UNHINGED

A Dark Why Choose Omegaverse

CASSIE LEIN

Copyright © 2025 by Toxic Undead Publishing

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction; therefore, the novel's story and characters are fictitious. Any public agencies, institutions, or historical figures mentioned in the story serve as a backdrop to the characters and their actions, which are wholly imaginary.

Formatting by Toxic Undead Publishing

Cover by Haelah Rice Designs

Edited by Jen Maryk

To the readers who slick for danger, ache for praise, and wouldn’t mind being bent over the back of a bike by an Alpha who smells like leather, gun oil, and bad decisions.

CONTENT SHOPPING LIST

Unaliving

Stalking

Kidnapping

Torture

Noncon (fade to black and not by the MMCs)

Attempted SA (fade to black and not by the MMCs)

Beating

Violence

Car Accident

Drugs

Cage fighting

Swearing

PROLOGUE

Nine Years Ago

BRYDGETT

A sharp, searing pain forces me to double over; a cry rips from my throat. My skin is on fire and sweat drips down my back, as the first faint slick gathers between my thighs. I clutch my belly, gasping for breath, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the agony tearing me apart.

I’m lying on my bed underneath the canopy my adoptive mom bought me when I presented as an omega. It’s my makeshift nest for now, enclosed in a wall of drapes and filled with every stuffy and blanket I could get my hands on. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to remind myself that it’s temporary. It’s not perfect, but it only has to last a little bit longer until I leave for Oakridge Academy.

Now that I’m twenty one, I’m supposed to leave next month, and it’s where I’ll hopefully be matched with my future alphas, my pack. Earl messed up something with the paperwork and they didn’t think I was enrolling any longer, so I’ll be a late entry, but I’m still in. We spent hours on the phone straightening all of that out, but luckily, the administration was a dream to work with and let me join late.

A loud banging on the door booms, pulling me from my thoughts and nearly making me jump. I swear it sounds like they are using a battering ram.

“Let me in, Omega!” Earl bellows, sending ice through my veins as it sounds through the room. I shiver, my entire body tense with the kind of fear that settles deep in your bones, the kind you can’t shake.

“No. I think I’m going into heat. Please get Tina. I need her. I think I should go to the clinic to ride this out,” I manage to whimper, my voice weak, almost swallowed by the overpowering scent of my perfume filling the air—orange and jasmine, a fragrance that now feels suffocating.

“Damn, you smell good, Omega. Let me in now. I know what you need.” His voice is thick with desire, with something dark and twisted that makes my stomach churn.

“No! You shouldn’t come in here. I want Tina!” I try to shout, but it comes out in a whine as another wave of pain radiates through me.

The door bursts open with a splintering crash, and I open my eyes to see Earl—my adoptive dad, the man who was supposed to protect me—standing there. His pupils are blown wide, chest heaving, one hand already rubbing at the crotch of his jeans. The sight of him like this, so far from the man I thought I knew, sends a bolt of terror through me.

“Gonna make you feel so good, Omega,” he coos as he stalks toward the bed.

“No, Earl! No! You’re my dad. This isn’t you. You adopted me seven years ago, remember?” I plead, tears blurring my vision as he grabs my ankles and yanks me to the edge of the bed. I feel the cool air against my skin as he tears away my pajama shorts, exposing me. My slick, my scent—it’s supposed to draw my alphas to me, not this. Never this.

“I’ve been waiting seven years for this. Tina hasn’t gone into heat since she went through the change. And I have needs.” His words are a snarl as he pushes his pants down, letting his mediocre cock spring free. He smells of grass and cooking oil as he holds me down. I kick and scream for my adoptive mom.

Why? Why is this happening? I can barely think as he presses a hand to my throat, holding me down while he assaults me, and my mind reels with the awful realization. He sabotaged my paperwork. He wanted me here, alone, when my heat hit. The truth is too much to bear, and as the pressure on my throat increases, I let myself slip into the darkness, praying for it to swallow me whole.

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Something isn’t right. I’m puking all the time, everything makes me gag, and my tits and belly have gotten more pronounced. The truth I’ve been avoiding is becoming impossible to ignore, and now I’m heading to HeatWave, the omega clinic in town. I don’t want to go. I’m terrified of what they might tell me, but I need to know if this sickness is something worse than the memories that haunt me. And if it is… then maybe they can help. Maybe they’ll offer me housing or something, so I won’t have to keep couch-surfing or sleeping in parks.

I haven’t been back to Earl and Tina’s since that heat. That never-ending night where a sudden heat spike wrecked me, and Earl didn’t leave my bed until morning. My body betrayed me; responded to him in ways my mind didn’t consent to. I didn’t want him. But in the middle of it, I couldn’t stop the instinct, the pull, the heat-driven craving. I hated how I melted under his touch, how my body welcomed him even while my thoughts screamed no. That kind of betrayal sticks. Makes your skin crawl after. Makes you wonder who you even are.

When Tina came home that morning, I told her what happened—choked it out through sobs, my face buried in my hands. She laughed. Then slapped me. Said it was my fault. Said, “At least now I don’t have to worry about him cheating on me with some random whore.”

Something in me cracked.

Maybe it was a coincidence she was gone that night. Maybe. But I can’t stop thinking she planned it. That she knew what would happen. That she wanted it to.

And honestly? I don’t even care anymore. What wrecks me more is what it took from me—how it rewired something inside me. How it taught me that even people who are supposed to protect you will hurt you if it serves them. That love can be conditional. That safety is a lie.

Now, whenever someone gets close, I wait for the slap. The laughter. The betrayal.

It’s been four months, and I’ve been surviving on scraps, eating from the trash, or whatever my friends—those few who didn’t leave for the Academy—can spare when I crash at their places. I didn’t go to the Academy because no pack would want a damaged omega. Plus, it’s the first place Tina and Earl would look for me.

Walking through the clinic’s doors, I take a deep, calming breath and pray that what the pharmacist said yesterday isn’t true, but there’s only one way to find out.

“How may I help you?” an older beta at the counter asks, calmy, almost motherly, and I nearly break right there.

“Um, I haven’t been feeling well for a while now and I need to see a doctor. I might be pregnant,” I whisper the last part, not wanting anyone to hear.

“That’s wonderful.” She claps her hands together, her face lighting up with joy—until she sees the way my shoulders slump, the way my eyes brim with tears. Her smile fades, replaced by concern. “Oh, dear. Okay, let me get you right back to see someone.”

She hands me a clipboard and stands from her chair, leading me to an exam room in the back. “Someone should be right with you.”

I sit on the exam table, staring at my tattered Converse, and sigh before looking at the paperwork on the clipboard. Okay, not bad, just my general information and medical background; I can do this. Filling out the papers as thoroughly as I can, I freeze when I get to the question I refuse to answer. If you might be pregnant, who is the baby’s father? What is his designation?

No. I can’t. I refuse to put his name down. I can’t link this baby—if there even is one—to him. I leave that line blank and quickly fill out the rest.

There’s a knock on the door just as I finish. The doctor enters, followed by a nurse. “Hello, I’m Dr. Birch, and this is Nurse Sally,” he says, taking the clipboard from the nurse. He glances over it and frowns. “I see you left the father’s name blank. If this is the result of an assault, we need to know. We can contact law enforcement⁠—”

“No!” I cut him off. The pounding in my chest is so loud it’s hard to concentrate on what he’s even saying; like my body’s trying to drown everything out with pure panic. “I’m not putting his name down. Just give me the damn test so I know if I’m knocked up and I can get out of here,” I snap, my scent going all sharp and sour without me meaning to.

“That’s not how it works, Ms. Holland,” he replies coldly. “We need to know who hurt you, so they can be charged and if found not guilty, they have rights to the child,” he informs me like this is routine and I’m boring him. No! No, no, no, no, no. This can’t happen. If it’s true and I am pregnant, this baby is mine. NOT his!

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m out of here!” I leap off the exam table, shoving past the nurse. Dr. Birch reaches for me as I pass, but I dodge him, my shoulder slamming into him as I run out of the room, down the hall, and out of the clinic.

Back to square fucking one. I need to know if a baby is growing inside of me. But I’m fresh out of cash, and I can’t afford a pregnancy test from the store. As an omega, I can’t even buy one without the clerk logging my name and contact info, which is just one more thing I can’t risk right now. So, I head to the sketchy part of town to see if I can find Franko.

