Page 14 of Unhinged

CHAPTER ELEVEN

brYDGETT

“Mom, where are we going?” Judge asks as we walk the block to our apartment.

I had Dillon drop us off a few blocks away from home, so nothing would directly lead back to us.

My identity here isn’t airtight—just enough to get by.

I didn’t plan on needing anything more secure.

But I know with a little digging, they’ll link that GTO back to Ike and, inevitably, to this apartment.

Which is fine. By the time they figure it out, we’ll be long gone.

Ike’s house isn’t even in his name. It’s in his wife’s—a wife who, to anyone else, doesn’t exist. They’re married in name only; some backyard ceremony in Belize, where they dedicated themselves to each other in front of a few drunks.

But nothing official. And it’s good that it’s that way, because while Ike thinks he’s clever, his real name is Irving—a detail he doesn’t know I’m aware of.

“We’re going home to grab a few things and then heading to Ike’s,” I answer, keeping my cool for Judge’s sake.

He furrows his little brow and looks up at me, his eyes wide. “Okay. But… won’t it hurt you to be far away from your Kismets?”

The mention of them makes my stomach twist, but I keep my face neutral. “No, baby. It would if we were bonded, but we’re not.”

He’s too young to know about things like that. Too young to carry that kind of worry. But Judge has always been wiser than his years—watching, listening, piecing things together long before he should.

My heart clenches a little. I don’t let him see it, but Judge can tell I’m not telling him the whole truth. I feel his small hand tighten in mine, seeking some kind of reassurance. I want to give it to him, but I can’t afford to slip, not now.

We reach our building, but instead of going inside, I steer Judge down the alley beside it. We’re looking for Marcus. He doesn’t stray far from here, so he should be close.

“Marcus?” I call softly as we move further into the alley.

A figure steps out from the shadows between the buildings, his face lighting up when he sees Judge. “What’s up, Brydge?” Marcus asks, friendly but curious.

“I need a favor,” I say without hesitation. “But you can’t ask any questions.”

His face hardens for a second, his smile fading into a look of concern. “Anything. Just name it.”

“I need you to go up to Georgia’s and tell her the pretzels are burning. She’ll know what it means. And Marcus… don’t stop for anyone. Don’t talk to anyone. And you didn’t see us. Got it?”

His eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s about to ask something, but he catches himself and nods. “Yeah, okay. I got you.”

Without another word, Marcus jogs off, disappearing around the corner.

Judge and I tuck ourselves into the far end of the alley, hidden from view. I press my back against the cool brick wall, my heartbeat steady but rising. It’s quiet, except for the faint rustling of garbage nearby. I hold Judge’s hand tighter and run my thumb over his knuckles.

Minutes pass, but it feels like hours. My nerves are buzzing, but I keep it all contained. I glance down at Judge. He’s watching me closely, his eyes reflecting the tension I’m trying to hide.

Just as I start to consider going inside to check on Marcus, he emerges from the shadows again, a duffel bag and a backpack slung over his shoulders. Relief washes over me for a brief second, but then the unmistakable roar of motorcycles shatters the silence.

My stomach flips. They found me.

I pull Judge close, my pulse racing. My body betrays me as heat pools low in my belly at the sound of the engines. Even now, even after everything, the pull of my Kismets sends a jolt of desire through me. My traitorous body wants them, craves them.

But I shove the feeling down.

“Marcus, hurry,” I whisper, waving him toward us.

He jogs over, handing me the bags just as the first bike pulls up to the front of the building. My breath catches in my throat as Acid, Gears, and Arrow dismount, flanked by three other bikers.

“Shit,” I mutter, my heart pounding in my ears.

I yank Judge toward Marcus’ tent, shoving the duffel bag inside before pushing my son in after it. I scramble in, dragging the flap closed behind me. The smell of stale cigarettes and the faint mustiness of Marcus’ makeshift home fill my nose, grounding me for a moment.

Marcus leans his head inside, his brow furrowed. “Brydgett, what’s going on? That’s the Renegade out front.”

I clamp my hand over his mouth, my other arm pulling Judge closer to me.

“I pissed them off with my extracurriculars,” I whisper urgently.

