Page 49 of Unhinged

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

brYDGETT

It’s the day of the party, and while I should be picking out the perfect outfit to meet the brothers and flex who I am—or who I will be, I guess—I’m not. I’m crabby as hell. Woke up this way. Now I’m on a mission: Operation Soft Shit and Good Smells.

I feel like I’m on autopilot. Like a grade-A clinger. But I can’t stop myself. I’ve piled every single blanket I own on my bed and found some extra sheets in the laundry room. Hung them around like some makeshift hillbilly canopy. It’s a mess, but it’s my mess.

Now I’m creeping toward Gears’ room. It’s locked, but that’s cute. I grab a gift card from my little card wallet, slide it into the doorjamb, pop the lock, and slip inside. He’s not here—perfect.

First, I snatch the quilt folded neatly at the foot of his bed. Then I spot his hamper. Jackpot. I dig through it, pulling out a couple of his t-shirts like a feral raccoon on a mission. Happy with my haul, I sneak down the hall to Arrow’s room.

His door’s wide open, like he expected me. I snatch a pillow that’s got the faint shadow of his head on it and a small blanket tossed over the recliner facing the TV. Arms full of alpha-scented gold, I dart back to my room like a damn lunatic and start arranging my treasures in the perfect way.

Last stop: Acid.

He’s in his room when I get there. I knock. He opens the door with that crooked smile.

“Come in, Gidge.”

“Hey.” I keep it casual, eyes scanning his space like a magpie looking for shiny things.

Boom. There on the floor—the shirt he wore in the basement when I knotted him. And a pair of boxers. Game on.

“What’s up, babe? You’ve never visited my room before.”

He turns to the mirror, picks up a comb, and runs it through his hair, slicking it back into that perfect vintage style that drives me absolutely feral. Cool. Casual. Like he doesn’t know he’s ruining me.

“Oh, umm... just trying to figure out what to wear tonight.” I dip down and grab the boxers, shoving them into my bra like a teenager stuffing her training bra.

“I mean, the whores usually wear barely anything ‘cause, well, they’re there to fuck the brothers. Other guests wear whatever—dresses, skirts, jeans. Whatever you want, Gidge.”

“Okay. That was not helpful but... also kind of helpful.”

I sit on his bed, hook the shirt with my foot, and drag it closer until I can snatch it up. He turns and sprays his cologne on like I’m not being a complete creep.

“Wear whatever you want. You’ll be stunning. And, well... you’re off-limits, anyway.”

I roll my eyes. “How could I forget?”

As I walk past him, he grabs my arm and kisses me.

I whimper, and my scent floods the room.

My skin feels wrong under my shirt, like every inch of me is too aware.

My scent’s spiking, I know it is, and the way Acid’s nostrils flare when he kisses me?

Yeah. He knows too. I’m radiating pheromones like a goddamn beacon.

My brain tries to hold on to reality, but all I can picture is his sexy, tattooed, naked body and the way he felt under me.

Nope. Abort mission.

I bolt back to my room and finish building the comfiest, coziest, most scent-drenched omega fort ever made. Acid. Arrow. Gears.

Their combined scent hits me like a wave and I can’t fight it. Don’t even try. I’m wrapped up in their shirts like some scent-addicted freak, buried in all these blankets like it’ll hold me together. It’s not even sundown and I’m already a mess.

That’s when it hits me.

Two things, actually.

One—my heat is coming. I’m nesting. Fuck. Me.

And two—this terrifying, overwhelming truth that slams into my chest like a freight train.

I want them.

Not just the sex. Not just the protection. I want them. I want to be their omega. In their pack. I don’t know when it happened or how, but it’s there, loud and brutal and clawing at my insides.

Goddamn it.

They want me to be their omega. But what does that even mean, for someone like me? I’m no docile breeder. I’ve killed with my own hands. I don’t know how to kneel without thinking about the weight of a blade in my boot. But god help me, I want to belong to them, anyway.

I close my eyes, trying to find one single reason why I shouldn’t give in. Why I shouldn’t belong to them.

I can’t find one.

Shit.

I need to talk to them. About everything. About my heat. About this . Might as well call a pack therapy session at this point.

But first—the party.

The club needs it... or so Arrow said over cheese fries. Who am I to come in and fuck that up? Besides, just because I’m falling for my alphas doesn’t mean I’m not still me. And there’s no way I’m missing the looks on their faces when Franko shows up.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I stand. Time to get ready.

I skip the shower—I want to keep smelling like them. I curl my hair, pin the sides back so it’s not in my face, then pull on leather pants, a black tank, and a ridiculous white fur coat that’s been begging to be worn for weeks.