I’ve only known Franko for about four months, but we’ve gotten close in the kind of way that happens when survival puts people in each other’s paths. It started when I scared off some guy trying to break into his warehouse. I wasn’t doing it for him; I just didn’t want my shit stolen while I was staying nearby in a park trying to sleep. Franko saw it, though. The way I handled myself. The fact that I didn’t ask for anything. He offered me a spot inside instead of leaving me to sleep in the park. I said yes, and that was that.

Since then, I’ve done whatever small jobs he tossed my way; counting cash, making drops, running errands. Nothing dirty enough to make me feel like I sold my soul, just enough to keep my head above water. I made it clear I wouldn’t deal drugs, and he respected that. Franko’s rough around the edges, but he doesn’t break his word. We’re not family, but he’s the closest thing I’ve got right now to someone looking out for me. Let’s hope he knows someone who can give me a pregnancy test without involving the law.

An hour later, I’m lying on a dirty table in Franko’s warehouse while some girl named Candy, who claims she used to be a nurse, checks the results of the blood she drew. My arm aches from where she jabbed the needle repeatedly until she finally hits a vein, but I keep my mouth shut. Beggars can’t be choosers.

“Well, you’re for sure pregnant,” she rasps as she types on a laptop.

“You’re sure? That was awfully fast,” I question as my heart beats wildly in my chest.

“Yup,” she says, popping the p. “Franko said to rush the results, so I sent them down the road to the lab. Freddie there is sweet on me, so he rushed your shit. He just messaged and the HCG is indicating pregnancy. Let me get Franko’s okay and I'll get the ultrasound machine in here so we can see how far along you are.”

Pregnant. The word echoes in my mind like a death sentence. Pregnant. A baby. This can’t be happening. Not after that night. The night I’ve tried so hard to forget, the night that changed everything. I don’t need an ultrasound to confirm it. I know exactly when this happened, and the thought makes my stomach churn.

“No need.”

I can’t let her do this. I can’t see the image of a baby, his baby, on a screen.

“I know when this happened. I’m four months, give or take. That makes me having a baby, when? June?” I ask, but I already know the answer. In five months, I’m going to have a baby, a baby conceived on the worst night of my life. A baby I never asked for, never wanted. I need to leave town, so Earl and Tina have no way of finding out.

I slide off the table and leave the room.

“Thanks, Candy,” I mutter as I push through the door, not bothering to look back.

I need to get away from here, away from this town, away from everything that reminds me of Earl and Tina. They can’t find out. They can’t ever know.

As soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, I’m on autopilot. The bus station. I need to get to the bus station. I need to get as far away from here as possible. My mind races as I walk.

Where will I go? What will I do? Can I even do this alone?

I don’t have the answers, but I know I can’t stay here.

When I reach the bus station, I march straight to the counter, my hands shaking as I pull out two crumpled fifties. “I want on the next bus scheduled to depart and headed far, far the fuck away from here.” I slam the two fifties on the counter as I snap at the guy behind the glass. I don’t have much money, just what I’ve made doing odd and end jobs for Franko, so a ticket better not be more than that.

He barely looks up from his screen, raising an eyebrow at my tone. “Try using some manners. The next departure is Virginia, and the bus leaves in ten minutes. Round trip or one way?” He stares at me like I’m wasting his time.

“One way,” I grind out through clenched teeth, my patience hanging by a thread.

“Sixty even. Terminal G. Enjoy,” he drawls as he slides my change and ticket underneath the glass partition.

“Thank you,” I tell him, grabbing my shit and shoving it in my pocket.

In just a few minutes, I’ll be on a bus leaving Illinois and heading for Virginia. A new life. A new start. But as I walk, the reality of what I’m facing starts to sink in. In fifteen hours, I’ll have to make a decision. A decision that will change my life forever. Will this new life include a baby? His baby? The thought makes my chest tighten, and I struggle to breathe.

I have fifteen hours to figure it out. Fifteen hours to decide if I can live with what’s growing inside me, if I can bring this child into the world. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I know one thing for certain: I can’t go back. Not to Earl, not to Tina, not to the life I knew before. This is my only way out. And I have to take it.

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day

BRYDGETT

I step into the dark alley, checking my surroundings before sliding my bloody knife into the pocket of my leather jacket. One less abusive piece of shit alpha in the world tonight, thanks to my stealth and blade. Who would ever suspect that the so-called "Alpha Slayer" is actually an omega? The irony isn’t lost on me. Stereotypes have their perks—they keep me invisible, just another face in the crowd.

Exiting the alley, I enjoy the crisp fall air against my skin. I walk briskly, the sound of my boots echoing off the pavement. Just a few blocks, and I’m at my Pontiac GTO, my sanctuary on wheels. I slide into the driver’s seat, the familiar hum of the engine as I turn the key a small comfort. This car has seen me through countless nights like this—bloody and brutal, yet necessary. Tonight is no different. I need to get home. Georgia, my elderly neighbor, is watching Judge, my eight-year-old son. My reason for everything—the reason I hunt, the reason I kill.

As I drive through the dimly lit streets, I think about Judge. He’s all that matters. He could grow up to be an alpha or an omega, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that he’s safe, that he’s growing up in a world where monsters like the ones I hunt are fewer and farther between. He’s a good kid—sharp, quick-witted, and sassy, but that’s how I like him. I want him to take the world by the balls and make it his bitch.

Pulling up to our building, I shut off the car and climb out before tearing off my jacket and the oversized hoodie that I changed into before stalking my prey. Making a note that I’ll need to hit Goodwill soon to get some more hoodies. Buying used clothes sucks though — half the time they reek of other people, and with my damn omega nose, I gotta wash 'em three, four times just to get the smells out. Still, it’s gotta be done.

As I pass Marcus, the homeless man who lives behind the dumpster, I toss the hoodie into the metal drum where he’s got a fire going.

“Thanks, friend,” I murmur.

He nods, offering me a faint smile. He’s one of the few constants in this unpredictable life, always there with a fire to burn away the remnants of my nocturnal activities.

Once I’ve climbed the flights of stairs to get to our floor, I hastily make my way to our door, unlock it, and slide into the dark apartment we call home. The warm, familiar scent of Georgia—vanilla and sugar cookies hits me the second I step inside.Georgia sits on my ratty couch reading one of her notorious romance novels. She looks up as I enter, and I give her a finger wave before strolling down the hall to the bathroom. The need to wash away any evidence of my whereabouts this evening before I return to mom mode overpowers me. I never want my son to be subjected to the aftermath of the life I’ve chosen to live.

Inside the bathroom, I lock the door and pull the knife from its hidden pocket. The sight of the bloodstains triggers a wave of emotion—relief and satisfaction, but also a pang of something darker, something I refuse to name. I scrub the blade and my hands under the cold water; the bleach stinging my skin as I make sure every trace of tonight’s work is washed down the drain. I can’t afford to be careless. One mistake, one missed drop of blood, and I could end up in a cell instead of raising my son.

Once I’m satisfied with my work, I wipe down the sink, the scent of bleach filling the small space. I won’t allow anything to jeopardize Judge’s future, not even my own need for vengeance. I change into my pajamas, throw my work uniform in the washer, and head back out into the living room to talk to Georgia.

“How was he tonight?”

“He was good, Brydge. We watched a movie and ate ice cream, and then he went right to bed. He’s always a good boy, you know that,” she tells me, standing from the couch, her book still in hand. She slowly walks over to me, kisses my cheek, and then heads to the door. Her apartment is just across from us.

Once she’s gone, I lock up and move quietly down the hall to check on Judge. His door is slightly ajar, and I peek in to see him fast asleep, one arm wrapped around his Ghostface plushie. I can’t wait until he’s older and I tell him it’s from a horror movie. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him at all, and when he’s a teen, I should just sit him down to watch it and wait for his reaction.

I kiss his cheek lightly before retreating to my room. As I lie down, pulling the blanket up to my neck, the events of the night replay in my mind. It was supposed to be just another shift at the diner. But when I saw that alpha twisting his date’s wrist under the table, something snapped. I couldn’t just let it go. I followed him after my shift, texting Georgia to let her know I’d be late. When he dropped his date off and forced his tongue down her throat, I knew he was the kind of monster I hunt.

The alley where I caught him was dark and deserted, perfect for what I had planned. I lured him in, pretending he’d dropped something. Thanks to the suppressants, he couldn’t smell me—my omega designation completely masked. To him, I was just some helpful beta. Harmless.

