Page 37 of Unhinged

CHAPTER THIRTY

GEARS

We’ve got a plan.

Laid it out in Church this morning, straight and clean: hit The Rusty Nail tonight. Low profile. Just me, Arrow, and Acid. Our job? Track Kenny’s supplier. Brydgett’s our in.

Her plan, not mine.

She came up with this twisted little play; said she’d act like she was looking for Kenny, like she’d been sweet on him, like he was her dealer and now she’s hurting for a fix. Said it’d make her believable. Make people talk.

I told her no.

Told her it was too risky. But Brydgett’s got a will like iron and a mouth that could start wars.

She didn’t listen. She never fucking listens.

And between her doing this with us watching or doing it on her own without protection, the choice was obvious.

So here we are. Playing along. Falling in line.

Because that’s the only way to keep her in sight.

Some of the brothers wanted to come along; offered to hang back, run silent support.

I told them no. Not because I don’t trust them.

I do. But I can’t have them seeing what this omega does to me.

Can’t have them watching her roll right over my decisions like I’m some love-drunk idiot with no spine.

They’d get ideas. And I’d have to beat those ideas out of them.

And Brydgett? She’s still feeling her way around the edges of all this. Us. The club. The idea of belonging somewhere that doesn’t hurt. She sees too many unknown alphas crowding the room, she’s gonna go cold and sharp again. Slam those walls back up—triple-locked, rigged with explosives.

And our woman… yeah. She’s guarded better than Fort Knox during a government cover-up. You don’t push your way in. You earn it. Slow. Steady. One careful fucking step at a time.

The music's too loud in The Rusty Nail tonight, all bass and no rhythm. Arrow’s leaning against the wall to my left like he owns the place and Acid’s got that twitchy energy that tells me he’s two seconds from punching someone for breathing wrong. Me? I’m nursing a warm beer and watching her .

Brydgett.

Our omega.

Ours, even if she won’t say it yet. She’s across the room, working some creep in a cheap suede jacket who thinks he’s got a shot. He doesn’t. But he’s got info , and Brydge knows how to tease it out. Her laugh is sharp as she flutters her lashes at him while she talks.

"You seeing this?" I mutter to Acid, keeping my eyes on her as the guy touches her hand and she pulls it back, but not enough that I’m happy.

Arrow grunts. "Wish I wasn’t."

Acid shrugs. "She knows what she’s doing. She’s playing him."

Brydgett crosses her arms and pouts, sticking out her bottom lip. The motion has my cock twitching in my jeans. The woman doesn’t know the effect she has on us. She’s got a mouth like sin and eyes that dare the devil to try her.

But I don’t like the way the guy’s grinning.

Too cocky. Too eager. Then—he’s gone. Just turns on his heel and disappears down a back hallway without a word.

Brydge watches him go, lips pursed, one brow arched.

For a second, I think she’s letting him walk.

Then he comes back—less swagger this time, more business—and leans in to murmur something in her ear.

She nods once, deliberate, finishes her drink, and follows him with a look over her shoulder that tightens something in my chest.

“She just go with him?” I ask, straightening.

“Yeah,” Arrow says, already moving.

We follow. Through the crowd, past the booths and beer-slick floors, slipping through the same narrow hall they took. There’s a door I don’t remember ever being here, but this also isn’t a place we come too often. Acid pushes it open, and we step into a different world.

Warehouse space, wide and loud, packed with bodies and heat.

There’s a cage in the middle of the floor—raised slightly off the ground so the whole place has a view—eight feet high and thick with bloodstains.

Two men inside are going at it, fists flying, no gloves.

Around the perimeter, tables of high-rollers throw cash, drink cocktails from scantily clad servers, and shout for blood.

“What the fuck,” I breathe, more as a statement than a question.

“This is our town,” Arrow hisses.

Acid just stares, jaw tight. “This was a storage warehouse…That’s what we were told. Someone put a damn door in and now we have a fight club.”

I keep scanning until I find her.

There she is. Brydgett, striding like she owns the floor.

She’s all hips and heat, even in her jeans and boots, and she’s heading straight for a table near the cage.

A tall guy stands to greet her—mid-thirties, stocky, his alpha aura rolling off him.

She doesn’t flinch. Just takes his hand, drops into the seat across from him like they’re equals.

I see him wave a server over. She says something, points at the guy. His smile twitches, pissed, but the server leaves and returns with a sealed bottle. Brydge pops it and takes a long pull.

She’s talking, laughing low, eyes sharp. I can’t hear her, but I know that look. It’s the same one she gave me right before she cracked her head against my nose.

