Page 28 of Unhinged

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ACID

The basement smells like damp concrete and stale sweat. Chains rattle softly from the ceiling, the only sound aside from the steady drip of water from a leaky pipe. The shadows in the corners seem thicker down here, swallowing the weak light from the bare bulb swinging overhead.

Eric hangs like a slaughtered pig, his wrists bound and stretched above him, forcing him to balance on his tiptoes.

His head droops, greasy hair plastered to his forehead.

Even now, with the bruises blooming across his face and the blood crusted on his temple, there’s a flicker of defiance in his eyes. Fucker doesn’t know when to quit.

I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching.

With a grunt, I push off and shrug out of my cut, rolling my shoulders as the leather slides free.

No reason to risk getting it dirty. Arrow’s in the corner, sharpening a knife with slow, deliberate strokes, the sound slicing through the tense silence.

Gears stands by the door, fists clenched, his entire body coiled tight.

None of us speak. Not yet.

Brydgett’s small frame is dwarfed by the chair she lounges in.

But even seated, she carries herself like a goddamn warrior.

She’s an omega, but her presence crackles with an energy that has me on edge, something dangerous and intoxicating.

Her auburn hair falls in loose waves, strands curling wildly around her face.

There’s a cut on her forehead, still pink from the fight.

Ike stitched her up good, but the bruises remain. They make her look fierce. Untamed.

She crosses her legs with a casual confidence that only makes her presence more commanding.

Her scent lingers in the air. It’s intoxicating, but it also warns us.

She’s not just an omega, she’s the storm in the eye of the hurricane.

Her eyes lock onto Eric, amusement flashing in them as he watches the alphas around her shift in their positions.

I can see the flicker of something in her eyes, something cold. She’s playing it cool, but deep down, she’s aching for this. The control, the power, the satisfaction of watching him crack. It's not just about the answers. It’s about sending a message.

A slow smirk curls her lips, amusement flashing in her eyes as she meets Eric’s gaze.

Eric lifts his head, blinking through the blood and sweat.

“Brydgett,” he rasps. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah? Well, you should know better than to talk about others,” she says, smooth as silk, but the bite of her words cuts through the air like a blade. “But lucky for you, I’ve got questions. And I’m feeling really generous today.”

She doesn’t let her eyes leave him, savoring the look in his eyes as his bravado crumbles a little bit more. He’s just a man, after all—weak, vulnerable, and soon to be broken.

Arrow and Gears move closer, one on each side, their dominant auras settling around her, ready to protect and support.

But Brydgett is the one in control here.

The omega-alpha dynamic is a twist of attraction, power, and deep, unspoken understanding.

She might not have the raw physical strength of an alpha, but she commands the space like she’s the center of it all, drawing the alphas in like magnets.

“Why don’t we start with the easy ones?” Brydgett’s voice is calm, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. The kind of calm that makes you wonder if the storm’s already building behind her eyes. “Where’s Earl?”

Eric sneers, his swollen lips cracking, the blood from his split lip running down his chin. “You think I’d tell you? Didn’t you just say to not talk about others?”

Brydgett’s laughter is dry and humorless, the sound as sharp as broken glass. "Oh, sweetheart," she coos, dripping with mock sympathy. "You’re gonna tell me everything. But I’m not above getting a little creative if you make me wait."

Her eyes flick to me, a silent command I don’t question.

I move, but it’s not out of submission. It’s out of loyalty, an understanding that I’ll follow Brydgett's lead because I know exactly how she operates. She’s an omega, but she commands us, her alphas, in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.

Eric flinches, but there’s nowhere for him to go. The chains groan as he strains against them. His silence earns him a swift punch to the gut. He wheezes, the air forced from his lungs. I shake out my knuckles, satisfaction thrumming beneath my skin.

“Talk.” I keep my tone steady. No need to raise it—the promise of pain is enough.

“I don’t know!” Eric sputters, coughing.

Brydgett’s eyes narrow, a smirk curling her lips as she surveys him like a predator. She leans forward, her scent intensifying in the air, curling around us all like an intoxicating cloud. It’s a mix of dominance and softness, something you want to fight against and fall into all at once.