When he leaned down to pick it up, I struck, my knife slicing through his neck with practiced precision. There was no satisfaction in watching him bleed out, just the cold realization that this is my life now. I didn’t stick around to leave my calling card, didn’t even savor the kill. I had to get home to Judge.

Tonight wasn’t planned, but tomorrow… tomorrow is personal.

Kenny Maxwell is going to die. He thought he could corner me, fondle me, and get away with it. He was wrong. I’ve been planning his demise for weeks, and the thought of taking another abusive alpha off the streets fills me with a sense of purpose.

Tomorrow, Kenny Maxwell is going to learn what happens when you mess with someone who has their own moral compass. I close my eyes, letting the thought carry me into a restless sleep, knowing that when I wake up, it’ll be time to finish what I started.

“You have to be quicker than that! Alphas are strong, fast, and will always be bigger than you, Omega. If this is what you want, then you have to be faster, smarter, and lighter on your feet. Use your body and brains as an advantage. Now take him down!” Ike screams at me from the other side of the mat.

I’ve been living in his gym’s basement for six months now and he’s been training me to fight. Ike found me and Judge, who was only a few months old, living in a tent behind the convenience store just a few doors down from his gym. I made do with what I had, but an apartment wasn’t cheap and food and diapers came first.

He asked me how an omega ended up alone and homeless with a baby. For some reason, I told him the truth. That night, he helped pack up my tent and everything in it and brought me to his gym. During the day, I answer the phones and check people in and out; at night, I clean the gym. Well, I clean after Ike trains me to fight. Each week, he has a new alpha or beta come in and spar with me. He stands at the side of the ring, bouncing Judge on his hip like a proud grandpa while he barks orders at me.

“You can do this, Omega! Focus! If it’s you or him, who are you choosing? Better yet, if it’s him or Judge here, who are you choosing?”

The alpha in the ring advances on me, swinging his right fist at my face. I lean back, barely dodging the hit that would have knocked me out. Squatting to avoid the next punch, I swipe my right leg out, kicking the back of his knees. His legs give out and he goes down, where I quickly throw my palm into his nose. In some sort of gymnast ninja move, I move over and behind him, wrapping my legs around his neck, and squeezing until he taps.

“Yes! There you go, girl! See, you just need to be faster and smarter. That’s enough for tonight. Walt, thank you, and remember, not a word about what you did here. Brydge, hit the shower and get this place cleaned up,” he commands both me and my sparring partner before he disappears into his office with my son.

I wake up and smile, thinking of Ike and everything he did for me. His image fills my mind—his wispy gray hair, a little unruly, and his stout but muscular frame that has always been a source of comfort and strength. Ike is an alpha, through and through, a damn good fighter too. But what sets him apart is the way he treats me and Judge with unwavering respect and kindness. He’s been a rock in my life, especially during those times I needed him most. Ike and his wife, Jackie, are like the grandparents Judge deserves, the kind that the world rarely offers, but we were lucky enough to find.

We should go for a visit after I take care of Kenny; it’s been a bit since we’ve seen Ike and Jackie, and I know Judge is itching to see them. Mind made up, I get out of bed and head to the kitchen, wanting to wake my boy up with eggs and bacon.

As I crack the eggs and listen to the sizzle of the bacon in the pan, I can’t help but let my mind wander to my son. He’s everything to me. My world revolves around him, and I’d move heaven and earth to keep him safe. Every decision I make, every risk I take, it’s all for him. I just want him to have a better life than I did, to be surrounded by love and warmth.

Sure enough, as soon as I get the bacon out of the pan and onto a paper-towel-covered plate, I hear little feet running down the hallway.

“Morning, Mom.” Judge wraps his arms around me and I hug him back, leaning down to press a kiss to his raven locks.

“Morning, Baby. Did you have fun with Georgia? I have to work late again, so she’ll be watching you tonight too. But I was thinking that this weekend, maybe we could go see Ike and Jackie?” I raise an eyebrow at him, knowing full well what his answer will be.

“Yes!” He jumps in the air, doing a fist pump.

“Don’t get too excited, J,” I warn, even as a smile tugs at my lips. “I need to call and make sure they’ll be home first. But if they are, we’ll crash at their place, okay?”

As I talk, I make him a plate and set it down on the table. He dives in, grabbing a slice of bacon and humming around the piece he shoves into his mouth. The sight makes me laugh, and I reach over to ruffle his hair. I grab my plate and sit beside him, savoring the moment. These little slices of normalcy are what I live for, what I fight for.

Once we finish eating, I start on the dishes while Judge runs off to get changed for school. “Brush your teeth, Judge!” I call after him, shaking my head with a smile.

After finishing up, I head to my room to get dressed for the day. As I pull a shirt over my head, Judge bursts into the room, flashing me his bright, toothy grin.

“What do you think, Mom?” he asks, grinning proudly and showing off his pearly whites.

“They look good. Let’s grab your bookbag and head out!”

I slip my shoes on and move to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take my blockers. It’s a necessity, but it feels like another layer of armor I have to put on every day.

When I step out, Judge is already by the door, waiting for me.

“I could ride the bus like the other first-graders,” he whines, and I can’t help but smile at his attempt at independence.

“Nope. You’re stuck with me, bro. I’ll be driving you to school until you can drive yourself.” I open the door and let him step into the hall before following him and locking up behind us.

“Ughhh, so not cool.” He rolls his eyes but starts down the stairs.

I hold in a chuckle at his antics and follow him to the street and into my car. “Hopefully, you won’t even go to this school in the fall. Fingers crossed, I save enough to get you into the private academy across town.”

“Mom, I’m fine at this school,” he says, with that surprising wisdom that never fails to amaze me. “Save your money for something else.”

He’s wise beyond his years, and that’s exactly why I want to get him into the academy. His brilliance shows in the way he breezes through homework like it’s nothing, always hungry for more knowledge. He needs more, and I can’t help but feel like I’m failing him by not providing it. But not for long, I promise myself. Soon, I’ll get him what he deserves.

“Here we are! Georgia is picking you up, don't forget. I’ll see you in the morning after my shift.” I turn around, preparing for my kiss goodbye, but I’m met with a quirked lip and matching brow.

“Sure, Mom. I’ll see you in the morning.” He unbuckles, leans in to kiss me on the cheek, and then he’s out of the car, chasing after a classmate.

He knows something is up; I don't work that late at the diner. I can't help but wonder what his little imagination has concocted. For his sake, I hope it's something innocent, something far from the truth. I doubt he'd ever guess his mom is a killer.

A horn blares behind me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I flip off the car before pulling out of the drop-off line. Jesus, it’s a school carpool line, not the emergency room exit; these people need to calm the fuck down.

I make the short drive to the diner, park in the lot on the side of the building, and head inside. Tying my blue checkered apron around my waist as I walk through the door and brace myself for another shift. The smell of tater tots and popcorn chicken assaults my senses, making me scrunch my nose in disgust. Who the hell serves that this early in the morning? But I know the answer—it's not that they’re cooking it now, the smell just never leaves this place.

Times like this, I wish I was a beta and curse my sensitive nose. In reality, the stench clings to everything, like a reminder that there’s no escape from this life. I doubt my designation actually makes a huge difference.

For a second, it’s like I’m right back in that bedroom. My knees on the floor. My voice caught in my throat.

No.

I slam the memory shut and shove it back in the box where it belongs. Lock it. Bury it deep. Move on.

“Brydge! Thank the lord you’re here. We’re swamped already. Can you take sections six through eight?” Sandy asks, breezing past me with a tray full of pancakes and juice.

“Yup.” I grab my pen and notepad, slipping them into the pocket of my apron as I head to my tables.

It’s going to be a long eight hours, but the thought of what’s waiting for me at the end of it—Kenny’s lifeless body—keeps me going.

CHAPTER TWO

BRYDGETT

Excitement pulses through my veins like a shot of pure adrenaline, quickening my heartbeat as I make my way to Kenny’s place. He lives ten minutes from the diner, so I park two blocks away and walk the rest. Stopping on the sidewalk in front of his house, my gaze sharpens, scanning the exterior for any signs of movement. The last thing I need is a witness—can’t have anyone spoiling my fun.

The lights are off, no car in the driveway, and the street is eerily silent. Perfect. I do a quick sweep of the area. My pulse is steady and calm, ensuring I'm completely alone. Satisfied, I slip around to the back of the house, moving light and quick — one of the few perks of being an omega built small. The thrill of the hunt buzzes through me, sweet and sharp.