Looking in the mirror while doing my makeup, I almost look like a mafia omega instead of a biker babe. But fuck it—the coat slaps.

Boots on, lips glossed, I head out of my room.

I need a cocktail.

And the night hasn’t even started.

I can hear the music thumping through the walls before I even reach the doors. Sleep Token blares through the speakers, haunting and erotic, a perfect soundtrack for chaos.

I step into the room, and it’s packed. Bikers everywhere. Shooting pool. At the bar. Throwing darts. One of the—I'm assuming—whores is on her knees in front of Arky, her thonged pussy on full display under the joke of a skirt she’s wearing, as she deep-throats him right there in the open.

The smell. All of it. Sweat, smoke, leather, booze—it’s everywhere. And under that? Sex. No mistaking it. It’s thick and gross and kinda dizzying. My brain can barely keep up with all the different scents crashing into each other.

Arky’s buzzed head is tipped back over the chair, jaw slack, eyes shut as she sucks him off like they’re the only two people in the damn room.

Huh. Right here? In front of everyone?

Interesting. Not for me. But hey, no judgment.

She’s on her knees like she was born to kneel, and he’s barely even paying attention.

I should be disgusted. Instead, I wonder—would Acid let me fall to my knees in front of him?

Would he growl and grip my hair, or would he just watch me with that smug knowing smirk, like I’m exactly where I belong?

Then I feel it— them —before I see them. My alphas.

I turn my head, and there they are. Standing together at the far end of the bar, eyes locked on me like a wolf pack on the hunt. I give them a little finger wave.

The second they catch my scent, it’s like something clicks. I feel it, like this invisible string just yanked tight between us. Acid’s nose flares like he caught a whiff of something he wants to bite into. Arrow’s jaw locks up, and Gears shifts like he’s gotta plant his feet so he doesn’t move.

I make my way to the bar. Bat’s behind it, all goofy grin and lanky limbs.

He flashes that crooked smile like he’s never had a bad day in his life.

He’s got on a black tee that clings to his wiry body and leather pants that look half-forgotten, barely zipped.

I’m pretty sure he just ran water through his hair and called it a day.

All golden retriever energy and zero shame.

“What can I get ya, Brydgett?”

“I’ll take a Titos and water.”

“No problem.” He grabs a tall glass, fills it with ice, pours the vodka heavy, then tops it with bottled water. Perfect.

He slides it across the bar and I grab the little squirt bottle I left earlier in the week—my prep work—and drop two quick squirts of Crystal Light into the cup. Stir.

No hangover and I’m hydrating? I’m a fucking genius .

I head over to my alphas. Arrow pulls me in and kisses my cheek. Acid follows with a kiss to my lips. Gears just gives a nod.

“Brydgett.”

“Gears.” I smile.

“You look good, Omega.”

“Thank you.”

“You seemed wound up earlier, Gidge. You alright?” Acid asks.

“Yeah, I’m good. But tomorrow I need to talk to you three.”

“We can do that. Mom wants us all to come to dinner tomorrow. Judge too. We’ll chat before it. That work?” Gears says.

“Sounds good.” I take a sip of my drink. “So this is a Renegade party, huh?”

“Yeah. Music, liquor, good times.”

“Saw Arky’s having a real good time.” I smirk.

“He’s missed Aubrey more than he lets on. Swear he’s gonna break every damn rule and make an old lady outta a whore.”

“If he likes her and can live with what she did when they met, so be it.” I shrug.

“Oh yeah?” Gears raises a brow. “That how you feel?”

“Yeah. He knew she was a club whore when they met. She’s sucking his cock at a party right now, so he knows what he’s getting into.”

“True.” Arrow nods.

“You three know what I am—what I do—and you still want me to be your omega, don’t you?” My voice is quieter now. My stomach flips. What if they don’t say what I want? What I need ?

“Hell yeah, I do,” Acid growls, licking his lips.

“All in, Gidge.” Arrow winks.

“Still dealing with your crazy ass, ain’t I?” Gears smirks.

I blow him a kiss and flip him off. “Can’t help it if I’m a little prickly.”

“It’s not the thorns on your stem, babe. It’s the fucking recklessness—and how you never clue a guy in. You love to keep us on our toes.”

“You love it,” I tease, thinking about the surprise I’ve got for them tonight.

Gears just chuckles and shakes his head.

“Well, I’m gonna go mingle. Get to know these brothers of yours. See if I can hustle one or two of them in darts.”

“Enjoy,” Arrow purrs as I strut off toward Nitro and Suave, who are mid-game.

Let the party begin.