Page 59 of Unhinged

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

ACID

We’re closing in on the meat factory when I spot it—the same SUV from the road shootout parked crooked against the side of the building. My stomach tightens. I lift my hand fast and wave Arrow and Gears down, pointing toward the vehicle.

They both nod, eyes narrowing.

We kill the engines and roll our bikes to a silent stop a good distance back. Last thing we need is the rumble of exhaust tipping someone off if they’re still inside.

I take point.

We move in quiet, careful steps over busted pavement and weeds tall enough to hide a body. The back entrance is half-hanging on its hinges. I motion for Gears to watch our six and nod for Arrow to go right while I push the door open slowly.

Inside’s a graveyard.

We pass a row of old offices first. Doors open, some barely hanging, papers scattered across cracked linoleum. One still has a broken mug on the desk, dried coffee staining a stack of yellowed forms. All of it empty.

A breakroom’s next; bare lightbulb swinging above a sink full of spiderwebs. The cabinets hang open and empty, one door missing entirely. Fridge door’s rusted shut. I glance inside, nothing but dust and some sad roaches fleeing the light. No signs of life.

We keep moving. I feel the tension in my jaw and the weight of the Glock in my hand. My omega’s here. I know it.

Then we reach the door to the main factory floor.

It’s filled with old machines that look like they haven’t worked in years. Conveyor belts, rusted hooks, some vats that make my stomach turn just looking at them. And there she is.

Brydgett.

Standing over a woman’s dead body, her shoulders drawn tight, chest heaving. Blood on her shirt. Earl’s sprawled out behind her, not moving. Good. Fucker looks better dead. But it’s the man behind her that makes my vision go red.

Marcus.

He’s got a gun. He’s standing behind her. And her back’s to him.

I don’t even think. I burst through the door with my Glock raised and finger on the trigger, ready to blow his homeless-ass head off.

“Acid, no!” she screams, jumping in front of him like I’m the threat. Her arms spread wide, her eyes wild and glowing in the light. “He saved me.”

I freeze. Fuck.

I don’t lower my weapon yet, just ease it down a notch. “He what?”

“He saved me,” she says again, voice raw and tight.

I grind my teeth. “How the hell did he know where they took you?”

Marcus steps forward, still holding the gun down at his side. “I went outside to get some fresh air. I don’t do crowds. Don’t do noise. But I came for Brydgett. I saw them hauling her off. She was unconscious. I followed.”

I narrow my eyes, still not convinced.

“I lost them for a bit. Was on foot,” he adds calmly. “But I used the tracking skills I learned back when I was a ranger. Found the place eventually.”

I open my mouth to question him, but Brydgett suddenly cries out, grabbing her stomach and doubling over with a sound that guts me.

Arrow’s there in a second. He scoops her up like she weighs nothing and the scent hits all three of us at once—her heat.

Fuck. Not here. Not now.

Jasmine and citrus and that coppery note that makes me want to tear through walls just to get her home.

“We don’t have time for this dick-measuring contest,” Gears snaps, already moving. “Her heat’s starting. We need to get her back to the nest.”

Panic tries to climb up my throat, but I shove it down. Logic. We’ve got three bikes. No cage. Marcus got here on foot.

“How are we gonna get Gidge there?” Arrow asks, adjusting her in his arms.

“Gears has the smoother bike,” I say, my voice hard. “She should ride with him.”

“Done,” Gears says, already reaching out. “Give her to me.”

Arrow passes her over gently. She doesn’t fight. Her body slumps against Gears like it belongs there. His arms wrap around her like they were made for it.

We head outside. Marcus trails behind, hanging back with deliberate distance, staying downwind. Her scent is thick and not meant for him. He covers his nose subtly with the back of his hand.

“I’ll head home,” he says as we reach the bikes. “Call Georgia if you need anything. Or when you're ready to talk. I just want her safe. That’s all.”

Gears doesn’t even look at him. “We’ll be in touch,” he mutters.

Brydgett’s barely aware, just whining and curling in on herself, holding her belly.

Gears sets her on the bike with her back to the handlebars and climbs on, straddling the seat and facing her.