Reaching the back door, I pull out my trusty lock-picking kit from my hoodie pocket. Not wasting any more time, I grab the tension wrench from inside and push it into the lock. I breathe a sigh of relief when I feel the pins push up on the first try. Wiggling the wrench and noticing there is more rotation to the right, I turn the wrench again, and the lock disengages. Bingo!

If the rest of the night goes as smoothly as this, I’ll be in the money. Except I do this shit for free, paid only in smiles and thrills. Ooooh, there’s a thought, though. Maybe I should think about monetizing this talent. I could call Franko and see if he knows anyone in the assassin world. Money and murder—now there’s a thought that sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

On light feet, I creep through the kitchen and turn right down the hall toward the sound of ungodly snoring. It’s almost too easy, like the universe is handing him to me on a silver platter. There are only three doors: an empty bedroom, a bathroom, and another bedroom where Kenny is sawing logs. I push the bedroom door open slowly, wincing as it creaks, but Kenny doesn't stir. Not even a flinch. Pathetic.

His scent hits me before I’m even all the way in. Sweat. Cheap beer. And that weird sour smell, like wet clothes that sat too long in the washer. It’s gross and heavy, clinging to everything in the room. I wrinkle my nose and switch to breathing through my mouth.

I move closer, standing over him, and curl my lips. Can’t believe this bastard tried to feel me up against a dumpster and hit me when I didn’t cooperate. Minus the whole consent thing, way to set the scene.

“Wakey, wakey,” I murmur, tapping the knife against his forehead with just enough force to wake him, but not cut—yet.

As his eyes lazily open, I jump on top of him, straddling him so he can’t move his arms.

“Remember me?” I flash him a crude smile, all teeth and crazy.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house, you crazy bitch?!” His voice is rough with sleep and irritation, but there’s a thread of fear underneath.

He bucks his hips, trying to throw me off, but I’m ready. His attempts to throw me off are almost laughable, especially when I feel him start to get hard. Disgusting.

“I came to play, baby. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Ditch the knife then, and I’ll fuck you. I’m not into that kinky shit,” he tells me, and I can feel that he’s getting even harder as he continues to buck.

Fucking creep.

“I’d prefer to have Mr. Stabby stay and play.” I giggle. “Now, no more talking. I’m getting impatient.” With the flick of my wrist, I slide my knife across his neck, slicing through his trachea and both arteries, ensuring he can’t make any noise as he bleeds out. The coppery scent of blood hits instantly—thick and metallic—mixing with the sour tang of fear pouring off him.

His eyes widen in shock and his hands flail weakly as blood pours from the wound, his life draining away. There’s a moment, just a brief one, where his gaze meets mine, full of confusion and terror, and then nothing.

Silence.

I climb off him, my breath steady as I head to the bathroom to rinse my knife.

As I come back to the bedroom to make sure Kenny is dead, the rumble of motorcycle engines startles me. Running to the window that looks out to the street, I carefully crack the blinds and see a group of men parking their Harleys in front of Kenny’s house.

Fuck. Renegade MC. This is bad.

My mind races, and for a split second, I feel the icy fingers of fear grip my heart. No time to panic, Brydge. You need a plan, and fast.

I dart to the window next to the bed, carefully pushing it open just enough to drop Mr. Stabby into the bushes below. There’s no way I’m leaving him behind, not after all we’ve been through. But I can’t let them find it on me, either.

My stomach churns, and for one terrifying moment, a new fear creeps in—what if they can smell me? What if they know I’m an Omega?

Then I shake it off. Duh. I take my suppressants every morning like clockwork. There’s no scent for them to catch. I just need to keep my head.

This is going to suck, but it’s my only shot.

I strip down to my bra and panties, throw my clothes all around the side of the bed, and crawl into the bed next to Kenny. Sliding under the blanket, I press my body close to Kenny’s cooling corpse, the feel of his blood-slicked skin against mine making me want to gag. I lay my head on the pillow, closing my eyes, forcing myself to slow my breathing as I hear the front door crash open.

“Way to be quiet, prospect. If he didn’t hear our bikes, he sure as fuck knows we’re here now,” a gravelly voice scolds.

“Sorry, Pres.”

“Guard the door. Acid. Arrow, search the house. I want Kenny alive so we can question him,” the first man commands, his tone brooking no argument.

I hear footsteps come down the hall, causing my heart to race, but I stay still and steady my breathing, so when they come in, they think I’m asleep.

“What the fuck!” a deep, rich voice shouts, and I know he’s caught sight of Kenny.

This is it. Show time. I’m about to put on the performance of a lifetime and they better believe it or I just may be fucked. I jolt upright like I was startled awake and scream when my eyes lock onto the tattooed alpha god that has entered the room. He’s massive—easily six foot three, with ash blond hair buzzed on the sides and longer on top, styled in a vintage comb-over that makes him look like he stepped out of a 1940s gangster film.

His scent hits next, slamming into me so hard it almost knocks the air from my lungs—bergamot, lemon, and something darker underneath, like black currant crushed under heavy boots. Sharp, fresh, dangerous.

Every instinct I have screams at me to run.

“What do you want?” I wail. “Kenny, wake up! Someone broke in. Help!” I slap at Kenny’s corpse, pretending to try to wake him, my hand coming away sticky with blood. I turn to look at him, pretending to see the gore for the first time, and let out a blood-curdling scream.

“Oh, my God! You killed him!”

Two more alphas come running into the room, and I barely suppress a shudder. They’re just as lickable as Mr. Inked and Sexy. One is slightly shorter, with long, sandy hair pulled back into a bun, his eyes cold and calculating. His scent reaches me a moment later—crisp apple, ripe plum, and sandalwood—undeniably alpha.The other is the tallest, with dark brown hair slicked back and a permanent scowl etched into his face. This one storms over to my side of the bed, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet with a grip like iron. His mango and patchouli scent hits me, like it’s daring me to fight back.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

The scent of mango and patchouli clings to him, mingling with the blood still wet on my skin.

Oh good, an alpha who likes to manhandle a lady, my favorite.

I allow my lower lip to tremble, looking up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “I met Kenny tonight waiting tables. He was cute and nice, and he asked to have a drink after I got off. One thing led to another and well, we ended up in his bed and now here I am. Why did you kill him? Are you going to kill me, too? Oh god, I’m not ready to die!” I cry, whimpering and really giving them a show.

His expression hardens, eyes narrowing at me with suspicion. “We didn’t kill him. He was dead when we got here. We just wanted to have a little talk with Kenny. How do we know you didn’t kill him?” The way he cocks his brow, like he’s already decided I’m guilty, sends a spike of panic through me.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep up the act, even as my heart pounds in my chest. “I was sound asleep until you,”—I point at him—“barged in here and woke me up. I didn’t even know I was sleeping next to a dead body until I tried to wake him up. What if they come back for me?” My voice rises, a mix of fear and urgency that I hope sells the part of the scared, clueless girl.

“She was sleeping like a baby next to the dead guy, Gears. I woke her up,” Mr. Inked and Sexy says.

“Well then, miss,” Gears barks, clearly not in the mood for games. “I’d consider myself lucky you weren’t murdered, too. Now get dressed and get out. We’ll take care of this.”

“We should call the police. They’ll want my statement,” I suggest, knowing full well what their answer will be.

“No cops! We don’t do cops, girl. And if you’re smart, you’ll listen to me and get your shit and get out. Consider this my one and only warning. I’m no gentleman, girlie. So move it.”

I don’t waste another second, jerking my arm from his grasp, grabbing my clothes, and putting them back on haphazardly.

“Thank you. And I swear I won’t say a word. I’d rather like being alive,” I whisper and hurry past the two alphas standing in front of the door.

I pull my jacket over my hoodie, then head down the hall and out the front door, right past some young kid who can’t be more than nineteen. I dart to the sidewalk and start to walk like I’m headed home. Like my ass is on fire, I sprint to the bush on the side of the house, find Mr. Stabby, and shove him under my jacket as I get back to the sidewalk.

Holy shit, that was close!

I should have left my knife back there and gotten a new one tomorrow, but… I clutch the knife tighter under my jacket, my mind flashing back to my first kill. He’s been with me since the beginning, and he’s important to me, so he’s worth the risk. Besides, I wasn’t seen, so it doesn’t fucking matter now.

