Page 50 of Unhinged

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

GEARS

She’s gonna be the death of me.

I groan, low and deep in my chest, eyes locked on Brydgett as she walks away from our corner of the party like we don’t even exist. Like she didn’t wreck Acid’s whole damn soul a few days ago.

Like she didn’t sneak into my brain and settle in, dragging all her sharp edges and that wild scent of hers with her.

She walks toward the dartboard where Nitro and Suave are standing, like she owns the place. Maybe she does. Hell, maybe she owns me too and I just haven’t admitted it yet.

“And you haven’t even tasted her slick or been inside her yet,” Arrow says, smirking like a smug bastard. His voice is too damn amused and I want to hit him for it.

My jaw ticks. I grind my teeth. Asshole.

“I got to taste her after,” Acid throws in, like that’s something casual. Like it’s not still driving me insane thinking about it. “Next time, though, I want it straight from the source.”

He shifts his weight like he’s relaxed and doesn’t care, but he does. We all do. We’re all wound too tight over the same omega, and none of us are playing it cool, not really.

“But the way she took my knot,” Acid says, and now his voice drops, rougher. “Almost had me blacking out. Could send a guy straight to Hell and I’d thank her for it.”

Arrow lets out a soft whistle and shakes his head. “I promised not to knot her,” he mutters.

“I also promised not to knot her,” I say, more to myself than anyone.

“Oh, I’m sure she had the same plan,” Acid says, grin twitching at his mouth. “But then she got all worked up riding my cock in the basement and… oops. We’re knotted.”

“Lucky bastard,” I mutter.

“What was that, brother?” Arrow smiles.

“Fuck the both of you,” I growl. It comes from my chest, tight and pissed.

Acid slaps me on the back, hard. “Loosen up, Gears. If you keep trying to control her or figure her out, you’ll miss your chance. She doesn’t want to be figured out. She wants to be felt . You’re overthinking it.”

“She’s a wild card,” Arrow says, nodding like he’s the damn omega whisperer or something. “Just let her do her thing. We’re not steering this ship, man. We’re just hanging on while she drags us through the chaos.”

I grunt. Maybe they’re right. I don’t know. I just want to make sure she doesn’t get herself hurt. Or kill someone at the wrong time.

I shift my stance, eyes locked on her again.

She’s shaking hands with Nitro and Suave now. Smiling a little. That smile never reaches her eyes.

Then she steps up to the dart line. Her hips sway. Her head tilts. She looks deadly and soft at the same time.

The dart flies.

Fifty-seven.

She pouts. It's stupid that even that’s hot.

“She’s not your average omega, Gears,” Acid mutters, sipping his beer. “You keep forgetting. We didn’t get matched with some run-of-the-mill omega. We got matched with the Slayer. She’s fine.”

Nitro throws—twenty-five.

Suave hits thirty-three.

I take a long drink from my bottle, the glass cold and sweating in my hand. My jaw’s still tight.

Second round. Sixty. Forty. Thirty-five.

She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t let them shake her. That’s my girl. No—fuck. She’s not mine. Not yet.

Third round.

She lifts her arm. A quick flick.

Bullseye.

Goddamn.

Suave lands fifty-one. Nitro gets sixty.

But Brydgett?

She’s in the lead.

And all I can do is stand here and smile like an idiot.

I notice her drink’s almost gone.

Stupid how fast I move after that. Like some lovesick puppy or some shit. I head to the bar, not thinking—just moving—and tell Keg to get her a refill.

He barely glances up before handing me a glass. “Here.”

I look down. Water and vodka. That’s it. Just clear liquid and a half-assed smile from the prospect.

I stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

Keg blinks, shrugs. “Oh. Right. Hang on.”

He grabs this little bottle from behind the bar and squeezes some pink syrupy-looking crap into the drink. “There. Stir it.”

I blink at him. “Okay,” I mutter like an idiot, and head back toward her, drink in hand, like it’s some offering to a damn goddess.

She’s standing near the dartboard, hips cocked, one hand on her thigh. Queen of the damn party.

“Omega,” I say, low and right behind her.

She turns, pupils going wide the second she sees me. Her hazel eyes catch the light, and for a second, they look almost gold—sharp, wild, untamed. That flicker of something in them—heat, curiosity, hunger?—it hits me straight in the chest.

Then her gaze drops to the drink, and her tongue flicks out to wet her bottom lip.

I want to be her bottom lip. Fuck me.

“That for me?” she asks, voice coy like she doesn’t already know.

“Yup,” I say, handing it over like it’s sacred.

She takes it, nods in approval after one sip. “It’s vodka and water,” she explains, like I asked. “But I add Crystal Light. Adds flavor, but it’s still water, so I don’t get a hangover. Figured a biker party might be a marathon, not a sprint.”

