Page 4 of Unhinged

CHAPTER TWO

brYDGETT

Excitement pulses through my veins like a shot of pure adrenaline, quickening my heartbeat as I make my way to Kenny’s place.

He lives ten minutes from the diner, so I park two blocks away and walk the rest. Stopping on the sidewalk in front of his house, my gaze sharpens, scanning the exterior for any signs of movement.

The last thing I need is a witness—can’t have anyone spoiling my fun.

The lights are off, no car in the driveway, and the street is eerily silent.

Perfect. I do a quick sweep of the area.

My pulse is steady and calm, ensuring I'm completely alone.

Satisfied, I slip around to the back of the house, moving light and quick — one of the few perks of being an omega built small.

The thrill of the hunt buzzes through me, sweet and sharp.

Reaching the back door, I pull out my trusty lock-picking kit from my hoodie pocket.

Not wasting any more time, I grab the tension wrench from inside and push it into the lock.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I feel the pins push up on the first try.

Wiggling the wrench and noticing there is more rotation to the right, I turn the wrench again, and the lock disengages. Bingo!

If the rest of the night goes as smoothly as this, I’ll be in the money.

Except I do this shit for free, paid only in smiles and thrills.

Ooooh, there’s a thought, though. Maybe I should think about monetizing this talent.

I could call Franko and see if he knows anyone in the assassin world.

Money and murder—now there’s a thought that sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

On light feet, I creep through the kitchen and turn right down the hall toward the sound of ungodly snoring.

It’s almost too easy, like the universe is handing him to me on a silver platter.

There are only three doors: an empty bedroom, a bathroom, and another bedroom where Kenny is sawing logs.

I push the bedroom door open slowly, wincing as it creaks, but Kenny doesn't stir. Not even a flinch. Pathetic.

His scent hits me before I’m even all the way in. Sweat. Cheap beer. And that weird sour smell, like wet clothes that sat too long in the washer. It’s gross and heavy, clinging to everything in the room. I wrinkle my nose and switch to breathing through my mouth.

I move closer, standing over him, and curl my lips. Can’t believe this bastard tried to feel me up against a dumpster and hit me when I didn’t cooperate. Minus the whole consent thing, way to set the scene.

“Wakey, wakey,” I murmur, tapping the knife against his forehead with just enough force to wake him, but not cut—yet.

As his eyes lazily open, I jump on top of him, straddling him so he can’t move his arms.

“Remember me?” I flash him a crude smile, all teeth and crazy.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house, you crazy bitch?!” His voice is rough with sleep and irritation, but there’s a thread of fear underneath.

He bucks his hips, trying to throw me off, but I’m ready. His attempts to throw me off are almost laughable, especially when I feel him start to get hard. Disgusting.

“I came to play, baby. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Ditch the knife then, and I’ll fuck you. I’m not into that kinky shit,” he tells me, and I can feel that he’s getting even harder as he continues to buck.

Fucking creep.

“I’d prefer to have Mr. Stabby stay and play.

” I giggle. “Now, no more talking. I’m getting impatient.

” With the flick of my wrist, I slide my knife across his neck, slicing through his trachea and both arteries, ensuring he can’t make any noise as he bleeds out.

The coppery scent of blood hits instantly—thick and metallic—mixing with the sour tang of fear pouring off him.

His eyes widen in shock and his hands flail weakly as blood pours from the wound, his life draining away. There’s a moment, just a brief one, where his gaze meets mine, full of confusion and terror, and then nothing.

Silence.

I climb off him, my breath steady as I head to the bathroom to rinse my knife.

As I come back to the bedroom to make sure Kenny is dead, the rumble of motorcycle engines startles me. Running to the window that looks out to the street, I carefully crack the blinds and see a group of men parking their Harleys in front of Kenny’s house.

Fuck. Renegade MC. This is bad.

My mind races, and for a split second, I feel the icy fingers of fear grip my heart. No time to panic, Brydge. You need a plan, and fast.

I dart to the window next to the bed, carefully pushing it open just enough to drop Mr. Stabby into the bushes below. There’s no way I’m leaving him behind, not after all we’ve been through. But I can’t let them find it on me, either.

My stomach churns, and for one terrifying moment, a new fear creeps in—what if they can smell me? What if they know I’m an Omega?

Then I shake it off. Duh. I take my suppressants every morning like clockwork. There’s no scent for them to catch. I just need to keep my head.

This is going to suck, but it’s my only shot.

I strip down to my bra and panties, throw my clothes all around the side of the bed, and crawl into the bed next to Kenny.

Sliding under the blanket, I press my body close to Kenny’s cooling corpse, the feel of his blood-slicked skin against mine making me want to gag.

I lay my head on the pillow, closing my eyes, forcing myself to slow my breathing as I hear the front door crash open.

“Way to be quiet, prospect. If he didn’t hear our bikes, he sure as fuck knows we’re here now,” a gravelly voice scolds.

“Sorry, Pres.”