All I need to do now is get to my car a few blocks away and get home to my kid. I don’t know what Kenny did to get on the Renegade MC’s persons of interest list, but I was caught off guard by their interruption. Renegade runs the underground in town and I’ve stayed off their radar. They know there’s a serial killer in their midst, but they’ve never come sniffing around my house or my work. That’s the way I like it.

As I turn the corner, I feel a plan forming in my mind. Good thing I planned to call Ike tomorrow about that visit. He lives in the next town over, out in the country, where it’s quiet, and no one asks too many questions. It’s like a staycation when we go, and after tonight, I could use the break. Let’s just hope when we talk tomorrow, he and Jackie are up for some company.

CHAPTER THREE

ARROW

Acid and I sit in my brother’s office, the tension between us as thick as the smoke curling from his cigarette. We're pouring over the same fucking question we’ve been asking for weeks: how the hell does this killer keep slipping through our fingers? Each time a body drops, it’s like a punch to the gut, another reminder that we’re always a step too late.

Gears' boots are propped on his desk, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

“I’m sick of playing catch-up with this fucking killer, guys. It shouldn’t be this hard for us to find one fucking man in our own territory. How does no one ever see anything?” His frustration evident.

Except, Kenny didn’t have the usual calling card from the Alpha Slayer—a playing card with the traditional alpha, beta, and omega symbols drawn on it, but the fact his throat was slit and we all know Kenny was a piece of shit, means his murderer has to be the same guy.

There has to be a reason the killer broke their pattern. I’m just not sure what it is yet.

“I don’t know, man. Maybe he’s just that good?” Acid mutters, his focus glued to the screen in front of him as he scours doorbell footage and stoplight cameras for any trace of the bastard. “There are never any witnesses, and all the suspects have alibis. Even the cops are at a fucking loss.”

My mind isn’t on the killer right now. It’s on the woman we found with Kenny’s body last night. She’s a beta—meek, quiet, easy to overlook—but there was something about her that didn’t fit. And that body… fuck. The memory of her standing there in nothing but her bra and panties has me shifting uncomfortably, trying to ease the growing tightness in my jeans.

“What do you make of that beta, though?” I ask, trying to shake the image from my head. “How did Kenny snag a looker like that? Fuck, she was sexy.”

Acid chuckles. “Maybe he paid her, and she just didn’t wanna admit she was an escort. She was hot, though. A little dramatic, but I could think of a way to shut her up.”

Suave snorts from across the table, flipping a toothpick between his teeth. “Looks like that cost him more than he could afford. Dead and dick-drunk. Classic Kenny.”

I smirk, but it fades quickly. “We still need to figure out who he was working with. Finding him dead in bed means we didn’t get to torture answers out of him.”

My fingers tap against the armrest as I stare at the wall, frustration simmering. “Whoever he was getting tar from needs to be taken care of.”

I stand, pacing. “Dealers in our territory know we don’t do ice or tar. And they’re not following our no dealing to kids rule either.”

Nitro, perched on the arm of the couch with his vape, exhales slowly. “One of the corner kids saw a black SUV drop off shit to that apartment block near Hill. That’s off-limits. They knew it. Someone’s getting bold.”

I stop, turn back to the group. “We need to call Church.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re gathered, patched members only. The doors are shut. The mood’s heavy.

I look around. “This isn’t just about Kenny being an idiot and getting himself killed. Someone brought dope into our streets under our name. That makes us look weak.”

Gears grunts in agreement, arms folded tight. “Word’s gonna get out fast. If people think we’re looking the other way on tar, we’re gonna have a mess.”

Acid finally looks up from his laptop. “Dealers are testing us. Might be someone new, someone who thinks we’ve gone soft.”

“They’re about to find out otherwise,” Gears growls. “I want eyes on every corner. I want names. And if any of ‘em are pushing to kids, I want them gone. You know the rule.”

Nitro flips open a notepad. “I’ll tap the informants. Some of ‘em are overdue for a check-in anyway.”

Suave leans forward, grin sharp. “Let me handle cleanup once you get names. We’ll make it clear—no second chances.”

Nods circle the table. Agreement without words.

“Acid, you finish that footage. Arrow, coordinate with the dealers. Nitro, pull security logs. Suave, start your list. Everyone else—hit the streets. Shake the trees and see what falls.”

The meeting breaks. I push out of the room, jaw tight, needing air.

The second I step into the hallway, the sharp scent of mint hits me like a slap. I don’t even need to look.

Stacy.

The club whore who’s been trying to sink her claws into one of us for years.

“Hey, baby. I missed you. Where are you headed? I’ll go with you, let you work out some of that tension,” she purrs, her fingers trailing down my chest like she’s got a right to touch me.

My hand snaps up, grabbing her wrist, squeezing just enough to make her wince. “Stacy, we’ve talked about touching without askin’. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I wouldn’t fuck you with a prospect’s dick. Now get to goin’.”

Her eyes flash with anger, but she’s smart enough to back down.

“Arrow,” she whines, but I’m already walking past her, not bothering to look back.

Stacy’s a means to an end for the other guys—a quick fuck, nothing more. But I don’t mess with club pussy. Not me, Gears, or Acid. We’ve got bigger plans, a future that doesn’t involve drama or distractions.

We’ve been looking for our Kismet omega and when we do need to get laid, we find someone not involved in the MC life and share her for the night. Fucking club pussy as the three top officers, would just cause drama when we meet our omega, so we agreed to steer clear.

I head out to where my Harley-Davidson Iron 883 is parked, running my hand down the sleek, nugget yellow fender. She’s a beauty, my pride and joy, and the roar of her engine as I turn the key is like music to my ears. I back out of my spot slowly, savoring the power beneath me before I kick my feet up and hit the gas, tearing out of the compound and onto the open road.

My mind reels with frustration. It shouldn’t be this damn hard to find one killer in Renegade territory. You can’t just kill folks here and get away with it. This guy’s not only murdering on our turf, but he’s also targeting the same pieces of shit we’re after. It’s almost like he’s trying to do our job for us, but dead assholes don’t talk. And we need information.

I start cruising through town, making stops at every corner where our rats and low-level dealers usually lurk. I roll up on a couple of our usual informants, guys who typically have their ears to the ground, but they don’t know shit—or at least they’re too scared to say anything.

As the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the pavement, I pull into a dingy alley where one of our more reliable rats, Eddie, is known to hang out. His eyes widen when he sees me approaching, the fear in his gaze giving me a hint of satisfaction. Good, he should be scared.

“Eddie,” I growl, parking the bike and striding up to him. “What do you know about Kenny?”

“N-nothin’, Arrow, I swear. I didn’t even know he was dead until this mornin’,” the beta stammers, his hands shaking as he tries to light a cigarette.

“You better start remembering somethin’, or you’ll be next,” I threaten, low and menacing.

He swallows hard, finally managing to get the cigarette lit. “Okay, okay, look… word is there’s a new player in town. Some ghost of a guy. No one’s seen him, but he’s making moves, taking out the trash, and nobody knows why. But I heard he might work for someone big. Maybe even outta town.”

I narrow my eyes, considering this new information. It’s not much, but it’s a lead. “You hear anything else, you come straight to me. Understand?”

Eddie nods frantically, his cigarette nearly dropping from his trembling lips. “Y-yeah, Arrow, I got it.”

With that, I leave him to stew in his fear, the rumble of my bike echoing through the alley as I ride off. This shit’s getting more complicated by the day, but one thing’s for sure: I’m not stopping until I find this killer and make him pay.

The rest of the day was a bust. Every dealer I talked to had the same story—no one knew where Kenny was getting his shit from. They assumed it was us, and I had to remind them the rules still stand, or they’d be meeting Acid in the basement.

Someone murdered Kenny last night. It’s only the next day, and already someone has taken his spot dealin’. I met the new guy; he goes by Mario and seems alright as far as dealers go. I reiterated the rules to him, in case he thinks it’s a free for all here.

Apparently, Mario was appointed by the manufacturer himself, which was interesting, since usually they don’t give a fuck who’s dealing as long as they get their money. So we’ll have to keep an eye on him just to make sure he stays on the up and up.

My stomach’s growling like a damn bear, and I haven’t eaten all day, so I pull my bike into Ruby’s and park. Arky insists they have the best fries and I could go for a burger right about now. If I’m feeling nice, I might even bring the guys something back.

The smell of grease and fried potatoes hits me the moment I step through the door, and my stomach rumbles in response. It’s been years since I’ve been in here, maybe three or four, but the place hasn’t changed. The same old booths, the same dingy lighting. I pick a booth near the door and drop into the seat, flipping open the menu just as a familiar voice reaches my ears.

