Page 51 of Unhinged

That’s when I know she’s gone. The switch flipped. The smile she gives is wide and cracked, almost playful—like she’s enjoying this.

Like this is a game she’s been dying to play.

“You wanna touch something, Stacy?” Brydgett sneers. “Touch this.”

And then she slams her fist into the girl’s face.

I hear the crunch.

The brothers gasp. No one moves.

Stacy stumbles back, blood already trickling from her nose, but Brydgett doesn’t stop. She’s on her. Fists flying. Elbows. A knee to the ribs. She moves fast— too fast. That’s muscle memory. That’s experience. That's someone who's done this shit before and liked it.

Stacy’s screaming, but no one steps in.

Brydgett grabs her again—hair, shirt, doesn’t matter—and slams her back against the wall so hard a picture frame crashes to the floor beside them.

“You think this is how you get chosen?” she growls, one hand fisting in Stacy’s top while the other draws back again. “You think just ‘cause you’re easy you deserve a man like Arrow?”

“Stop—fuck—please!” Stacy’s sobbing now, hands up, trying to shield her face.

Brydgett doesn’t stop. She lands another punch. Another. Blood spatters her cheek, her lip.

And she smiles again.

That smile.

The one that says she's not sorry. That she likes the way her knuckles split. That there's something inside her that only feels alive when she's making someone else bleed.

I take a step forward now, not because I want to stop it, but because if I don’t, I might let her go too far.

“Brydge,” I say low.

She doesn’t look at me.

“Omega!” I bark.

That gets her. Her shoulders tense. Her chest rises and falls hard, breath ragged, nostrils flaring. She just turns her head, eyes finding mine. They’re wild. Glowing.

She looks perfect.

“That's enough,” I tell her.

She blinks once. Twice. Then shoves Stacy to the floor like trash.

Stacy curls in on herself, crying, a bloody mess of limbs and whimpering.

Brydgett turns fully now, walking away like she didn’t just wreck a woman in front of everyone. Like she didn’t nearly lose herself.

And fuck me if I’m not hard as hell watching her do it.

She walks right up to me, face flushed, lips red, knuckles dripping.

“You mad?” she asks, voice husky.

I shake my head. “No.”

She grins. “Wanna fuck me in front of them?”

I don’t answer.

But I do reach for her.

I grab her by the waist and press her back against the wall. Her breath catches, but she doesn't fight it. She looks up at me, all wild-eyed and glowing, cheeks flushed.

I lean in close, just enough that my forehead brushes hers. “I wanna fucking wreck you, Omega,” I growl. “I want you full of my cock and dripping with my cum.”

She bites her bottom lip, pupils blown wide.

“But this is a party,” I continue, barely holding on, “and it’s not the time. Not yet. We’ll have our time, baby. But tonight? I’m enjoying watching you hang with my brothers. With my club.”

I crash my mouth against hers and she whimpers, soft and filthy against my lips. She tastes like oranges and vodka. I push my tongue into her mouth and she doesn’t hesitate—she sucks on it, like she owns it, like she owns me.

Her perfume hits the air like a punch and I groan, stepping back before I forget where we are and ruin her against the wall.

She blinks up at me, smug and glowing.

“I have a game of darts to win,” she says with a wicked little smirk, dipping under my arm, hips swaying like sin. She struts back to Suave and Nitro, throwing a feral grin that shows her teeth over her shoulder at me.

“Let’s go, boys!” she shouts.

The whole damn clubhouse erupts. Cheering. Whistling. A few guys pounding the walls. Like she just declared war and they’re all signing up.

I shake my head, still breathless, and turn toward the mess behind me. Stacy’s still crumpled near the wall, blood smeared and crying. I walk over and hold a hand out.

“Get cleaned up, Stacy,” I say. “And maybe stop touching if you’re not invited. Or you’ll be out.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just nods, tears streaming, and limps off toward the whore quarters, clutching her face.

I shrug and stroll over to Arrow. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Well,” I say with a laugh, “that was quite the fucking show.”

Acid adjusts himself in his jeans, looking far too serious about it. “I’ve never wanted to fuck someone more than I do right now.”

Arrow rolls his eyes. “Did you smell her? Her perfume’s strong as hell. And the way she flipped—one second she’s all smiles, next second she’s crushing skulls. Something’s not right.”

“Or maybe,” I say, crossing my arms, “she’s just getting comfortable. Maybe she officially and publicly claimed us.”

“Or,” Arrow cuts in, “maybe her heat’s coming.”

That makes the air shift.

“I noticed my recliner blanket’s missing today,” he adds.

“She came into my room earlier,” Acid says. “Acting weird. Real… soft. Real twitchy.”

My gut twists.

“How much you wanna bet you’re both missing something?” Arrow asks. “And it’s all in her room. She’s nesting.”

Fuck.

“She can’t ride out her heat in the clubhouse,” I snap.

“She doesn’t have to,” Arrow says. “We’ve got the shed out back. We always said we’d fix it up for our omega. Now’s the time.”

“Bat can do it.” I pull out my phone and dial.

He answers on the first ring. “Prez?”

“You and Centaur. Shed out back. I want it clean. And I don’t mean broom-swept—I mean if I can’t lick the fucking floors or windows, it’s still dirty. You feel me?”

“Yes, prez.” He hangs up before I can say more.

“Done,” I say to the guys. “Tomorrow, we order her some shit. Move it all out there.”

“She’s gonna be pissed we didn’t tell her,” Arrow says, but he’s smiling.

“We’ll add it to the list,” Acid mutters, blowing out a breath, suddenly avoiding eye contact.

Arrow clocks it immediately. “What’d you do?”

Acid rubs the back of his neck. “You’ll see.”

I narrow my eyes. “Acid.”

“I’ll tell her later,” he says quickly. “After she’s had a few more cocktails. Might lessen the rage.”

Arrow groans. “What did you do?”

Acid smirks, looking every bit like a man already planning his own funeral. “Let’s just say... I made an executive decision. And she’s gonna hate it.”