Page 36 of Unhinged

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

brYDGETT

I zip up my jeans with gritted teeth, my wound pulls tight beneath the waistband like a moth struggling against a screen door.

The pain is a dull reminder, a whisper of what Earl is capable of.

The shirt I choose is a short-sleeved, flowy top that dips low, the fabric skimming my cleavage.

There are no bruises—nothing visible, at least. I already know Gears won’t like it.

Arrow will love it. Acid… I don’t know what he’ll think. I’m not sure I want to.

I glance in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back at me.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? I look like myself, but I feel like someone else—someone I don’t trust. Someone who might actually believe she belongs to three alphas who are certain they belong to her.

The thought is dangerous. I shove it down.

Now isn’t the time for weakness. I have a job to do, and getting tangled up in my own instincts will only slow me down.

Since finding out I’m Kismet to Acid, Arrow, and Gears, I haven’t been able to untangle my body’s cravings from my mind’s doubts.

Too good to be true. That’s what this is.

My entire life has been a lesson in deception, in learning that nothing beautiful stays unbroken.

I refuse to repeat old mistakes. I spent eight years proving to Judge that I’d protect him at all costs.

I won’t let three men undo that even if fate has written it.

I slept with Arrow last night. Gears and Acid?

I don’t know where they ended up, and I don’t care.

Not right now. After our meeting, when I was trying to get dressed, Arrow offered me everything but the moon, and damn if he didn’t sound like he meant it.

He leaned in close, voice low and teasing, hands lingering on my body.

I had to shoo him from the room; his pout almost convinced me to let him stay. Almost.

Acid and Gears—I left them in the office this morning without a second glance, but their faces haunted me, their words curling around my thoughts like they saw straight through my defenses. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that at all.

They haven’t asked for more than I was willing to give.

Yet.

I rake my fingers through my hair, fluffing it in an attempt to hide the wildness.

If it were just me, this might be easier.

But it’s not. Judge is part of this equation.

I can’t risk him. Not for comfort, not for the chance at something real.

I know the cost of trusting too soon. The only thing I’ve ever wanted more than revenge is safety for Judge.

And safety doesn’t come wrapped in promises from alphas who think fate is on their side.

My pulse quickens, too close to hope. And I’m not used to hope.

Then there are the blockers. Or, more accurately, the lack of them.

The clubhouse wasn’t a prison, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think I had any real options except to stay. They hadn’t given me anything to suppress my heat, and that told me everything I needed to know. They weren’t keeping me hidden. They were waiting.

Waiting for nature to take its course.

Waiting for me to come to them.

Waiting to see if I’d let myself believe in them.

Maybe that’s just me, though. Maybe that’s just the part of me that can’t trust a soul but myself.

I could have gone out and found blockers myself. Could have demanded they get me some. Hell, I should have. But something stopped me every time the thought crossed my mind.

Maybe they aren’t waiting on purpose.

Maybe they’re just that goddamn clueless.

I don’t even know what I believe anymore.

What I do know is that Kenny had information the Renegade needed.

I took him from them, and now I owe them.

An eye for an eye, after all…right? Plus, they need to have this off their plate so they’re ready when Earl hits again.

He sent men for me once. He’ll send more.

I won’t sit around waiting to find out when.

The Rusty Nail was Kenny’s haunt, and if anyone there knows anything about him or has information, they’ll talk or they’ll bleed. Maybe both. I don’t care which.

I take one last look at my reflection, memorizing the stranger staring back at me. I don’t need her tonight. I need the version of myself who doesn’t flinch, who doesn’t question, who only moves forward.

I swing open the door harder than I mean to. Acid, Arrow, and Gears are waiting. Three alphas, looking like sex on wheels, watching me like they already know my mind. Their expressions are a mix of possessive and amused. It pisses me off more than it should.

“I’m set,” I say, forcing the words out like a challenge.

Gears’ jaw tightens, his gaze sweeping over my outfit, lingering on the exposed skin. “I don’t like this.”

I roll my eyes and tap him on the shoulder as I pass. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to deal with it.”

Outside, my wariness spikes when I don’t see a single car. Only bikes, lined up and ready. My stomach knots.

“Come on, Gidge,” Arrow drawls, heading toward his bike like he has all the time in the world. “You can ride with me.”

I arch a brow. “I’ve never been on one.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he says, grinning like he’s daring me to call him a liar.

“Can’t we just take a car?”

“No can do, babe.” Acid smirks. “We roll on two wheels. We’ve used too many cages already.”

I huff, crossing my arms. “You call cars cages?”

“You ain’t a bird, Brydgett,” Gears says.

Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve always been trapped, slamming against the walls of a life I never wanted.

I don’t have time for this. I shake my head and square my shoulders. “I can’t walk in with you three. The jig is up if I do. Drop me off a block away.”