“Hey, welcome to Ruby's. Can I get you something to drink to start off?”

“Well, fuck me.” I close the menu and look up at the sexy little beta who was sleeping with a corpse.

Her smile falters when she recognizes me, her eyes widening in fear.

“I-I-I haven’t said nothing to anyone, I swear,” she whispers.

“Oh, I know, Sweet Thing,” I drawl, letting my gaze travel over her slowly, taking in the way her diner uniform clings to her curves. “I’m here purely by coincidence. I’ll take a Coke and the Deluxe Basket,” I say, licking my lips as my eyes linger on her chest. She’s just as stunning now as she was last night, her curves practically begging to be touched. Don’t get me started on her stunning hazel eyes and the reddish brown hair she has piled on her head in a bun. Last night, it was down and hung to her tits.

“That’s it, you’re sure?” she asks, tilting her head slightly, a hint of fire sparking in her eyes. So she’s got some fight in her after all.

“Yup. Just went out riding and got hungry. I’ll be coming around more often now that I know you work here,” I tease, watching as she walks away, her hips swaying with each step. There’s something about her that’s got me hooked, something that doesn’t quite add up. Last night she seemed meek and scared, but today she’s full of fire and defiance.

She returns with my drink, setting it down on the table with a practiced smile before turning to leave. I grab her wrist gently, and she snaps her eyes to mine, that fire sparking again. “Sit. Join me for a minute.”

“Why?” She raises a brow at me, clearly not impressed with my demand.

“I’d like to ask you a few more questions and can’t a guy ask a pretty girl to join him for lunch?”

“When that pretty girl is working? No, you can’t. But since you aren’t here to murder me, I’ll agree to a few moments.” She jerks her wrist away and sits down across from me, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“So, this is where you met Kenny?” I ask, leaning back in my seat, trying to gauge her reaction.

“Yup. I told you that,” she snaps, her tone laced with annoyance.

“You did. And you’re sure you just thought he was cute and went home with him? He didn’t pay you or nothin’?”

Her eyes narrow, and she leans forward, her tone dropping to a deadly whisper. “Are you insinuating I’m a whore for hire? No, he didn’t pay me. But I wasn’t totally truthful, either. He was okay at best, but a girl has needs, and he offered at the right time. Which was a mistake because not only did I wake up next to a dead guy, but he didn’t even make me come. Are we done now?”

I can’t help but grin, biting my bottom lip as I take in her expression. Something about her makes my instincts twitch. I catch myself leaning in slightly, trying to catch a whiff of something, anything—but there’s nothing.’

No scent. Must be a beta.

I can’t help but grin, biting my bottom lip as I take in her expression. “Yeah, baby, we’re done… for now. By the way, I'm Arrow.”

CHAPTER FOUR

BRYDGETT

Arrow showing up at the diner was a shock, but I think I played it off well enough. My heart thudded in my chest when I recognized him, but I kept my smile steady, even though it felt like my stomach was doing flips. He wasn’t wrong in assuming Kenny wasn't my type. The guy looked and acted like a slimeball, the kind of man who makes your skin crawl with just one glance.

Sitting with Arrow wasn’t part of the plan, but the idea of playing along with whatever game he had in mind intrigued me. And honestly, who could resist? The man looked like he stepped out of a bad-boy fantasy, all inked skin and sharp features that made my heart race just looking at him. I left him to get his deluxe basket, delivering it with a smile before tending to the other patrons. His gaze burned a hole in my back the entire time I flitted about the diner.

Seeing he’s done, I decide to give him a little extra show. I put a little sway in my hips as I walk back to his table, feeling his eyes on me with each step. “See you next time,” I purr, dropping the check in front of him.

“Oh, you can count on that, baby,” he growls. I don’t miss his left hand trying to adjust himself discreetly under the table. The sight sends a thrill through me, and I can’t help but shoot him a playful wink before turning away, saying a special thanks to my blockers for masking my arousal.

In the back, Ruby is waiting for me, her expression serious. “Can you come to my office for a minute?”

“Give me a sec,” I respond, wondering what she wants.

I check on my other table before heading to her office and stepping inside.

“You summoned?” I ask, trying to shake off the lingering effect of Arrow’s presence.

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about you taking off this weekend at the last minute. That can’t happen again, Brydge. You wanna request time off, so be it, but you can’t just short staff me out of the blue for a weekend.” She sets the pen she was writing with down and leans back in her chair, eyeing me.

I nod, feeling the weight of her words. “Yes, ma'am. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

I mean it, too. Ruby has always been fair, treating me with a kindness I didn’t always deserve. I know I can’t afford to lose this job, and I appreciate her honesty, even if it is a mild scolding.

“You’re a good girl, Brydge, and I know you have a kid, but this is my baby. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Get back out on the floor. Wait! Can you take the trash out for me?”

“Yes, ma'am.” I pull the bag from the can and tie the strings together, walking to the backdoor. Propping the door open with the block of wood we keep in the back, I grab the bags by the door as well. As soon as I heave the bags over the side of the dumpster, I’m pushed inside the fenced area it's contained in, and the gate closes. What the fuck?

Before I can react, a hard body presses against my back and a warm breath tickles my ear. “You’re too damn sexy for your own good, baby,” a familiar voice murmurs, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Did you follow me out here?” I ask, pushing my ass back against Arrow’s cock. He’s rock hard and despite myself, heat pools low in my belly.

Sue me, he’s hot and I’m only human. Plus, he smells delicious: like apple, plum, and sandalwood.

“Yes. You should be more aware of your surroundings,” he breathes, his teeth grazing my ear, then my neck, then my shoulder. Each graze is sending a jolt of pleasure through me.

“Fuck,” I whimper, my body responding to him in ways I can’t control.

Thank fuck I have my slick blocker panties on and took my suppressants, or he’d know I’m an omega instantly.

“Not yet. You’re better than a quick fuck by a dumpster,” he growls. “But fuck, I can’t keep myself in check around you.”

He slides a hand down the front of my pants, cupping my mound. I should stop him, but I can’t seem to find it in me to want to. Fuck it.

“Brydge! You alright?!” Ruby calls from the diner, snapping me back to reality.

“Dammit!” he mutters and releases me, pulling his hand away. I spin and raise up on my tiptoes, kissing his cheek.

“Sorry.” I wink before turning and walking away, my legs shaky. I speed-walk back to the diner, my heart racing for entirely different reasons now.

“Everything alright, Brydge?” Ruby asks as I slip through the door, letting it shut behind me.

“Yeah. I broke one of the bags when I was throwing them in. Just picking up my mess. Sorry,” I lie, my mind still reeling from what had just happened.

The rest of my shift passed without incident, though I couldn’t shake the memory of his touch, his scent, the way he made me feel. I didn’t see Arrow again, but when I cleared his table, I found a good-sized tip waiting for me. The money felt like a small victory, a reminder of the power I still held in this little game.

I'm going to use it to treat myself and Judge later this week.

“I’m out of here, Ruby!” I call, grabbing my bag and cashing out my credit card tips.

I push through the door and make my way across the parking lot to my GTO, sliding behind the wheel with a sigh of relief. My only thought is getting home to snuggle with Judge.

When I get there, Judge is sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework. “Hi, Georgia. Hi, baby.”

“Mommmm,” he grumbles without looking up. “I’m not a baby. Can’t you just call me Judge? You named me that, and I want to be called that.”

I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. “Yes, ba—I mean, Judge. I will try to stop calling you baby. But you know, even though you’re eight, you’ll always be my baby, right?”

“Yeah. It’s embarrassing, though. So maybe you can only call me it at home?”

“I can do that.” I ruffle his hair before leaning down and kissing his temple. “Let me go take a shower and wash the smell of grease off me. Then we can talk about what you wanna do tomorrow since I’m off and I got a good tip today.”

“I wanna go to the trampoline park! Please, can we go there?!” Judge squeals, bouncing in his chair.

“Yeah, we can go there. I’ll check what time they open when I’m done showering.” I playfully roll my eyes while smiling and head down the hall toward the bathroom. Of course he wants to go there; it’s always his pick if he gets one.

After a quick shower, I dress in a pair of skull-covered jogging pants and a black tank top, padding back to the table where Judge is packing his homework away in his bag.

“Since you’re off school tomorrow for school improvement day, we can sleep in and have bacon for breakfast, then head to the trampoline park. What do you think?”