I chuckle. “You’d be right.”

She smirks at me, sharp and playful. “You gonna watch me whoop your brothers’ asses in darts?”

“Sure am.”

“Sweetheart, you’re only in the lead by forty points,” Suave calls over, teasing. “Don’t get cocky.”

She sticks her tongue out at him like a damn teenager. Confident and careless in the best way.

And I can’t help it—watching her like that, laughing with them, fitting in without even trying—it hits me in the gut.

She belongs here. With us.

With me.

I’m still standing there like some big, dumb dog when Stacy struts by. Her hips swing like she’s on a damn catwalk, smile stretched wide just for me. I don’t even look at her. Not really. Just enough to know it’s her, and enough to remind myself why I don’t give a shit.

She’s always too much. Too clingy. Too pushy. Always hunting for a patch and a promise.

The brothers don’t mind it. They like that she’s easy and down for whatever. Probably the blowjobs in the back lot help, too.

But me? I see through her. She ain’t after the dick. She’s after the title. Ol’ Lady. The illusion of mattering.

I don't got time for that kind of desperation.

Brydgett throws her first dart of the second round. I hear the thunk of it hitting the board and look up right as she turns her head toward me. Her hazel eyes light up when she sees where it landed.

Sixty.

Again.

She grins at me—sharp and smug—and that’s when her eyes flick to my left. And yeah, I see it too.

Fucking Stacy.

Green pleather micro skirt so tight it might be painted on. That black halter top with the keyhole showing off the little nothing she calls tits. She’s sashaying now, heading toward Arrow with a look like she’s already claimed him.

She slides her arm around him, brushing her boobs up against his arm like she’s a damn magnet. Arrow stiffens, his jaw ticking, but he doesn't pull away.

And Brydgett’s scent changes instantly.

Sour.

Angry.

Jealousy rolls off her like a storm cloud, and god, it does something to me. She cares. She gives a shit. Maybe not just about me, but about us . My brothers. This life.

I move before I can think. Slide in behind her and wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her back against me. She’s tense, wound tight like she might snap.

I lean down, lips right by her ear. “She’s nothing compared to you. Just a nobody club whore.”

My hand spreads across her stomach, fingers splaying low, right above the waistband of those tight leather pants she’s wearing. She gasps, sharp and needy.

“I don’t like her touching Arrow,” she whispers.

“He doesn’t like her touching him either, believe me,” I say, brushing my fingers along the top of her waistband, teasing. “I could play with your pussy right here, right now, and he’d only be staring at you. She’d know then. Know who we belong to.”

She tilts her head slightly, a spark of challenge in her eyes. "Is that right, Gears? Do you really belong to me?"

“I do,” I growl, lips brushing her skin. “And you know it.”

Her laugh is bitter, but quiet. “I tried to stab you.”

“So?” I grin and nip at her earlobe. “Maybe our foreplay’s just… different.”

She moans—fuck, she moans —and it nearly breaks me. I’m a second from hauling her over my shoulder and finding the nearest dark corner when?—

Stacy ruins it.

Bitch leans up on her tiptoes, puckering her lips, trying to kiss Arrow.

He pushes her off, hand on her forehead like she’s poison.

She doesn’t get the hint.

Hell, maybe she refuses to.

“Hell no,” Brydgett growls.

She shoves my hand off and storms toward my brother, eyes narrowed like she’s about to start something loud and messy.

And I just stand there, watching her go, heart pounding and hard as a rock.

Goddamn, that's my omega.

Even if she wants to murder half the room.

Maybe especially then.

Brydgett’s halfway across the room before anyone can say a word.

Acid takes a step back, hands up like he’s distancing himself from the inevitable shitstorm. Smart man. Wants nothing to do with what’s about to go down. Can’t blame him.

Me?

I don’t move either.

I should.

This is my clubhouse. My little brother. My omega. My club’s whore.

But I don’t lift a damn finger.

Something about seeing Brydgett come unhinged over us … over him … has me frozen. Fascinated. Turned on in a way I don’t even want to unpack right now.

She closes the distance fast. Her boots slam against the floor. Her body is all tense fury and zero hesitation.

Arrow doesn’t even flinch—he knows better.

Stacy turns just a little too late.

Brydgett grabs a fistful of that dyed blonde hair and yanks.

Hard.

Stacy screams, a high-pitched squawk like a bird getting skinned alive, and stumbles back, heels sliding on the concrete floor.

“Get your fucking hands off my alpha,” Brydgett spits, dragging the other woman away from Arrow like she weighs nothing. “You think batting your fake-ass lashes and shaking those sorry tits makes you something?”

Stacy tries to shove her. Tries to swing.

Brydgett laughs.