Page 39 of Unhinged

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

brYDGETT

“What the fuck are you doing, Brydgett?” Gears growls.

My hand is steady. Controlled. Focused. It's restraint that's shaking me. Because I'd love nothing more than to press it just a little harder into Nikola’s smug throat. Just enough to remind him that this little game he's playing isn't just a game anymore. Not with me.

He smells like smoke and saffron; expensive.

“Seems like I’m cleaning up your mess,” I say casually.

He breathes out, clearly annoyed. “You’re holding a knife to a mafia don’s throat. Does this seem wise?”

I shrug. “Seems fun. And it’s getting the job done from what I can tell. I’m helping you—now, shut up and listen.”

“Brydgett!” Acid barks from somewhere to my right. “No one talks to the prez that way. Especially in front of company.”

I flash a wink at him. “He’s not my president. I keep reminding you all that.”

“Women don’t meddle in club business, babe,” Arrow adds, patronizing from where he stands.

I don’t even look at him. “Fuck that. I’m in whatever business I wanna be in. And if you three really think I’d even consider being your omega, then I sure as hell will be in all the business.”

“Omeg—” Gears starts.

“No.” The words cut sharp. “I’m in or I’m out. All the way. And you know why. Don’t push me.”

“A lovers’ quarrel.” Nikola chuckles against the knife. “Do go on.”

My grip tightens just enough. Just enough to remind him.

He knows it, too.

Nikola may be taller, stronger—but he also knows better. He could overpower me. Of course he could. But not without risk. Not without bleeding for it.

I lean in, close enough for only him to hear.

“Don’t think about trying to get away, Nikola. You’d probably pull it off—but I’d slit your throat before you got far. And this suit’s already got blood on the shirt, thanks to you. I'd rather not ruin the rest.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he spits between clenched teeth.

"Okay, Nikola. You put on your little show. Big boss man posturing, all the theatrics... cute. But you know damn well this is Renegade territory. They play nice with the cartel. You want the cartel gone? Then this—” I press the knife just enough to remind him it’s still there, “—isn’t how you treat guests at your housewarming. ”

He swallows hard, rasping, "No. I suppose not."

In front of me, Gears shifts, probably pissed I got the jump on Nikola before he could. He's always so damn bossy. Overbearing. Loud. But right now? He's quiet. Lets me do what I do best. Finally.

"So you have the manpower to take down the cartel? To stop the trafficking? Because if not, this conversation is dead before it starts."

"Yes," Nikola groans.

"Gears? That okay with you? Nikola’s mafia takes down the cartel?"

Gears’ words come out hard. “Yeah. But we want in. They go down, we do it together.”

“Nikola?”

"Done."

"Cool." I let my lips twitch into a smirk. "Next: Gears has offered to supply your drugs minus two itty bitty icky ones. I think that was generous, considering. Do we agree to that?"

"Fine," Nikola grinds out. "No Spice. No Flakka."

"Or tar," I add sweetly. "Speaking of which... I fought your little ragamuffin in the cage. Played your game. Now. Who was Kenny dealing for? Because it wasn’t them. And the rat up front said if I wanted tar, I had to come to you. So?"

He goes still. Muscles tense under my blade—just a twitch, but it’s there. Not fear exactly. Not yet. But he’s listening now.

I press the blade harder. "Tsk, tsk. Not nice. Kenny met his maker, courtesy of the Alpha Slayer. Ring any bells? I'd hate for you to be next. Word on the street is that the Renegade's got the Slayer in their back pocket."

"Lies," he spits.

"Nope. Overheard the deal myself when they had me tied up in their basement. So. Who was supplying Kenny with his heroin?"

"I did." The words fall from his lips like cement. "But he was only supposed to sell it at the fights. He shorted me at the last big event. I was gonna go looking for him, but he ended up dead."

"Who do you get your supply from?"

"It gets shipped in. Out of state. I use a broker. Franko."

"Fuck!" Gears swears, running a hand through his hair. "He's a fucking asshole. Won't help us."

"We could try," Acid says, calmly.

Arrow smirks. "Last time we dealt with Franko, he held a gun to Gears' head."

"Fucking asshole," Gears mutters again.

My wheels are already turning. But I keep my face blank. I don’t want to show my hand. Not yet. These alphas of mine? They still have no idea who I really am. I'm not some lost little omega. I'm the damn Alpha Slayer. It's time I reminded them.

I lean in close to Nikola. "Nikola. If I take this knife away, you gonna be a good boy?"

"Yes."

"Good. You and the Renegade have deals to finalize. I'm gonna go have a drink. If I have to come back and clean up your mess, I'm gonna be pissed."

I pull the blade back and shift a step away, sliding it into its hiding spot. Nikola turns toward me, eyes raking over every inch.