“Sounds good to me. Georgia, are you gonna come with us?” He looks at our neighbor with bright eyes and a toothy smile.

“No, sir. It’s my day off, too. I'm going to take a nap and watch my soaps.” She grabs her sweater from the back of the chair she was sitting in and heads to the counter where her purse is.

“Here, Georgia.” I hand her a twenty from my purse and she smiles softly at me before leaving our apartment.

“Okay, let’s see what time this place opens, shall we?” I dig in my purse for my phone but don't see it. Where is it? I empty all the contents out on the counter, but still nothing.

Fuck! I must have left it at work.

“I left my phone at work, J. We’ll have to swing by the diner after breakfast to grab it and then head out on our adventure.”

“Sounds good to me,” he replies and I can’t help but think how lucky I am that my kid is so easygoing.

A few hours later, we are cooking spaghetti together—his choice, of course. As we sit down to eat, he tells me all about his day and how there was a fight in the hall with the older kids. I hate his school. I’m hoping this year is his last year in public school. I’ve been scrimping and saving, putting away a little from each check and any good tips into a savings account for him to attend a private academy next year. We’re so close.

After dinner, I tuck him in and read him The Very Hungry Dinosaur. When he finally passes out, I lay Ghostface next to him and kiss his forehead before heading to my room. I fall asleep to filthy fantasies of me taking Arrow’s knot. If only I didn’t come with the past that I do. I have no regrets about having and keeping Judge, but who wants a single mom omega who has a child from an assault?

That’s more baggage than I wanna deal with, let alone a pack. So I’ll just keep taking my blockers and giving my little boy the best life I can. Me and him against the world.

CHAPTER FIVE

BRYDGETT

“Are you ready, J? If you wanna get to the trampoline park as soon as they open, we need to leave now! I still need to stop by work and get my phone, Judge.” I’m standing by the door to our apartment, waiting for Judge to come out of his room. He went to put shoes on and ten minutes later I’m still standing here. Why does this kid take years to put shoes on every time?

He comes sprinting down the hall, his small frame full of life as he slides to a stop next to me, nearly losing his balance. "Okay. Let’s go," he chirps.

"Finally," I tease, opening the door to let him out first. I watch as he bounces ahead, his energy contagious. I lock the door, my mind flitting back to the list of things I need to do today.

Downstairs, I unlock the car so Judge can climb in while I take care of Marcus. My heart tugs as I approach his usual spot, a makeshift bed in the shadows. "Marcus, are you awake?" I call softly, not wanting to startle him.

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

“I brought some leftovers from breakfast. We’re headed to the trampoline park for the day. It’s supposed to rain tonight. Are you sure you won’t come in and sleep on my couch?” I already know the answer, but I have to ask or I wouldn’t feel right.

“No,” he says instantly and matter-of-factly.

“Okay.” I sigh and hand him the bag of goodies I brought. “See you later.”

I walk to my second love, slide into the driver's seat, and fire it up. “Did Marcus agree to come inside tonight?” Judge asks from the backseat as he buckles his seatbelt.

“Nope. I asked though.” I buckle myself, put the car in drive, and pull away from the curb. The radio bursts to life, and the familiar beats of We Will Rock You by In This Moment fill the car. Judge’s favorite. I glance in the rearview mirror just in time to see him light up, his little head already bobbing to the beat. I can’t help but laugh as he starts belting out the lyrics, overflowing with enthusiasm.

He loves Maria Brink, and I can’t blame him. The woman is hot as sin and has one hell of a set of pipes.

We sing and laugh the rest of the drive to Ruby’s. When we arrive, I park close to the door, turn the engine off, and angle my body to look at Judge. “I’ll be right back, J. Then we’ll be on our way.” He doesn’t answer, so I take that as my cue to move my ass.

Stepping into the diner, I’m greeted by Ruby.

“What are you doing here, Brydge? It’s your day off,” Ruby calls, not looking up from the cash register.

“I left my phone here yesterday. Judge and I are headed to the trampoline park, so I wanted to grab it on the way.”

I walk behind the counter, scanning the familiar shelves where I usually leave my phone. A small sigh of relief escapes me when I spot it exactly where I left it. We’re not allowed to have it on our person, but since Ruby knows Judge only has me, she lets me leave it there.

I shove the phone into my back pocket, giving Ruby a quick wave as I head toward the door. "See you tomorrow, Ruby."

“See ya tomorrow, Brydge. Oh! Can you work a twelve tomorrow? Seven to seven. Lisa called out,” Ruby asks, her words following me as I push open the door.

But before I can respond, an ear-piercing scream shatters the air—Judge’s scream. The sound of my baby in distress rips through me like a blade. My heart lurches, my blood turns to ice, and for a moment, the world stops. It feels like hours that everything around me freezes before my instincts take over propelling me forward.

Listen, I know I’m not your typical omega but one stereotype I do fit? Harm my baby and I won’t just go feral. I’ll burn the world to the ground.

The sight that greets me outside roots me to the spot, my breath catching in my throat as terror tempers my instincts. There are three men—alphas I recognize all too well. Gears, Arrow, and the one whose name I never caught.

Gears has Judge in his arms, my baby thrashing, kicking, and screaming with everything he has. “Knock it off, pipsqueak,” Gears growls, his glare sharp enough to cut, and something inside me snaps.

A feral scream tears from my throat, and I charge at them, my vision tunneling with rage and fear. I slam into Gears with everything I’ve got; the impact forcing him back a step. He loses his balance, and for a brief second, I know I have a chance. But then he catches himself, his grip on Judge loosening just long enough for my son to break free and start running.

“Not so fast, little man,” Arrow murmurs as he grabs Judge by the arm, pulling him back.

"Let him fucking go!" I scream, raw with desperation. I twist and fight against Gears as he grabs me, locking me in a brutal hold.

I stomp down hard on Gears’ foot, feeling the crunch of bone beneath my boot, then slam my head back into his nose with all the strength I can muster. Pain explodes in my skull, but it’s nothing compared to the terror clawing at my insides.

"Fuck!" Gears roars. He lets me go and I make a break for it. I lunge for Arrow, every fiber of my being focused on getting my baby back. But before I can reach him, something hard connects with the side of my head. A sharp, searing pain radiates through my skull, and I feel myself crumpling to the ground.

“Mom!” Judge’s scream is the last thing I hear, the word echoing in my mind as darkness pulls me under.

ACID (LAST NIGHT)

Arrow strolls into the clubhouse with a goofy-looking grin on his face and his usually sharp eyes glazed over with something I can’t quite place. He needs to get his head on straight because we’ve got shit to do, and I don’t have time for whatever the hell is running through his mind.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I snap, watching as he finally makes his way over to me.

“I was questioning the dealers and ended up meeting Kenny’s replacement, so I reminded him of our rules. Then I stopped at Ruby’s and grabbed some grub.” He plops down on the barstool next to me like it’s just another day in paradise, but there’s something different about the way he moves, like he’s not fully here.

Aubrey, another club whore, immediately swoops in, handing Arrow a beer. She’s all smiles, probably hoping to earn herself a bit of attention.

“Thanks, G,” he mutters, opening the can and taking a long drink.

“Why you coming in here looking freshly fucked or in love if you were just out doing club business?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. His face splits into a slow grin, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s about to tell me some bullshit story, but instead, he surprises me.

“Remember that beta from Kenny’s?” He sets his beer down and turns to look me dead in the eye, his grin turning into something a bit more mischievous.

“The hot as fuck but annoying one who slept next to a corpse? Yes, I fucking remember her.” I say, rolling my eyes.

My mind races. What the fuck does that bitch have to do with this? Did he find something? We did mention she might have a pimp or escort who killed Kenny, so maybe he confirmed that motive. A lot is riding on figuring out who took Kenny out. We need to know who his dealer was because we don’t tolerate tard on our turf. The Demons and us have an agreement—tar is theirs. If they find out it’s being distributed by someone under our chain of command, we risk a turf war.

I’m not about to let this asshole go off on some tangent.

“She works at Ruby’s. She was a bit stunned when I showed up. Thought I was there to kill her or some shit. I assured her it was a coincidence. I asked her a few questions and told her I didn’t think she had anything to do with the murder. Just wrong place, wrong time.” He smiles as he talks, and if he doesn’t get to whatever the fuck point he is trying to make, I’m going to break his fucking jaw.

“Could we get to the point of this fucking story?” I bark.

