Page 24 of Unhinged
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
GEARS
I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on my knees, eyes locked onto Brydgett’s still form. The low hum of the IV machine and the faint scent of sterile equipment mix with her natural sweetness, something dark and addictive underneath. My Kismet. Our Kismet.
She looks too fucking fragile like this.
Skin pale, lips dry and parted like she’s trying to suck in a breath.
My fingers curl into fists, the raw need to protect her surging through me, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.
She’s mine. We’re connected, and every instinct in my body tells me to keep her safe.
Arrow leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight.
Acid paces like a caged animal, hands flexing, itching for violence.
The bond thrums between us, thick with frustration and the need to protect what’s ours.
We don’t have to say it. I can feel it—every growl, every wave of fury.
Acid's wild energy is something primal, like an untamed animal protecting its territory. And Brydgett is his. She’s mine.
We share her, we protect her, and nobody gets to touch what belongs to us.
Ike clears his throat, stepping into the room like he’s about to drop a bomb. His usual scowl deepens as his sharp eyes move over us. He’s an alpha in his own right, but there’s something restrained in him, something measured, always holding back. “There’s something you need to know.”
Acid stops pacing and locks eyes with Ike. “What happened?”
Ike’s gaze flicks to Brydgett, and for the first time since we met the bastard, there’s something almost sympathetic in his eyes. “I’m not gonna tell you her whole story,” he says, “But I do know who betrayed her.”
“Who?” Arrow asks, his expression tight with barely contained anger.
Ike hesitates, his expression hardening before he answers, cold and measured. “One of my fighters. Name’s Eric.”
Acid’s jaw clenches, his fists tightening. “He caused this?” he whispers, venom laced in every word, the alpha growl rumbling low in his throat.
Ike doesn’t nod, doesn’t need to. The silence speaks for itself.
Arrow steps forward, eyes burning with barely contained rage. “Explain.”
Ike sighs, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s reliving some nightmare.
“He’s fought for me for years. There’s a rule at the gym—mind your own business, don’t talk about who’s there or what they’re doing while training.
What happens at fight club stays at fight club, you know?
” He shakes his head. “Apparently, he broke that rule. Told his cousin about Brydgett and Judge. That led to the events that put her in this bed.” His eyes darken.
Acid growls low in his throat. “That motherfucker still breathin’?”
Ike’s gaze hardens. “Yeah, he’s still out there. And if she wakes up and finds out he’s still free, it’ll piss her off. She’ll expect me to get her revenge.”
I stand, my chest tight, forcing myself to see past the red haze. “Then we handle it.”
Arrow’s already pulling out his phone. “I’ll call Bat and get him here. He’ll transport the bastard once we’ve got him. He’s been with us since the start, knows how to move things without questions.”
Acid cracks his knuckles, a twisted grin stretching across his face. “Time to hunt.”
We head to 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?”
Silence stretches. Finally, Ike grumbles, rubbing his temple. “Fine. But you make damn sure no one lays a fucking finger on her.”
I smirk. “She’ll make sure of that herself, I’m sure.”
Ike mutters something under his breath, but doesn’t argue. “I want you all to have my number and any hint of trouble, you call me. I’ll be there ASAP. Otherwise, I’ll stay here and keep my eyes open. Let you know if I see or hear anything.”
“I’ll call one of the prospects to get out here with the van and trailer,” I say, my mind already working.
Arrow raises an eyebrow, glancing over at me. “Call Keg. He’s been around long enough to handle this without screwing it up.”
Acid nods, cracking his knuckles. “Yeah, Keg’s solid. He’s still proving himself, but he knows the drill. He’ll get it done.”
Arrow claps a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get our girl home.”
Our girl. Our Kismet. Our deadly, broken, beautiful omega.
And God help anyone who tries to take her from us again.
A few hours later, Keg pulls into the driveway in the Sprinter van, the flatbed trailer behind it, with his bike secured on the back. He slows to a stop, his heavy boots hitting the gravel with a thud as he steps out, already nodding toward us.
He’s one of the prospects who’s worked his ass off to get to this point, still earning his place, but proving he’s got the guts to stand with us. And right now, his loyalty is undeniable.
I watch as the van’s doors swing open, the cool night air rushing in. We move fast, no time to waste.
Acid’s the first to move, quickly jumping to load our bikes onto the trailer. He handles them like they’re an extension of himself, securing each one with practiced ease.
When the bikes are secured, I don’t hesitate. I walk into the house and to Brydgett’s room, kneeling beside the bed where she’s lying. She’s too fucking fragile like this. She’s tough—fierce and independent. Seeing her like this, helpless, it twists my gut.
Her scent’s off. It’s still there, but faint, muted. Stunted by meds and pain. No jasmine. No orange. Just something flat and wrong that makes my instincts coil.
It doesn’t smell like ours . It doesn’t smell like her .
And I hate it.
I slide my arms under her, lifting her carefully. My chest tightens as I feel the weight of her in my arms, not just her physical form, but the responsibility we all share for her. Our Kismet. She’s ours to protect, and nobody’s going to take that away.
We move quickly, my heart racing with every step. Acid’s ready to help me lay her down on the gurney we’ve got for emergency situations. We strap her in tight, making sure the IV is still hooked up right.
Ike steps inside, his face grim. He checks the IV, the machine beeping softly as it pumps life into her veins.
He leans down and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.
“Give ’em hell, kid,” he murmurs, the words thick with something I can’t quite place.
It’s not just fatherly concern—it’s the weight of someone who’s watched over her through thick and thin.
Ike stands back up, his eyes hardening. He pulls out his phone, tossing it to Judge, who’s beside me.
“Here. Brand-new iPhone for you,” Ike says, his tone lighter now.
“Your mom’s gonna have my ass for giving you this, but if you need anything, you call.
If you want to talk, you call. You need me to come get you, or if you need someone dead, you call.
I put Jackie’s and my number in there. I love you, boy. ”
Judge’s lips twitch, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he takes the phone. “I love you too, Grandpa Ike.”
With that, Ike steps back, clapping his hands once, his face returning to a no-nonsense expression. “Alright. Get moving.”
I climb behind the wheel of the van, feeling the familiar weight of control fall over me. Acid slides into the passenger seat, his eyes scanning the area. Arrow takes one of the seats on the sidewall, next to Judge.
The van starts up, the engine growling to life as I shift into gear. Ike gives me one last wave as I check my side mirror. Keg pulls his bike out from behind the trailer, revving the engine with a roar as he falls in line behind us.
We hit the road, the familiar rhythm of the ride settling over us. The weight of Brydgett, of everything that’s happened, hangs heavy, but we’re a team. We’ll keep her safe. We’ll make sure the bastards who hurt her pay.