Her arms go around his shoulders on instinct, her head falling against his chest like her body knows she’s safe now. That she’s home .

The bike roars to life.

I grip my handlebars tighter than I should and fall into formation behind them.

We found her. Now we get her home.

We don’t stop at the clubhouse.

We blow past it, gravel kicking under our tires as we veer around the back lot toward the shed the prospect was cleaning up. It was meant to be storage—or a crash space in case shit hit the fan. Guess that counts now.

The shed’s already been cleared out. Gears and I framed the damn thing last year, but it sat empty and just needed polish. It’s somewhere warm and off-site enough to keep an omega in heat safe... and keep us from doing something stupid in front of the whole club.

We cut the bikes and I head for the door, flipping the lights on.

Not bad.

The prospects did good, all things considered. There’s no trash. No dust. No musty, empty smell. The overstuffed mattress pad on the floor looks freshly fluffed and covered in soft dove-gray bedding. Hell, it almost looks cozy.

The string fairy lights above are dead, though. I make a mental note to fix that later. Gidge likes soft light. Omega shit. She deserves it.

“Gears, go update the brothers,” Arrow says, his voice focused. “Tell Suave he’s running the show while we’re out here. And grab her stuff from her room. All of it. Bedding. Clothes. Even the shit she stole.”

Gears nods and shifts Brydgett gently in his arms. Her body is limp against him, laced with the thick, sweet smell of her heat. He carries her toward the mattress, but the second her back touches it, she stiffens. A low, frustrated sound rises in her throat.

She twists, whining now, barely awake but clearly unsettled. Her nose scrunches, scenting the space. There’s too much wrong here; too many old scents. Not ours. Not hers.

Gears crouches, holding her close a second longer. “I know, baby. I’m gonna fix it.”

He brushes a hand down her back, then gently lays her down again. She whines, shifting restlessly, nose twitching like she’s searching for something that isn’t there.

Gears hesitates, then pulls the bottom of his shirt up and rubs it against the mattress where her head will rest. It’s not much, but it’s his scent; fresh and strong.

“I’ll be back with the real stuff,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair from her face before stepping away.

Arrow looks at Gears. “Hurry,” he mutters, already pulling out his phone.

“She’s not gonna settle ‘til it smells like us.

I'm gonna call Mom,” he adds, digging for his phone.

“She can tell Judge that Gidge is safe, but they should stay away until her heat passes.” He heads for the door without waiting for a reply, pulling it shut behind him as he steps outside to make the call.

Brydgett lets out a whine that cuts through me. Her eyes follow him; wide, glassy, needing.

“He’s not going far,” I murmur, kicking off my boots. “Just outside.”

I sink down onto the mattress beside her. The scent of her heat curls in the air—sweet and sharp and so fucking thick I can taste it. I shoot off a quick text to Suave.

Me: Bring snacks + water. Check if water’s on in the shed. We might need to shower.

Not ideal to have another alpha bring anything near her right now, but the clubhouse is nearly wiped of snacks and water after sending most of it off with the women and kids. We don’t have time for a supply run, and Gears and Arrow still aren’t back.

He hits me back fast with a thumbs up emoji, and I huff out a breath. Good. Still, I hesitate. Then I type again.

Me: Drop them at the door and text me. Linger one second more than needed and I’ll rip your cock off and feed it to you.

Gidge shifts, her body heat seeping into mine. She whines, all breathy and soft, and wiggles closer until her cheek brushes my stomach.

“I got you, Omega,” I murmur.

Her hands fumble at her shirt. “Hot,” she mumbles.

I reach for her, but she’s already yanking the thing over her head, tossing it aside. No bra. Of course not. She never fucking wears one. I hum, running my fingers from her collarbone down the slope of her stomach. Her skin’s burning.

“We should get you outta these,” I say, popping the button of her pants.

She nods, eyes hazy, lips parted. “Please.”

I peel her pants down slowly, and the scent that hits me nearly knocks me on my ass. My body answers instantly. Every alpha instinct I have is screaming. Claim her. Mark her. Knot her. Make her safe.

But she’s not just a heat-drunk omega.

