Page 69 of Unhinged
“Amazing,” Arrow replies, unabashed. “So fucking tight and sexy. Tastes just like she smells—I could eat her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” His words drip with desire, leaving no room for doubt about how he felt in those intimate moments. “But go slow if she lets you in like that. I was her first.”
“But…” Gears starts, his brows furrowing as he processes what Arrow just revealed.
“Rape doesn’t count, so I was her first,” Arrow barks, venom lacing his tone as he defends Brydgett’s honor with ferocity.
“I’ll kill that fucker,” I growl under my breath, fury surging through me like gasoline igniting a flame, my alpha demanding justice. The idea of Earl’s hands on her makes my blood boil—he took so much from her. Arrow nods, the smugness gone from his features. “He’s not getting near her again,” he promises, his tone dark.
“Then we end him,” I say, a steely determination taking root. My alpha settles with a single, focused intent. I won't rest until Earl pays for every damn thing he's done.
The door swings open, shattering the moment as Judge and Dillon bound into the kitchen.
"Mom!" Judge calls out, his voice echoing off the walls.
"She’s in the shower," I reply, keeping my tone light despite the dark thoughts swirling in my mind. Judge nods, his face lighting up with anticipation.
“Tell her I’m in the playroom! Dillon said she’s gonna buy the newCall of Duty,so we’re gonna play!”
“Okay, little man,” I say, watching as they dash out of the kitchen. Their laughter fades down the hallway, replaced by an almost eerie silence that settles back over us.
I smell her before I see her—Brydgett. Fresh scent blocking soap and the now faint trace of her perfume fill the air, twisting something inside me. My gaze snaps to the doorway as she strides in, hair damp and curling at the ends, droplets clinging to the bare skin of her shoulders. The simple tank top she’s wearing clings to her curves, reminding me—and everyone else—just how fucking tempting she is.
“You’re still eating? Christ, I’m ready to get this show on the road,” she says.
"Come on, Gidge, I’ll escort you," Arrow offers, slipping an arm around hers. The move makes my teeth clench as my alpha surges forward, but Brydgett only rolls her eyes, though she doesn't pull away. She lets him lead her toward the door.
"You come inside of me, and all of a sudden you’re a gentleman," she quips, and Arrow's grin widens. He throws a smug wink in Gears' direction—and then at me.
Lucky fucking bastard.
With them already halfway out, I shove my chair back harder than necessary, the legs scraping against the floor. The table is still littered with the remnants of breakfast—half-eaten bowls of cereal, crumpled napkins, and sticky spills left for the club girls to clean up. None of it matters.
All I can think about is Brydgett. And the fact that she isn't mine. Not yet.
Gears rises from the table, his chair scraping the floor as he does, his heavy steps echoing as he walks toward the door. He doesn't spare a glance in my direction as he pushes past me, headed toward his office. The door to his office creaks open with a low groan. I lean against the doorframe as he enters and settles into the leather chair behind the mahogany desk. The room reeks of leather and frustration. The desk is scuffed from years of fists slamming down, and the air is thick with unspoken threats.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at my lips. Brydgett and Arrow have already made their way into the room, slipping past without a sound. Our omega perches on the loveseat next to Arrow like she owns the place.
She’s an omega in every sense of the word—soft curves, delicate scent, and a dangerous edge that keeps every alpha on alert. But her eyes? Pure steel.
Gears doesn't waste time. "Brydgett, we need to know—do you have any idea what Kenny was up to? Was it his dealings with us? The drugs he was slinging on our turf?"
Her lips curl, but not in amusement. More like she’s daring us to underestimate her.
"No," she says simply. "I don't know anything about that."
Liar. Maybe. But she’s good at it. Too good. I lean forward, the weight of her scent pulling at something inside me. Sweet with a bite of defiance.
"Then why did you kill him?"
Brydgett doesn’t flinch. Her gaze flicks to mine, unwavering. That omega bravado she wears so effortlessly only fuels the hum beneath my skin.
"He got handsy and rough with me," she says, her tone disturbingly even. "And that’s not something I allow."
A statement. Not an excuse. Not even an ounce of regret.
"So I followed him," she continues, like she’s recounting a mundane errand. "Broke in. Straddled him in his sleep. Used Mr. Stabby to tap him awake. He thought I was there to fuck him. I had other plans."
“What’s Mr. Stabby?” I ask.
