels tight, my mind still reeling from everything that’s happened.
“I got caught.” The words feel foreign on my tongue. “I wasn’t sloppy, I swear. But the Renegade MC—they took Judge to get to me, thinking I could lead them to the Slayer. They had me in the basement, trying to break me—unsuccessfully, I might add—when Judge burst in and told them I was the killer they’re looking for.” I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “The little shit has known for God knows how long. And in the middle of all of it, my blockers wore off.”
Ike’s brows furrow. “What are you saying?”
I close my eyes, exhaling shakily. “I’m Kismet to the President, VP, and Enforcer of the Renegade. Gears, Arrow, and Acid.”