“Guard the door. Acid. Arrow, search the house. I want Kenny alive so we can question him,” the first man commands, his tone brooking no argument.

I hear footsteps come down the hall, causing my heart to race, but I stay still and steady my breathing, so when they come in, they think I’m asleep.

“What the fuck!” a deep, rich voice shouts, and I know he’s caught sight of Kenny.

This is it. Show time. I’m about to put on the performance of a lifetime and they better believe it or I just may be fucked.

I jolt upright like I was startled awake and scream when my eyes lock onto the tattooed alpha god that has entered the room.

He’s massive—easily six foot three, with ash blond hair buzzed on the sides and longer on top, styled in a vintage comb-over that makes him look like he stepped out of a 1940s gangster film.

His scent hits next, slamming into me so hard it almost knocks the air from my lungs—bergamot, lemon, and something darker underneath, like black currant crushed under heavy boots. Sharp, fresh, dangerous.

Every instinct I have screams at me to run.

“What do you want?” I wail. “Kenny, wake up! Someone broke in. Help!” I slap at Kenny’s corpse, pretending to try to wake him, my hand coming away sticky with blood. I turn to look at him, pretending to see the gore for the first time, and let out a blood-curdling scream.

“Oh, my God! You killed him!”

Two more alphas come running into the room, and I barely suppress a shudder.

They’re just as lickable as Mr. Inked and Sexy.

One is slightly shorter, with long, sandy hair pulled back into a bun, his eyes cold and calculating.

His scent reaches me a moment later—crisp apple, ripe plum, and sandalwood—undeniably alpha.The other is the tallest, with dark brown hair slicked back and a permanent scowl etched into his face.

This one storms over to my side of the bed, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet with a grip like iron.

His mango and patchouli scent hits me, like it’s daring me to fight back.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

The scent of mango and patchouli clings to him, mingling with the blood still wet on my skin.

Oh good, an alpha who likes to manhandle a lady, my favorite.

I allow my lower lip to tremble, looking up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“I met Kenny tonight waiting tables. He was cute and nice, and he asked to have a drink after I got off. One thing led to another and well, we ended up in his bed and now here I am. Why did you kill him? Are you going to kill me, too? Oh god, I’m not ready to die!

” I cry, whimpering and really giving them a show.

His expression hardens, eyes narrowing at me with suspicion. “We didn’t kill him. He was dead when we got here. We just wanted to have a little talk with Kenny. How do we know you didn’t kill him?” The way he cocks his brow, like he’s already decided I’m guilty, sends a spike of panic through me.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep up the act, even as my heart pounds in my chest. “I was sound asleep until you,”—I point at him—“barged in here and woke me up. I didn’t even know I was sleeping next to a dead body until I tried to wake him up.

What if they come back for me?” My voice rises, a mix of fear and urgency that I hope sells the part of the scared, clueless girl.

“She was sleeping like a baby next to the dead guy, Gears. I woke her up,” Mr. Inked and Sexy says.

“Well then, miss,” Gears barks, clearly not in the mood for games. “I’d consider myself lucky you weren’t murdered, too. Now get dressed and get out. We’ll take care of this.”

“We should call the police. They’ll want my statement,” I suggest, knowing full well what their answer will be.

“No cops! We don’t do cops, girl. And if you’re smart, you’ll listen to me and get your shit and get out. Consider this my one and only warning. I’m no gentleman, girlie. So move it.”

I don’t waste another second, jerking my arm from his grasp, grabbing my clothes, and putting them back on haphazardly.

“Thank you. And I swear I won’t say a word. I’d rather like being alive,” I whisper and hurry past the two alphas standing in front of the door.

I pull my jacket over my hoodie, then head down the hall and out the front door, right past some young kid who can’t be more than nineteen.

I dart to the sidewalk and start to walk like I’m headed home.

Like my ass is on fire, I sprint to the bush on the side of the house, find Mr. Stabby, and shove him under my jacket as I get back to the sidewalk.

Holy shit, that was close!

I should have left my knife back there and gotten a new one tomorrow, but…

I clutch the knife tighter under my jacket, my mind flashing back to my first kill.

He’s been with me since the beginning, and he’s important to me, so he’s worth the risk.

Besides, I wasn’t seen, so it doesn’t fucking matter now.

All I need to do now is get to my car a few blocks away and get home to my kid.

I don’t know what Kenny did to get on the Renegade MC’s persons of interest list, but I was caught off guard by their interruption.

Renegade runs the underground in town and I’ve stayed off their radar.

They know there’s a serial killer in their midst, but they’ve never come sniffing around my house or my work. That’s the way I like it.

As I turn the corner, I feel a plan forming in my mind.

Good thing I planned to call Ike tomorrow about that visit.

He lives in the next town over, out in the country, where it’s quiet, and no one asks too many questions.

It’s like a staycation when we go, and after tonight, I could use the break.

Let’s just hope when we talk tomorrow, he and Jackie are up for some company.