“How’s a goddamn pharmacy tech pulling this off? Fancy suits, drivers, like he’s some high-rolling asshole. Last I checked, Tina was still scraping gum off the floors of that cleaning company.”

When he doesn’t answer fast enough, Brydgett nods at me.

Without hesitation, I grab a fistful of Eric’s hair and yank his head back.

His neck strains, veins bulging, his eyes flicking up toward the ceiling.

He can’t see her, but he doesn’t need to—just hearing her is enough to send a chill down his spine.

“I’m done being nice,” she says. “You think I won’t hurt you? That I’m still that scared little girl from the gym? Ike’s little project…that’s what you always called me, right?”

She chuckles darkly; the sound sends a shiver down my spine. “Guess again, asshole.”

Even without looking at her, Eric knows. I can see it now — the fear creeping in, the realization sinking deep. He knows she’s not bluffing.

“Start talking,” Brydgett commands. “Because I’m not leaving this room until I have what I want.”

And neither am I.

“Let’s try a different question. Why is Earl still looking for me, huh?” she says, her words syrupy sweet with a dangerous undertone that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Eric swallows hard, trying to muster whatever courage he has left. “You really think he’s just a middle-class nobody?” he scoffs, desperation clinging to every word. “Well, you’re in for a surprise, lady. Earl’s not who you think he is.”

“Acid,” she says, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I want him to feel every second of this.”

I don’t hesitate. My fingers slide into my pocket, pulling out the serrated blade I’ve had on me since this whole mess started. It gleams in the light, hungry, like it knows what’s coming next. Eric’s eyes widen, a flicker of panic washing over him. Good. Let him squirm.

“No! Please!” he cries out, the words cracking like a damn child’s. “I’ll tell you whatever you want!”

But Brydgett? She just laughs—dark, cold, and completely unbothered. “Too late for pleasantries now,” she says, a glint in her eyes. Her tone's light, almost mocking, but there’s something deeper there. She’s enjoying this way too much.

I tighten my grip on Eric’s hair, keeping his head yanked back.

My boots stay planted against the concrete.

I lean in, my hand hovers over his skin before I press the blade to his jawline—just enough to make him feel it.

A soft, terrified whimper leaves him, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.

I lean in, and this time, I press the blade to his stomach, the tip digging in just enough to make him gasp.

I deliver a series of quick, deliberate jabs, each burst of pain sinking deeper, but controlled, meant to break his resolve, not his life.

He chokes on his breath with each stab, his body jerking, but I don’t let him look away.

Brydgett’s scent sweetens all the while watching, making it that much more satisfying).

“You’re going to tell us everything,” I growl, keeping my voice low. “Or we can make this very uncomfortable.”

Brydgett crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes never leaving the scene, and I get to work.

A quick slice here, a shallow stab there—each one leaving a trail of blood and taking another layer off Eric’s bravado.

Each one feels deliberate. Precise. It’s almost like I’m peeling away the man he thought he was.

“Why is Earl acting like Daddy Warbucks?” Brydgett asks again.

I punctuate it with another cut, this one a little deeper, running across the side of Eric's cheek.

His skin splits, and the blood comes in a steady stream, slow enough for me to watch.

His head is tilted back, held by one of the other guys, ensuring he can't move too much.

“I swear! He’s just… he’s just trying to find out where you are!” Eric gasps, each breath ragged, but it’s not enough. I want more.

“I’ve been gone for years. Why is he still looking for me? Still coming after me?” Brydgett questions. I press again, my fingers digging into Eric's jaw, forcing him to keep his eyes on me, not the ceiling.

Eric, his eyes barely able to stay focused through the haze of pain, shakes his head. “I don’t know! He said something about power... about needing control over you again.”

The words land hard, and I can see Brydgett process them.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Control?” she whispers, almost to herself.

The weight of it hits her, and for a split second, I can see the fire in her eyes.

She’s not just pissed now. She’s thinking—about power, about what this means.

And fuck, I’m ready to see where this goes.

I let the silence hang there a moment before stepping back, keeping my eyes on Eric. The fun’s just beginning.

Brydgett turns to me, her gaze icy and unyielding. "Acid," she says, a command wrapped in silk. "Cut his eyelids off."