Page 86 of Unhinged
Water rushes over me, steam fogging the mirror. But none of it clears my head.
All I see is her.
Laughing at the boba.
Clutching her kid like the world’s gonna take him.
Calling meMr. Inked and Sexylike it didn’t nearly undo me on the spot.
I want her.
Not just in my bed.
I want her in every damn corner of my life.
And that’s a problem.
Because wanting something that dangerous? That fierce?
It never ends well.
GEARS
The room smells like motor oil, burnt coffee, and tension. Church is packed, every patched brother in their seat, boots planted, waiting for answers. I’ve got the gavel in one hand, my other wrapped around the edge of the table hard enough to splinter it.
“We’ve got news,” I say, voice steady. “The Morozov mafia’s made their way into town. Don’s name is Nikola.”
A few groans. A whistle. Suave mutters something that sounds suspiciously like‘Mafia? Great. Just what we needed.’
“They’re not here to start shit,” I continue. “They’re here to burn the cartel to the ground. Nikola’s sister was taken—trafficked. He wants blood. We agreed to help. Support only. We're not the trigger men in this one, just the helping hand. That way if it goes sideways, we’re not the ones standing on the pile of bodies.”
Arrow leans against the wall behind me, arms crossed. Acid’s at my right, flipping his damn lighter open and closed like a metronome. The sound fills the silences between my words.
“We also agreed to supply their party favors—coke, smoke, Molly, shrooms, angel dust. But nothing off the deep end. No tar. No Flakka. No Spice. That was non-negotiable.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Stallion pipes up, deadpan. “So basically, we’re still the moral drug dealers just supplying the less moral mafia.”
A few chuckles roll through the room. Arky throws a peanut at him and misses. Suave, lounging near the door with a toothpick in his mouth, doesn’t even flinch when it bounces off the wall behind him.
“Laugh it up,” I say, “but here’s where it gets fun.”
Keg leans in. “Oh, do tell, Prez.”
“Turns out Nikola was the one giving Kenny the tar.”
That wipes the smiles.
“But,” I go on, “Nikola wasn’t cooking it. He was getting it from a broker.” I pause for effect. “Franko.”
Groans, curses, someone slaps the table. Acid’s jaw clenches so tight I hear it pop. Nitro straight up says, “That shit stain?”
Everyone knows Franko. Knows he’s a loose cannon in denim with a handshake that means jack shit. Used to run low-level logistics before he started playing middleman for whoever had enough cash and no conscience.
We’re not coming down on him—yet.” I tell them. “But I’m gonna get ahold of him. If he’s moving tar, then he knows where it’s coming from. Let’s hope he wants to play ball.”
Nitro raises a hand. “And the mafia is just cool with all this?”
“For now,” I say. “But we’re watching. And Brydgett—our omega—she’s the reason we even got this deal. Walked in, stared down the Don, and walked out with an alliance.”