"You're a crazy, sexy little thing. Are you sure you wanna be with these bikers? I could give you a life you'd only dream of."

The growls beside me are low, threatening. Acid. Arrow. Gears. My alphas. Even when they annoy the shit out of me. And I’m in denial.

I just smile and pat Nikola’s cheek. "Thanks, but no thanks. They're growing on me."

I hold out my hand. "Friends?"

He stares at me for a beat, then takes it. "Friends."

"Good. Come on, boys. I'll buy you a drink," I call out to Nikola’s men, jerking my chin toward the warehouse.

"Alessio, you stay with me," Nikola orders. "You’re my second. We’ll seal this deal together."

The big guy Gears had been fighting—Alessio, apparently—dusts himself off and gives a tight nod. The rest fall in line behind me without a word.

We all head into the warehouse. The alphas and Nikola peel off to the right, stepping into a side room and shutting the door behind them. Good. Let them make the deal I bartered, sealed, and made a go. I earned a damn drink.

The bar area is rough around the edges—industrial lighting, half-stocked shelves, but it'll do. I order a round. Nothing fancy. Whiskey. Beer. A shot or two. The kind of drinks that burn going down and hit fast.

We drink in silence, watching the next fight take shape in the cage.

I pull out my phone and scroll through old contacts until I find the number. My finger hovers for just a moment, but I don't let hesitation take over. I press call .

It rings twice.

"Brydgie. Long time no talk," Franko answers. "How you been?"

"Good. I need a favor."

"It’ll cost you."

I don’t want anyone overhearing this, so I step back into the hallway, my shoes tapping lightly on the worn floor.

Passing through The Rusty Nail’s dimly lit interior, I slip past the bar and push through the front door.

The cool night air hits me, and I step out onto the sidewalk, the same one where this whole mess started.

"Just listen. You might like it. I know how you love a good show. Plus, I hear you and the Renegade MC in Virginia have some unfinished business."

He laughs. "We go way back. Ol’ Gears and me."

"Good. Well. Gears, Acid, and Arrow? They're my Kismets."

He whistles. "No shit."

"Yep. They're trying to figure out who’s pushing heroin in their territory. Nikola says he gets it through you. So. Who are you getting it from?"

Franko goes quiet. "Brydge..."

"Franko..."

"New player. Showed up a year or so after you left. Don’t know his real name. Everyone calls him The Father."

I choke on a laugh. "Why?"

"Says he got into the business to find his daughter. PilIs are expensive. I don’t know. I only ever met with his second. Never him."

"Can you come here? Share all that?"

"Why? I just told you."

"Because I want to see the looks on the guys’ faces when they realize I know you."

He chuckles. "When?"

"ASAP." I rub my side, wincing slightly. It's fucking sore where that bitch got me. I'll have to make sure my stitches aren't popped.

"Done. Three days. I’ll ask around. Maybe I can figure out who The Father really is."

"Thanks, Franko."

"Anything for you, Brydge. Candy’s been asking about you, too."

"Bring her. It’s been too long."

I'm about to hang up when his voice stops me.

"Brydge. Last time I saw you, you were leaving town with a plus one."

My throat tightens. "And..."

"I wanna meet Lil' Brydge."

"His name's Judge. And I’ll think about it."

"Fine. See you in three days."

"See you then."

I hang up. My hand stills around the phone. That conversation stirred things I haven’t let myself feel in a long time.

I take a deep breath and step back inside the bar, heading straight back to the door to the warehouse, making sure no one’s the wiser about who I just called. The noise and bustle of the place wraps around me again, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and alcohol.

I move quickly through the space, heading straight to the locker room.

I need to get out of the borrowed clothes before whoever I stole them from notices.

I strip off the fight gear, slipping back into my jeans and shirt.

When I glance at the bandage around my side, I see blood on it, but that’s to be expected after the hit I took.

It stings, but I’ll have to change the bandage properly when I get back to the clubhouse.

The office door swings open right as I get back to the bar where I left Nikola’s men. My alphas step out. Gears looks pissed. Acid and Arrow are a little less tense. But all three of them zero in on me.

Arrow walks right up and loops an arm around my waist. "Come on, baby. Let’s go home."

"Okay," I say, softer than I mean to. Because suddenly, I just want out of here.

We head out. I get back on Arrow’s bike, and this time, instead of holding on, I stretch my arms out wide like I’m flying. Like in the damn Titanic .

Just for a moment, I let myself feel free.

Tomorrow, it's mommy and son day. Just me and Judge. No deals. No blades. No blood. Just my boy. Because ever since I woke up, it feels like he’s been with Dillon and Bettie—and yeah, I’m jealous. I miss him.

I miss us.

The world can burn down around me. But tomorrow? Tomorrow, I’m just his mom.

And no one gets between me and my boy.