Page 77 of Unhinged

"Done."

"What about Spice and Flakka?" Nikola asks, skeptical.

"Hell no. That shit makes people eat faces off," Acid growls.

Nikola shrugs, but the tension in the air thickens. "Then maybe we don’t have a deal after all," Gears replies.

"Maybe we could just throw you out of town and set the place on fire." Acid smirks.

Nikola’s men move at the snap of his fingers. They swarm toward us. I’m already moving, fists up, adrenaline surging.

"Get ready," Acid growls, and before I can blink, he's already launching at one of the goons.

The alley's chaos is nothing but fists, kicks, and the sickening sound of bone meeting bone. I'm focused—every punch I land is calculated. One of Nikola’s men throws a hook, but I duck, landing a hard blow to his ribs. He grunts, staggers back, but doesn't go down.

Acid’s victim is already on the ground, his neck snapping with a sickening crack. It’s over in an instant. He wipes his hands off, looking down at the man like it’s nothing.

Arrow's off to my left, taking on a bigger guy.

It’s three on three now, and even though they’ve got numbers, we’re holding our own. But Nikola’s still standing there, observing, like he’s enjoying the spectacle. Like we’re all just pawns in some game.

Then, out of nowhere, one of Nikola’s men swings a pipe toward me. It’s coming in fast—too fast. I barely manage to dodge, but the edge catches me on the arm. I grunt, shaking it off, but it’s enough to make me pay attention.

Then there's a sharp whistle. It cuts through the air, making us all freeze.

I glance toward Nikola. His hands are raised in the air, an odd smirk playing on his lips. But something’s wrong—his neck's exposed, a knife pressed against it, just enough to nick him. Blood trails down his throat.

And there, standing behind him, is Brydgett. Her eyes lock on mine, cold and determined. She holds the knife with effortless precision, her stance unyielding.

“Enough.” Brydgett says, her words ringing out and hanging heavy in the air.

The chaos around us dies. No one moves. Even Nikola’s men seem to pause, hesitant, caught between loyalty and fear.

I step forward, eyes still on her. "Brydgett, what the hell are you doing?"

She doesn’t flinch, her gaze unwavering as she looks back at me. “Doing what needs to be done.”

Nikola lets out a small chuckle, the blood from the small cut on his throat now dripping slowly. "I see... You've got your own ways of handling things."

She smiles, but it’s a grin that promises nothing but trouble. “You may have the muscle, Nikola. But I know how to play the game.”

The knife presses just a little harder against his throat. Nikola’s smirk falters, and for the first time, I see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

BRYDGETT

“What the fuck are you doing, Brydgett?” Gears growls.

My hand is steady. Controlled. Focused. It's restraint that's shaking me. Because I'd love nothing more than to press it just a little harder into Nikola’s smug throat. Just enough to remind him that this little game he's playing isn't just a game anymore. Not with me.

He smells like smoke and saffron; expensive.

“Seems like I’m cleaning up your mess,” I say casually.

He breathes out, clearly annoyed. “You’re holding a knife to a mafia don’s throat. Does this seem wise?”

I shrug. “Seems fun. And it’s getting the job done from what I can tell. I’m helping you—now, shut up and listen.”