I don’t wait for their response. I climb onto the back of Arrow’s bike before I can change my mind. He turns to me, securing the helmet over my head with careful hands. His fingers brush against my jaw, lingering just a second too long.

I hold his gaze for a moment. I want to lean into his wrist, breathe him in, but I stamp that instinct down quickly.

Then he swings onto the bike in front of me, his back solid and steady.

The bike roars to life, the vibration going straight to my core.

I wrap my arms around Arrow, feeling the warmth of his body through the leather.

I hear him groan, the sound low and guttural.

He hits the throttle, and we fly out of the compound and onto the open road toward downtown, the wind whipping past us.

The city blurs as we make our way to the shady part of town, where you can find drugs on every corner, where the streets are darker, and the air feels thick with secrets.

We come to a stop a block from The Rusty Nail. I hop off the bike, handing Arrow the helmet and quickly fixing my hair. I give him a wink before sashaying away toward the bar.

A few sketchy characters loiter around, watching me as I pass. One woman eyes me up and down before calling out with a sultry voice. “Honey, I don’t discriminate—men or women. You got the money, I got the time.” She licks her lips.

I shake my head. “Sorry, sweetie. You’re not my type.”

With that, I pull the door open and step inside.

The inside of The Rusty Nail reeks of stale beer and desperation.

This is the kind of place where criminals, druggies, and prostitutes mingle, their eyes glinting with all the wrong kinds of intentions.

The dim, flickering lights do little to hide the grime that coats the walls.

A jukebox hums in the corner, a sad, old country song playing on a loop, the only sound over the low murmur of hushed conversations and the clinking of glasses.

A few men sit at the bar, their faces hard as stone, their eyes darting around the room as if constantly looking for trouble.

In the corner, a woman in a torn leather jacket leans against a wall, her makeup smeared like she’s been here too long.

A man in a hoodie glances at me as I walk past, eyes lingering on me for a second too long.

I ignore him. The stench of sweat, cigarettes, and cheap whiskey hangs in the air, drowning out the hope of scenting any individual and it makes my skin crawl.

I'm here for business. I’m not here to make friends.

I walk further into the bar, heading straight for the back where the real deals go down. This is where information is sold, and if I’m lucky, I’ll find out exactly who knows something about Kenny, or who can give me the answers I need.

The bartender barely looks up as I approach, too used to people sliding in and out of his establishment. I order a whiskey and Diet Pepsi, nothing crazy—just enough to keep me sharp. He slides the drink across the counter, and I grab it without hesitation.

I lean against the bar, taking a sip as I scan the crowd. The room is a sea of lowlifes, some familiar, most not. Faces I’ve seen before in the dark corners of this town. But tonight, I’m here for something more than just the usual cheap thrills. I’m here for answers.

As I nurse my drink, a lanky man steps beside me, his presence immediately noticeable, not just for his height, but for the strong smell of pot that clings to him.

He's either a beta or high as a kite. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear.

“Hey, Sweet Thing. What are you doing here at a place like this alone?”

I turn to him with a soft, teasing smile. “I am.” I giggle. “I hear this is where to find information and a good time.”

He grins, clearly taking the bait. “Which one are you looking for, sexy?”

I take another sip of my drink and bite my bottom lip, holding his gaze. “Lucky for you, both.”

He shifts, clearly flustered, adjusting himself as if he’s trying to hide his excitement. I know I have him exactly where I want him.

“Sit with me and we’ll talk. Maybe I know something about what you’re searching for.”

I nod and follow him to a booth in the far corner, away from the prying eyes of the crowd.

He sits down across from me, leaning forward, his body language eager.

He reaches out, his hand brushing mine, and I feel the roughness of his calloused, bony thumb as he begins to speak. “So, what do you think you wanna know?”

I pull my hand back slightly, giving him just enough space to think he’s in control. “I’m looking for Kenny,” I say casually. “He used to give me my heroin.” I pause and dart my eyes around, making sure no one’s listening before I continue, “I’m not an addict, but I like to party, you know?”

He chuckles, nodding knowingly. “Oh, I know about girls like you, pretty. Kenny, though, he’s dead and gone.”

I widen my eyes dramatically, faking shock. “Oh no, what happened? No, wait, don’t tell me.” I cross my arms and pout, sticking out my bottom lip. “How am I gonna get my party supplies now? My girls will be so upset.”

He leans in, clearly enjoying the game. “Pretty lady, fear not. When one dealer goes down, another takes his place quickly. But sadly, Kenny's replacement ain't dealing tar.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How’s that helpful?” I ask, not bothering to hide the frustration in my tone.

His grin widens, showing the teeth of someone who’s done one too many hits of meth. “Lucky for you, I know who Kenny was getting his shit from, and he’s here. Let me just have you speak directly to him. He likes pretty girls.”

“Oh good.” I clap, feigning excitement. “I’ll pay whatever.”

He stands, a sneer spreading across his face. “I’ll make sure to tell him that.”