Page 53 of Unhinged
"Just what I need, the last two of the three stooges," I mutter, my stomach twisting with frustration.
The room immediately fills with the mixed scent of mango and patchouli, sharp and heady like a tropical storm, clashing with Acid’s lemon and black currant, a sharp sweetness that cuts through the air. The two scents swirl around me, a sensory overload that makes my skin prickle.
But then, mixed in with them, is the subtle, too familiar scent of jasmine and orange. My perfume soaks the room like an overachieving air freshener.
"Omega..." Gears growls, a low rumble that curls in my chest, stirring something deep within me. It's like a magnet pulling at my core, something familiar, almost comforting in its intensity. It makes me want to crawl to him, to nestle in his arms despiteeverything I've been through, to let him wrap me up and shield me from the world. But I won’t. Not now. Not after everything.
I shake the feeling off, refusing to let it take root. "Don’t fucking call me that!" The words come out sharp, desperate to push him away.
Gears freezes, his square jaw tensing. His light green eyes narrow as his well-groomed beard and tousled dark hair make him look even more imposing. Acid, on the other hand, just stands there, his neutral expression hard to read beneath his short, neatly cut hair and tanned skin. His muscular frame seems to fill the space as he stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
They don’t get to reduce me to that.
There’s silence, and then Acid speaks, calm—the kind of calm that only comes from knowing you’re on the edge of losing everything. “We’re sorry. For everything.” His words feel like a quiet promise, and as much as I want to throw them back in his face, something inside me hesitates.
I stare at him for a long moment, my anger making it hard to breathe. I feel the tension between us like an electric current, sharp and sparking.
Finally, I turn my gaze to Arrow, my fury still burning in my chest. “You don’t get to apologize. None of you do. I’m done with all your bullshit.” My voice is a guttural growl, the words sharp as daggers.
For a long beat, no one speaks. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears, the anger still smoldering just beneath the surface.
Finally, I exhale, the breath shaky but determined. “But I’m not leaving,” I say quietly. “For him.” I nod toward Judge—toward my son, the one piece of me I can’t afford to lose. The one thing keeping me from falling apart completely. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a part of me that knows I’ll never fully walk away from them.
Not while they still own a piece of me.
Gears crosses his arms, his posture stiff as he stares at me. “Like you had a choice. You’re injured; you can’t do a whole lot right now.”
I bite back a retort, a muscle in my jaw twitching. “Don’t try to keep me caged like a goddamn bird, Gears. It won’t work. I’ve had worse. I just need to get my energy back.” The words come out sharper than I mean, but the frustration clogs my throat, tightens my chest. I’m not some fragile thing they need to protect. I’m not broken. Not yet.
Gears’s eyes narrow, and I catch the flicker of doubt there, but he says nothing. I wonder if he’s trying to figure out whether I’ll snap.
“Gears is a fucking moron,” Acid interrupts, his words heavy with something I can’t place—resentment, guilt, or maybe both. “We want you here. You’re our Kismet. We fucked up. I fucked up. But we want to explore what this is with you. We’re just glad you’re okay.”
There’s a raw sincerity there that I can’t ignore, but it doesn’t erase the doubt curling inside me.Can they really want me?My mind races, fighting against the need for their approval, for their love, but the question lingers like an open wound. Am I truly their Kismet, someone they’ll cherish, or am I just something broken, a puzzle they’ll put together and then discard when they’ve figured out how to fix me?
The thought of being nothing more than something to occupy their time, a temporary distraction until they move on, hits me like a punch to the gut. My stomach twists. God, Iwantto believe them. I want to believe that their words are true, that I’m more than just an afterthought to them. I want to be wanted, to be held close, but the fear gnaws at me, the fear of being nothing more than a passing phase.
I feel the walls inside me close in. “People reject Kismets,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.
“You’d do that?” Arrow asks, his words shaky, like he’s not sure if he believes I really would walk away.
Even the thought of this makes my chest tighten.
“She wouldn’t,” Judge cuts in. His tone is firm, unyielding, as though he’s speaking for me, as if he’s defending me from the monsters I’ve created in my head.
“Judge,” I scold, but there’s no real heat in my voice. I can’t bring myself to be angry with him.
He smirks, reaching into his pocket, and for a moment, I don’t even register what he’s doing until I hear the soft click of a phone being unlocked.
“Where the hell…” I snap my gaze toward the three alphas in the room, but they raise their hands, innocent.
“Hi, Grandpa Ike. Mom’s awake and being grumpy. Yeah, you can. She’s been real mean to her alphas, too.”
I roll my eyes and snatch the phone from Judge’s hand, my fingers brushing his skin for just a moment—long enough for a flicker of warmth to surge up my arm. I stick my tongue out at him.
“Hello.”
“Brydge. Fuck, it’s good to hear from you.” Ike’s deep, gravelly words crackle through the phone.
