Page 25 of Unhinged

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

brYDGETT

I wake up to unfamiliar surroundings. The smell hits me first, thick and rich, like someone bathed in a vat of plums and sandalwood. It’s an oddly pleasant mix, but not one I’m used to. My breath hitches as my mind scrambles to make sense of where the hell I am.

I blink, trying to shake off the haze. The room is dimly lit, soft light filtering through curtains I don’t recognize.

The bed beneath me is too soft, too damn comfortable.

My side aches with a dull throb, a sharp reminder of what happened.

I wince as I sit up, instinctively pressing a hand to my ribs.

"Fucking bastard." The words slip out before I even register saying them.

My throat feels dry, sore. I can't help but run my tongue over the inside of my mouth, tasting blood. I yank the IV out of my arm without a second thought, grimacing at the pain. It stings, but it’s nothing compared to the confusion swirling in my chest.

Where the hell am I?

Where the fuck is Judge?

Panic claws at my insides. Did Earl take me?

Is he waiting for me to wake up, lurking somewhere in the shadows, ready to finish what he started?

My stomach tightens, and my pulse spikes at the thought of him.

But the scent in the room… it’s not his.

This is something different—something sexy, something rich.

My core slicks, an involuntary reaction I can’t ignore.

The scent pulls at me, making my insides flutter with an unnerving need.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to breathe, but it’s like the air is thick with it.

The scent lingers, a strong, masculine presence that stirs something deep within me.

The instinct to pull away is drowned by the burning ache of my omega, my body’s traitorous response.

My fingers curl against the sheets, fighting the whine that tries to escape from my throat.

Footsteps echo outside the door. I freeze, holding my breath. Whoever it is, they’re coming. My heart thunders in my chest, and I push myself back against the headboard, desperate for some kind of defense, but I’m too damn slow.

The door creaks open, and in strolls Mr. Ink and Sexy himself—Arrow.

His light brown eyes widen when he sees me, and the smile that spreads across his face is enough to make me feel like I’ve been sucker-punched.

That damned smile. I hate it. It’s too fucking warm, too fucking comforting.

The tattoos on his arms, torso, and legs—floral, animal, and traditional designs—just add to the fact that he's hot as fuck.

“You’re awake!” His voice is bright, almost..

. too bright. And then, to my absolute horror, he starts to purr, a low, vibrating sound that seems to come from deep within his chest. It’s smooth and hypnotic, a sound I wasn’t prepared for.

My pussy tightens against it, betraying me, and I fight to keep my face neutral.

The last thing I need right now is to show him how much his presence affects me.

I narrow my eyes at him, not bothering to hide my contempt. “What the fuck am I doing here?” I push myself up further in the bed, trying to shake off the last remnants of the fog in my brain. “How did I get here? And where the hell is my son?”

His smile falters, and his posture shifts, turning serious. “We found you and kinda saved your ass,” he says, his voice a little quieter now, but still rough with that underlying alpha tone. My skin prickles. I hate how easily he slips into that role. “Judge is here. I’ll get him.”

Before I can respond, he turns toward the door and hollers, “Judge! Come here.” The sound booms, and I feel an involuntary shiver run down my spine. It’s too much. Too sexy. Too... everything.

He pulls out his phone, eyes flicking to mine for a second, before he presses the device to his ear.

“She’s awake.” He says it like a fact, like I’m some fucking object.

The way he makes it sound, it’s like he’s reporting a crime.

The condescension is practically dripping from his tone.

He hangs up without another word. The action so practiced it makes me grit my teeth.

The door bursts open again before shutting, and I feel it— him .

Judge.

He doesn’t even give me a second to process what’s happening before he barrels in and onto the bed, wrapping his arms around me like I’m the only thing that matters in the world.

He’s so goddamn warm, so solid and real.

For a second, the world outside this bed disappears, and all I can feel is his heat, his strength.

“Easy, baby.” I chuckle weakly. “I’m still sore.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Judge mumbles, soft with concern as he pulls back just enough to look at me. “I’m glad you’re awake. You slept forever.”

I raise an eyebrow, glancing at Arrow, who is standing by the door, watching us with an intensity that sets my teeth on edge. “How long?” I croak, still trying to gather my bearings.

Judge’s light brown complexion and those warm brown eyes are inches from mine, his face so close I can see the way his short, jet black hair is styled with that side part, the buzzed sides making him look even more sharp-edged than usual.

His lean, athletic frame, that body I’ve watched grow and shift over the years, is so close to me now, it feels like he's become part of my very breath.

“A week,” Arrow says, his tone flat, like he’s trying to keep things casual. But there’s something in his eyes. Something that tells me he’s not as relaxed as he’s trying to appear.

“A week?!” My voice rises, the shock more than I can process. “A fucking week?”

Arrow steps closer, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve been through a lot, Brydgett,” he says softly, but there’s no real sympathy. “You were hurt pretty bad. We had to?—”

I cut him off before he can finish. “Don’t even try to explain.

” My voice comes out sharp and I watch his expression shift—regret, maybe, or guilt, I’m not sure.

It doesn’t matter. “You didn’t have to do anything.

How the hell did you even find me? Suddenly, I’ve got Kismet bonds and bam—everyone and their fucking mom knows exactly where I am. ”

Arrow’s smile fades completely, replaced by a seriousness that makes my skin prickle. “We didn’t?—”

“You didn’t?” I scoff, cutting him off again.

My heart is hammering in my chest, rage building up with every word that leaves my mouth.

“You didn’t have to do anything, but you did.

You swept in and didn’t think for a second about how I’d feel.

You think I’m just some slick struck omega you can play with? ”

Judge is quiet, low and soothing as he presses a hand gently against my arm. “Mom, they’ve been really worried about you, and Grandpa Ike scared them, I think.”

Arrow moves—steps into the room and closer to the bed—his eyes never leaving mine.

The room feels small suddenly, the air thick with tension.

He’s an alpha, there’s no denying it. And I can feel that pull, the way his presence dominates the space between us.

It’s a challenge, and I hate that my body reacts to it.

“Brydgett,” he says, almost growling. “You’re pissed. I get it. But if you want to survive, you need to get past the anger and focus on what matters. You think that bastard’s the only problem you’ve got right now? You think?—”

I laugh bitterly, cutting him off again. “You think I give a damn about surviving? I’ve survived everything so far, but you assholes—” My voice breaks as I choke back a surge of emotion, my body trembling with the weight of my fury.

Before I can even catch my breath, the door slams open, and Acid and Gears practically stumble over each other as they rush in.

"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 despite everything 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.