Page 45 of Unhinged
I holler to my brother and best friend, “What’s the deal? Is he dead?” my hands pressed to Brydgett’s side.
Acid grunts. “As a doornail. She popped him right between the eyes.”
Judge's eyes snap to me, and I see something flicker in them—understanding, maybe. He knows what this means. What it could mean for his mom. For all of us.
Arrow digs through the man’s pockets and pulls out a wallet. “Name’s Jim Wolfe. Forty-one. Lives in Pinecrest Hollow, Arkansas.”
“What the fuck is he doing in Virginia?” I growl, my mind racing.
“We’re gonna find out.” Arrow hands the wallet to Acid.
We all sit in the quiet, waiting, the seconds stretching into what feels like hours. The only sound is the distant hum of the wind, the soft shuffle of feet, and the occasional rustling of leaves.
Then, without warning, the sharp screech of tires breaks the stillness. A shelter green Ford Raptor barrels toward us, the engine roaring, the tires screeching as it comes to a halt in front of us. Acid and Arrow both snap to action, drawing their guns in an instant, their bodies tense, ready for whatever comes next.
“Wait!” Judge shouts. “That’s Ike’s truck!”
The truck slams on the brakes, sending a cloud of dust into the air, and a man gets out, jogging toward me and my omega. He’s built like a brick wall, shoulders broad and thick, with dark stubble covering his jaw. His face looks like it’s been through a few battles—tough, scarred, and lined with experience, but his eyes are sharp, focused. He looks like Sylvester Stallone inRambo—a little older, maybe, but no less dangerous.
“Fuck,” he mutters, like he’s been worn down by years of hard living. “Get her in the truck.”
Without hesitation, I scoop Brydgett up, cradling her gently in my arms, and hurry to the backseat, setting her inside.
"I can’t leave my bike here, kid," I say. "You need to hold pressure on your mom’s side. Hard. You hear me? Don’t let go until Ike tells you to."
Judge slides in next to her. He nods, his hands trembling as he replaces mine on her side, pressing hard to stop the bleeding.
"We’ll follow you," I tell Ike. He’s already climbing behind the wheel, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel.
“No funny business or you won’t live to see tomorrow,” he growls, and before I even get the door shut, he slams the gas and starts backing up.
The truck shoots off, and Acid, Arrow, and I run for our bikes, firing them up and speeding after him.
I send a silent prayer up to whoever’s listening. “Please don’t let our omega die. We don’t even know her. This can’t be the end. We haven’t even proven to her we’re good men.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ACID
We follow Ike to a small two-story house tucked away with no neighbors in sight. The house itself is modest—faded blue siding, a sagging porch railing, and a rusted wind chime that barely stirs in the still air. It's unassuming, easy to miss. A good hideout.
Ike parks his Raptor, kills the engine, and steps out. He throws open the back door, then cradles Brydgett in his arms, with Judge following close behind. Her face is pale, and her blood-soaked shirt clings to her skin like a second layer. I can barely catch her jasmine and orange scent, and what’s left is weak—drowned in blood and sweat. Smells like death creeping in, and I fucking hate it. It's muted, barely there, like she’s already fading.
We park our bikes and jog after him. My heart hammers in my chest, too fast, too hard. I can feel Gears’ and Arrow's tension beside me, the bond between us crackling like static. We don't need words right now—we all know what’s at stake.
Gears steps forward. "Gears," he introduces himself with a curt nod. "We spoke on the phone earlier. This is my brother,Arrow," he gestures to his left, "and Acid," he says, nodding toward me, his face hard as steel.
Ike doesn’t pause to shake hands. He’s already moving, focusing solely on getting Brydgett inside.
A woman with tan skin and dark hair opens the front door, her eyes wide with concern.
"Ma'am." Arrow nods as she lets us in.
"Jackie, you know what to do. Lock it down and keep Judge busy, please," Ike calls over his shoulder.
"I got it," Jackie replies firmly. She locks the front door with one hand and pulls a twelve-gauge from a cabinet behind her with the other, leaning it against the wall by the door like it belongs there. The woman doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. She’s seen things before.
"Judge, honey," Jackie coaxes gently, "why don't we go sit down and play a game? Any game you want."
