Page 43 of Unhinged
And just beside the car—a man in a greasy suit, standing by the passenger side of an SUV that’s parked too close. His stance is tense, gun drawn, the barrel aimed in her direction.
My blood drains from my face as I take in the scene. She’s crouched behind the battered car, gun in her hand, trying to fight her way out of whatever fucking mess she's in. Her hair’s sticking to her face, and she's too damn still for my liking, like she’s waiting for something, someone, to end her. I don’t care how deep the shit is; I’m not letting her go down without a fight.
Not my fucking woman.
I glance at Arrow, then Acid. They see it, too. We're not even close enough to take a clean shot at the bastard with the gun, but I know we're not about to let him win.
I hear the gunshots. Three, maybe four, rapid fire from behind the car. The sound of the bullets hitting metal and gravel, and my pulse races. She's still in this, still fucking fighting. But the bastard's got her cornered. My eyes are glued to her, watching her every move. I see her jerk back.
“Brydgett!” I shout, but the sound is swallowed by the wind. She's out of sight now, disappearing behind the car.
My heart slams in my chest as I instinctively jerk the throttle, speeding us forward, but it's not enough. Not fast enough.
Then—fuck—Acid pulls his gun out. He doesn’t even hesitate. He lines up his shot, steady hands, and the loudcrackof his gun is followed by a sickening silence.
I don't wait for him to confirm it. I’m already pulling my gun from its holster, firing in quick succession. The bastard with the greasy suit—he stumbles, curses, and then makes a break for it, rushing back to the SUV like a coward. Tires screech as he guns it, kicking up a cloud of dust. The bastard knows when he’s lost.
I glance at the SUV, barely catching the plate through the haze of dust. A glance, and it’s burned into my brain. My fingers twitch on the throttle, ready to chase, but there's no time.
Brydgett.
We slam our bikes to a stop, quickly dismounting and standing them upright before taking off running. I don’t careabout anything except getting to her. My heart’s in my throat, and my legs feel like they’re moving on their own. We round the car, and what I see hits me like a punch to the gut.
There she is, slumped against the side of the car. Blood. It’s already soaking through her shirt, her breath shallow, and her eyes… they’re half-lidded, barely open, like she’s fading fast.
“Brydgett!” I roar, dropping to my knees beside her, feeling the warmth of her blood soaking into my palms. Panic claws at me, but I force it back. Not yet. Not now. I can’t let myself fall apart. Not when she needs me.
I press my hand against her side, trying to apply pressure, but it’s not enough. I need help.
Her scent—jasmine and orange, just a few days ago, was so sharp and unmistakable—is barely there. Muted. Faint. Maybe it’s the blood masking it, or maybe she got back on blockers in the days she’s been missing. Either way, it unsettles me. She doesn’t smell likeher.
“Stay with me,” I beg. “Just… just hold on. Please.”
I press harder, desperate to stop the bleeding, to keep her here—with me—but her breathing is so shallow, and her skin’s gone cold beneath my fingers.
Then, through the haze of adrenaline, I hear it.
“Mom?”
The voice is raw, strained. It’s Judge. He’s peeking up from the backseat of the car, his face pale, eyes wide. His gaze flicks between Brydgett and the three of us, the realization dawning on him. His lips tremble, but he doesn’t speak. He can’t. Not right now.
My heart stops for a beat, but it’s Arrow’s intake of breath that shakes me. Acid’s gaze hardens, fists clenched, his body taut with barely controlled fury. And me? I can’t even breathe. We’re all paralyzed by the sight of her, broken and bloodied.The woman we all share a bond with, the one our alpha nature demands we protect.
I want to tell Judge that everything’s going to be fine, but I can’t. I can’t make promises I don’t know if I can keep.
Arrow kneels beside me. “Shit, man. What the hell happened?”
I try to catch my breath. My chest feels tight, suffocating. “She’s bleeding,” I rasp. It’s all I can get out. The words stick in my throat, heavy and choking on the reality of the situation.
“Who the fuck was that guy?” Acid growls. His fists are clenched so tightly, the knuckles are white, his body radiating with raw anger.
“Doesn’t matter now,” I snap, pulling Brydgett’s head into my lap, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. The bond—the invisible tether between us—barely pulses, but I feel her slipping away, fighting to hold on. “We’ve got to get her out of here. Fast.”
Acid’s eyes flick to me, then to Brydgett, and his jaw clenches harder. He looks like he’s about to rip someone apart, but we all know it’s not the right time. Not now. There’s nothing left to do except keep her with us, keep fighting for her.
But even as I say it, I know. We’re all too late. The fucker’s already gone, vanished into the dust. And now, all I can think about is making sure Brydgett survives.
“We need to get her medical attention right fucking now!” I bark. The words hit the air like a slap, and I don’t give a damn how loud I sound. My heart is pounding in my chest, blood rushing in my ears, and my hands are shaking as I fight to keep it together. She’s slipping, and I’m running out of time.