Then the alpha’s smirk changes. Darkens. Brydgett leans back, nods once.

And she’s up, disappearing into the crowd.

Gone.

"Find her. Right the fuck now," I bark.

We split up, fanning through the crowd, searching every pocket of space. I shove through gamblers, ignore the half-naked girls asking if I want a drink. All I want is her. My omega.

She’s not in the bathrooms. Not near the bar. Not beside the cage.

Then the lights drop low.

A spotlight flares over the cage.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” A voice booms over the speakers. “A last-minute addition to tonight’s card. The reigning women's champ, Tiffany…versus the Renegade President’s Old Lady!”

I freeze. My heart drops to my boots.

What the fuck?

The crowd roars. I turn slowly, like my body’s in molasses.

She steps into the cage.

Brydgett. Wearing a black sports bra and tiny shorts that hug every wicked curve. A large white bandage covers the bullet wound at her side, stark against her skin. Her hair’s braided back. Her eyes locked on her opponent. She looks like sin.

I shove forward, elbowing past meatheads and drunks until I’m at the cage. I grip the chain link and bark, "Get your ass over here right now, Omega!"

She hears me. Smiles. Saunters over and squats so we’re eye-level.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I growl.

She sighs like I’m exhausting her. “Well, Gearsy, you three weren’t exactly stealthy following me. Nikola, that’s the alpha I was chatting with. He got a little pissy when he realized the Renegade MC was sniffing around. So now I have to fight if we want that info.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Her grin is all teeth. “It was this, or pick one of you to shoot. Arrow made me feel good, and I kinda like Acid’s deranged little heart. I could’ve picked you…” She taps the cage with a fingernail. “But your mom and sister like you too much. So here we are.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m resourceful.”

“You’re still healing,” I growl. “One hit to your side and you’re done.”

She flashes me that infuriating grin. “Aw, Gearsy, worried about little ol’ me? I’ll try not to bleed too much on your boots.”

I reach for the cage door, but two big, beefy alphas block the way, arms crossed and smug as hell.

“There’s only one way out of the cage,” one of them says. “Knock out or tap out.”

“Fucking hell,” I murmur as I step back, heat crawling up my spine. I feel my brothers at my sides, a silent wall of fury and frustration.

She leans in, eyes burning.

“Sit back, boys. Be good. Enjoy the show. We need this intel.”

Then she turns, bouncing on her toes as she heads toward the center of the ring. Her opponent—Tiffany—is already throwing punches in the air like this is all just foreplay.

“This is bad,” Acid mutters, but he’s smirking like he wants to see what she can do.

Arrow’s breathing through his nose, fists clenched. “If she gets hurt?—”

“She won’t,” I say, even though my gut twists. Brydgett is the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met. But this… this is chaos.

A fight. A goddamn fight.

In a ring we didn’t even know existed.

In a part of town we run.

With our omega bleeding for answers.

And still—I can’t look away.

The bell rings.

Tiffany comes out fast—cocky, bouncing on her toes like she thinks this’ll be quick. Brydgett stays low, steady, circling with that predator’s focus she wears so well.

They clash in the center. Fists fly. Tiffany lands the first jab—straight into Brydgett's side.

Brydge screams.

The sound slices through the roar of the crowd like a razor. Her body folds for half a second, pain etched across her face, and I see red.

But she doesn’t go down.

She snaps upright, eyes blazing.

Brydgett ducks the next swing, drives a hard elbow into Tiffany’s ribs, follows it with a spinning back kick that knocks her opponent into the cage wall. The crowd loses it.

Tiffany snarls and rushes again, fists wild. Brydge catches one wrist, pivots, wraps a leg behind Tiffany’s knee, and drops her. MMA-style. Clean. Brutal. Fast.

Before the other woman can recover, Brydge straddles her and throws a sharp right hook. Then another. Tiffany’s arms flail once—then fall.

Knocked. The fuck. Out.

The crowd explodes. The cage door swings open.

Brydgett stands, swaying slightly. She clutches her side, blood seeping through the edge of the bandage.

“Fuck, that hurts,” she mutters.

Arrow gets to her first, scooping her up like she weighs nothing. He carries her to an empty chair, easing her down as she winces.

I’m already on her. “You’re a goddamn wild card. You’re flighty. You’re reckless. You’re an idiot.”

She blinks at me, lashes still damp with sweat. “You done?”

“Not even close.”

She leans back, eyes flicking over my shoulder. “Put a pause on it. Nikola’s headed this way.”

I turn. The alpha from earlier steps up, eyes on me, then holds out a hand.