Page 50 of Unhinged
We headto the gym first, but Eric’s not there. One of the guys behind the counter takes the phone when we call Ike, then passes it off to another guy working there. After a brief exchange, the guy sets the phone down with a smirk.
“Eric’s been talking about meeting some whore at a motel on the edge of town.”
That’s all we need to hear. We’re back on the road in seconds, the silence between us humming with anticipation. The motel isn’t hard to find—it’s the kind of place that looks like a crime scene waiting to happen, neon vacancy sign flickering weakly against a backdrop of peeling paint and shattered streetlights.
Inside, the air is thick with the stench of piss, cheap booze, and broken dreams. And there he is. Eric. A beta through and through—cowardly, twitchy, never able to look an alpha in the eye for more than a second. Holed up in a room that reeks of desperation, hunched over the rickety motel desk. He’s flipping through some ratty notebook, muttering under his breath, so lost in whatever he’s reading that he doesn’t even hear us come in.
Not until Acid’s got him by the throat.
The crack of drywall splitting on impact is sharp, echoing through the tiny room as Acid slams him back against the wall. His grip is a vise, alpha power rolling off him in thick, suffocating waves.
“Nice to meet you, you fucking snake,” Acid snarls, his fingers tightening.
Eric’s eyes bulge, his hands clawing at Acid’s wrist, his whiskey-soaked brain scrambling to catch up. “W-who?—”
Arrow drives a fist into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs before he can even think about spitting out some excuse.
“You don’t get to talk,” Arrow growls. “You don’t get to beg.”
I step forward, gripping his chin, forcing him to look me in the eye. “You betrayed her. Sold her out. And you thought we wouldn’t come for you?”
He wheezes, shaking his head frantically. “Who the fuck are you talking about?”
Acid throws him to the floor, sneering. “Brydgett.”
Eric freezes, his pupils dilating as the name hits him. A quick, nervous laugh escapes his lips, shaky and desperate. “No... no... you can’t be serious,” he stammers, trying to push himself back up.
But Acid’s booted foot slams into his chest, forcing him back down. “Shut the fuck up,” Acid growls, and the fear in Eric’s eyes deepens.
The slam of a door down the hall echoes through the motel, and we move quickly—no time for niceties. One of us shoves a cloth into Eric’s mouth to muffle his screams, while the other pulls duct tape across his face. His muffled protests die as we drag him out of the room, his body kicking in a weak, desperate attempt to break free.
The motel is quiet—no sounds of anyone reacting from the other rooms, or maybe they're too afraid to.
We drag him out to the van Bat’s waiting beside, shoving him into the back like the trash he is. Bat doesn’t ask questions—he’s a trusted member of the Renegades, always keeps his head cool under pressure. He secures Eric like a pro and nods. “I’ll get him back to the clubhouse. Keep him nice and chilled ‘til she’s ready.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Good.”
Back at Ike’s, Brydgett hasn’t moved, but her presence still commands the room. She may be unconscious, but she’s ours, and that’s all that matters.
Ike’s waiting for us in the doorway, arms crossed, looking more irritated than usual. “It’s done?”
Arrow nods. “Eric’s handled.”
Ike exhales through his nose, glancing at Brydgett. “Good. But now we have another problem.”
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
He gestures to her. “She can’t stay here.”
Acid scoffs. “You think we don’t know that?”
I step closer to the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. “She needs to be somewhere safe. Somewhere locked down tight.”
Arrow nods. “The clubhouse.”
Ike frowns. “You really think that’s a good idea?”
Acid crosses his arms. “You got a better one?”
