Page 97 of Unhinged

She doesn’t wait for me to say anything else. Just turns and storms off like she’s gotta outrun the way she messed up. Her boots hit the floor hard, every step loud and pissed off. Her scent follows her out—jasmine and copper, still strong, still her. But that orange part? It’s off even more now. Sour. Bitter. Like something that used to be sweet, but sat too long and turned.

It’s regret. All over her. Pouring off her like she’s bleeding guilt.

I stare at the door even after it slams shut behind her.

Judge does too. He looks kinda small now, shrinking into himself like he’s not sure what just happened or if he’s supposed to say sorry for her. He kicks at the edge of the mat and won’t meet my eyes.

I shake my head, trying to shove all that weird ache in my chest down where it belongs.

I look at him. Force a half-smile. “So,” I say, clearing my throat, “wanna try again?”

He looks up. Grins a little. “Yeah. I think I almost knocked the air outta you.”

“Almost,” I smirk, stepping back onto the mat. “Let’s see if you can finish the job this time.”

He follows me, already squaring his stance, ready to prove he can do it.

But I’m only half there.

Because part of me is still standing in that doorway, watching her walk away, all twisted up in scent and guilt and fire.

And fuck.

This made me want her even more.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

BRYDGETT

I didn’t stab him.

But gods, I wanted to.

I heard Judge grunt—he sounded scared. Or maybe not. Maybe it was just the breath in his throat. Maybe it was just my over-fucked nervous system firing off again because IthoughtI saw something. That’s all it takes with me. A sound. A flash. A wrong angle. And suddenly I’m pulling my blade and ready to slide it into someone I trust.

Gears.

Fuck.

I'm a loose fucking cannon.

I can't have alphas. I can’t have a pack. One wrong move, one flicker of panic, and I'm there. Murder in my veins. Knife in my hand. And no questions asked.

“But did you?” a gravelly voice says from behind me, and I jump so hard I nearly throw the blade still clipped inside my waistband.

I spin and blink, realizing I don’t even know where I am.

Basement.

Ofcourse,it’s the fucking basement.

Why did I autopilot down here? The place where all this shit started. Where I was chained up like a rabid dog, and still somehow let go.

Stupid fucking Brydgett.

Acid’s leaning against the far wall, smoke curling from the cigarette tucked between two of his fingers. Casual. Calm. The same way he always looks. He flicks his lighter open and shut, the soft metallicclickrepeating like background noise.

“Those’ll kill you, y’know?” I say, gesturing to the cigarette.