“Came to find out they’re my Kismets. But I’ve got no interest in being anyone’s good omega.

It ain’t given me nothing but pain, so they can take their Kismet and shove it. ”

Marcus gives a slow nod, understanding lighting his eyes. “Got it,” he murmurs, pulling back out of the tent.

From outside, I hear footsteps, the heavy thud of boots hitting the pavement. My body tenses, adrenaline surging through me.

“Hey!” Acid’s voice cuts through the air, loud and demanding.

I freeze.

“They spotted me,” Marcus mutters, dropping to his knees outside the tent. “Mine,” he says loudly, pretending to rummage for something. “Don’t touch it. It’s mine.”

“Not trying to touch your tent, man. Just wanna know if you’ve seen a woman ‘round here? About yay high, auburn hair, a smoke show. She’s alone and got a kid with her, a little boy.”

“No woman. No kid. It’s mine. Don’t touch it!” Marcus repeats, his voice steady, like he’s said it a hundred times before.

I glance at Judge, his wide eyes staring out from behind the flap of the tent. I can feel his heart racing, hear the soft thud of it in the quiet. He’s trying to stay calm, but I can see the fear creeping up in his posture. He’s holding his breath, barely moving.

I want to comfort him, tell him it’s going to be okay, but I can’t risk giving away our position. I squeeze his shoulder lightly, trying to ground him, and shift closer to the edge of the tent, waiting, praying that Acid will leave before we have to make a move.

“Alright, dude,” Acid says finally, exasperated. “If you see her, let us know. She’s our omega, and we just want her back safe.”

Back safe, my ass. They want me back so they can mold, form, and knead me to do their bidding. Before or after they smack me around some more, since Gears is convinced I couldn’t be a killer.

I hear footsteps retreating and I let out a breath.

“Don’t worry, Brydge, I got you,” Marcus mutters and I hear him rummaging around outside the tent.

We wait in silence inside Marcus’ tent, and I can’t help but notice how immaculate it is, especially considering it’s tucked away in an alley.

I’ve always respected his space, never poking my head in, but I’d pictured something rough—maybe a cardboard mat or a pile of blankets on the ground.

Instead, he has an air mattress neatly set up, a small table stacked with a few well-worn books, and his clothes, few as they are, folded carefully in the corner.

The care he’s taken with everything surprises me, stirring something deep inside—respect, maybe a bit of shame, too.

He’s living out here with so little, yet he’s still found a way to create some order in the chaos.

I can’t say for sure how much time has passed, but it’s definitely been a while. Once again, I hear the familiar roar of the motorcycles starting up. I wait, holding my breath. Minutes tick by before the bikes finally pull away.

“They’re gone,” Marcus says, unzipping the tent. His expression is serious as he meets my eyes. “But they’ll be back. You better get where you’re going, fast. Don’t stop.”

I nod, pulling myself up and helping Judge to his feet. “Thank you, Marcus,” I say quietly, stepping out of the tent. I pull him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I owe you.”

“Nah, you don’t owe me anything. Just take care of yourself and the kid.”

I look down at Judge, who’s watching Marcus with wide eyes. “Thanks, Marcus,” Judge says, small but sincere.

“I paid my rent up through the end of the year, so if you wanna stay up there, you can. Mi casa es su casa.”

I nod, pulling the keys from my pocket and handing them to him. “Here. Place is all yours for as long as you need it.”

“Thanks, Brydge.” He looks at Judge and ruffles his hair. “You take care of your mom, little man.”

“I will, Marcus. Thanks.”

I grab the duffel bag, slinging it over my shoulder.

Judge pulls on the backpack, and we quickly make our way out of the alley, moving in the opposite direction of the Renegades.

My mind is spinning with everything I need to do next.

We need to get to my storage unit, get my other car, and head to Ike’s.

He’ll let us lie low for a while, just long enough for me to figure out our next move.

We walk in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on me. My mind drifts to the Kismets. To the pull I felt. My body yearns for them, but my heart and mind know better. They won’t protect me. They won’t love me for who I am. They’ll only want me for what I can give them.

But I won’t be anyone’s pawn. Not anymore.

I squeeze Judge’s hand tighter, my resolve hardening. We’ll get through this. We always do.