She’s Brydgett.

Ours.

Strong. Twisted. Brilliant. Bloody.

And she’s mine to take care of right now.

She moans and arches up, fingers slipping between her thighs. “Need you,” she whimpers, already working herself. Her scent spikes, sticky-sweet and so powerful it clogs my throat.

Then I’m moving fast, stripping off everything; cut, shirt, pants.

But I don’t throw the cut. I set it down gently on the chair in the corner.

My hands tremble, not from fear, but from the raw pull of instinct.

My cock’s already hard, aching, leaking just from being near her.

I wrap my hand around it, slow and firm, giving it one stroke while I look at her.

Stunning.

Sexy.

Strong.

Flat on her back, hair spread like red fire across the bedding, thighs parted, lips swollen and glistening. She’s perfect. And she’s begging.

I drop to my knees at the edge of the mattress, heart pounding.

This is mine. She’s mine.

Her hand’s in the way.

I smack her hand away with a smirk. “Not your job right now,” I rumble. “It’s mine .” My hands run up her thighs.

“Gonna taste you, Omega,” I say, voice thick with need. “You gonna be a good girl and give me your sweet cream?”

“Yes,” she breathes, desperate.

I chuckle, lowering my head to her center.

And then I lick. Slowly from her opening to her clit. The taste floods my mouth, hot and sweet and primal.

“Mmm,” I hum, pressing my mouth against her again. “I knew you’d be fucking delicious.”

She gasps when my tongue drags across her again, and her hips jerk up off the mattress, chasing the contact.

Her scent explodes into the air; jasmine and citrus gone wild, deepened by heat. It’s dizzying. Sweet and sharp and ripe . My inner alpha snarls, clawing at the inside of my chest in response. Every instinct I have is howling to rut, mark, knot.

I grip her hips tighter, fingers digging into the softness just above her thighs. She’s soaked. Slick coats my tongue, dripping down her thighs, hot and thick and addictive. I could drown in it. Might try.

I bury my face between her legs and feast on her like it’s my fucking right. Because it is. She’s ours. Mine right now. And she’s giving so damn freely, whining, panting, trembling.

“Please,” she whimpers, fingers tangling in my hair, nails scratching at my scalp. “I—I need?—”

“I know what you need,” I growl into her slick folds, licking harder. “And you’ll get it, Omega. Every last drop.”

Her thighs start to shake, the muscles locking up as her first orgasm hits hard. She cries out, back arching, scent flaring, and I feel the bond between us snap tight . Not fully formed yet, but pulsing there under the surface, waiting.

Her slick spills over my chin, soaking the bedding beneath her. It smells like heaven and sin. I can’t stop licking, even after she’s done trembling.

When I finally pull back, I swipe my mouth clean with the back of my hand and stroke my cock, slow and firm. It’s hard enough to ache. Throbbing with the need to be inside her. Knot her.

She looks down at me, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, eyes unfocused.

“That was mean,” she whimpers. “I need more.”

“That?” I smirk, crawling up over her, dragging my mouth along her stomach, tasting the salt of her skin. “That was just foreplay.”

I settle between her thighs again, this time body to body, not teasing—just holding her there, scenting her deep. My nose brushes the curve of her neck where her scent gland pulses just beneath the skin. I inhale. She moans, neck arching, bare and vulnerable.

“You smell so fucking good,” I whisper, lips brushing her gland. “All soft and slick and mine.”

She shivers under me. Her thighs parting wider.

“I can’t—” she starts, voice breaking. “I need?—”

“I know. ” I kiss her. “But not yet.”

Her brows pinch. “Why?”

“Because when I take you,” I murmur, voice low and rough against her throat, “I want all of us here. You deserve all three of your alphas, not just one.”

Her breath catches. “They’ll come?”

“They’ll come,” I promise, running my fingers through her damp hair. “You think Gears and Arrow would let me have all the fun?”

She hums, lashes fluttering. The scent of her slick thickens again, and her hips rock up against mine on instinct.

My body strains with the need to claim. But I hold still.

Because she’s ours.

And when we take her?

It’ll be everything.