“Patience, young alpha.” He pats my cheek. “Followed her out to the parking lot when she was taking out the trash and had a little fun.”

“You fucked the beta bitch!?” I practically shout. Arrow always thinks with his dick, but fuck me, she might be the key to solving not only who was giving Kenny his drugs, but who this killer is. How the hell does he think this is okay? He knows better.

“No. Barely got to touch her cunt before her boss was hollering for her to come back inside. But Acid, man, I think she could be⁠—”

“She can’t be nothin’. She fucked Kenny and is a person of interest to the club. Your brother is gonna have your ass when he hears this shit.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Arrow’s supposed to be smarter than this, but now he’s tangled himself up with a woman who might be involved in Kenny’s murder. Just as I’m about to give him another piece of my mind, Gears comes from the hallway, followed by Nitro. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. He smacks Nitro on the back with a smile before looking our way.

“You two, my office, now,” he shouts, his voice doesn’t leave room for argument.

Grabbing our beers, we leave our stools and head to his office to see what he wants now. Once we step inside, we take our seats opposite his desk.

“What’s up, Pres?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“Nitro found something. He's got a cousin who lives a block behind Kenny's place. Their backyards connect. Well, he called Nitro, and said he got something on his camera we might wanna see.” Gears holds up a USB drive before handing it to me. There’s a gleam in his eye that tells me whatever’s on here is important—something that might finally give us a lead.

“Thanks, fuckhead,” I mutter, smirking as I take the drive. “Good to know you’re useful for something.”

Gears is our President and my best friend. His dad was President until he died and Gears took his place, and his little brother, Arrow, is the VP. We’ve been friends since we were kids, so while I respect Gears as our leader, when we’re alone like this, we’re just best friends.

Quickly plugging the USB into the port on my laptop, I begin clicking like a madman.

“Alright, here’s the night of Kenny’s murder.” Arrow leans in, his eyes glued to the screen, and I can’t help but lean closer too. Gears comes around to stand behind us. His presence is heavy as we all watch the footage.

The video is grainy, but clear enough to make out someone in Kenny’s backyard, obviously picking his lock. The door opens, and the figureheads inside. They’re not very tall, but that doesn’t mean much. Kenny was killed in his bed, probably sound asleep when this person came for him. An hour later, you see one of the prospects checking the perimeter; so this is when we first arrived. The footage shows nothing for a good few minutes until in the far right of the screen, a shadow comes into view. You can see someone come to the side of the house and fuck around in the bushes. They stand up and have something in their hand but I can’t make out what it is. The item is shoved under their clothing and then we get a glimpse of their face when they look around, checking their surroundings.

“What the fuck?” Arrow murmurs, disbelief etched across his face.

“That lying bitch,” I snarl, fury boiling in my gut. She played us all like fools.

“I want to know everything about that woman. I want her in the basement by the end of the day tomorrow, so we can question her. She knows way more than she let on last night.” Gears storms from the room, hollering for Nitro and Suave.

“You almost fucked the enemy.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Your brother is going to shit when he finds out now.”

“Fuck off. At least we know where she works,” he snaps back. “Thankfully, I only felt her up a little. Didn’t even get to dip a finger in her cunt. It’s a small consolation, but it’s enough to keep me from losing my shit completely.”

“We’re gonna need a drink to deal with this shit. Let’s go back to the bar,” I suggest. In sync, we stand and trudge out to the bar, taking our seats and getting to work on our plan.

“We know she works at Ruby’s thanks to dick for-brains here, and you found her address, but that’s all we got?” Gears asks as we sit at the bar, sharing a bottle of VO.

“Nothin’. She’s like a ghost. Whoever she has taking care of her online footprint is good. Real fucking good.” I throw back the shot glass of whiskey and slam it down on the bar. The burn is welcome, grounding me in the moment, but it doesn’t do shit for the gnawing feeling in my gut.

“In the morning, we send Suave and Nitro to her house to check it out. The three of us will hit Ruby’s and see if she’s there or if we can sway her boss to give us her schedule.” Gears pulls his phone from his cut and fires off a message to Suave and Nitro.

“I know we don’t usually deal with women in the basement, but this beta won’t make a fool of us again. You gonna be okay with that, Acid? Not saying we’re killing her…yet…but you might have to slap her around a bit.”

“I’m fine. I’ll do whatever we need to do to figure out who’s trying to bring tar and ice into our territory. The Alpha Slayer ain't killing anyone we didn’t plan to kill or had an eye on. But no one gets to kill in our territory but me,” I assure him.

THE NEXT MORNING

When we pull into Ruby’s parking lot, I spot a Pontiac GTO, and the beta in question slips out and hurries inside. I stifle a smirk. This is almost too easy. If I believed in divine intervention, I might’ve given thanks, but in our world, there’s no room for faith—only opportunity. Today, luck’s on our side.

I kill the engine, my senses sharpening as I take in the scene. We dismount our bikes, and I motion for the others to follow as I head toward her car, curiosity prickling at the back of my mind. What’s she hiding? I lean against the trunk, lighting a cigarette as I glance around. I plan to pop the lock and see if there’s anything worth our time inside, but then I hear it—the faint creak of a car door opening and shutting.

“Get the hell away from our car!” the shout cuts through the air, yanking my attention to the source. I look up to see a kid, no older than eight, standing by the car. His black hair is styled much like mine, his stance defiant, fists clenched at his sides. The kid’s got guts, I’ll give him that.

“What’s your name, buddy?” I ask, blowing out a cloud of smoke, amused by his bravado.

“None of your business. This is my mom's car and she’ll be back any minute. Don’t touch it,” he scolds me.

I blink, taken aback. So, the beta has a son. That’s a twist. I’m not shocked she has a kid, but now I’m curious—where’s the father? What kind of man lets his woman get mixed up with Kenny while they’ve got a kid at home? I start to feel a pang of something almost like sympathy, but I shove it aside. We’ve got a job to do.

Gears steps up behind the kid and before I can react, he snatches the boy up, dragging him down the road, signaling for us to follow with a sharp tilt of his head.

“What the hell, man?” Arrow asks through clenched teeth. “We’re kidnapping now?”

“No,” Gears replies, his tone cold as ice, “but she’ll be more cooperative if we have collateral.” He tightens his grip on the boy, who lets out a scream that makes my skin crawl. It’s primal, filled with terror, and I can’t help but feel a flicker of guilt.

Seconds later, the door slams open, and there she is—the beta, her auburn hair piled messily on her head, eyes wild with fear and fury. Her gaze locks on Gears, and she sees her son struggling in his grasp.

Without a second’s hesitation, she charges at Gears, her small frame moving with a ferocity that catches me off guard. She slams into him with a force that makes him stumble, her strength fueled by pure, maternal rage. For a moment, she has the upper hand and I have to say I’m impressed she is able to do so given not only her size but designation. The kid wriggles free, and he bolts toward the car, but Arrow is faster, grabbing the kid by the arm and hauling him back.

“Not so fast, little man,” Arrow mutters, holding the boy tight as he thrashes.

“Let him fucking go!” she screams.

She fights like a wildcat, twisting and kicking as Gears grabs her again, locking her in a brutal hold. But she’s not giving up. She stomps down hard on Gears’ foot and follows it up by slamming her head back into his face, and the sickening crack of his nose breaking echoes through the air.

“Fuck!” Gears roars, staggering back, blood streaming from his nose.

The beta doesn’t waste a second—she lunges for Arrow, her eyes blazing with desperation. But before she can reach him, I step forward, my hand tightening around the butt of my gun.

I hate what I’m about to do, but there’s no other way. The others are too preoccupied to stop her, and she’s too damn determined. I bring the butt of the gun down hard on the back of her head, and she crumples to the ground, unconscious, before she hits the pavement.

“Mom!” The boy’s scream is like a dagger to the gut, piercing through the chaos. I look at him, and for a split second, I see something in his eyes that makes my heart clench—fear, desperation, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. But I push it away.

This is the life we chose, and there’s no room for mercy.

“Get them in her car and to the clubhouse,” Gears grunts, holding a bandana to his nose to stem the bleeding. “We’ve caused enough of a scene out here.”

Arrow lifts the kid, who’s still screaming, still fighting, and carries him to the car. I bend down, gently lifting the beta into my arms, feeling the slight weight of her body against mine. For a moment, I hesitate. There’s something about her—something in the way she fought for her kid, in the way she didn’t back down, even when the odds were stacked against her—that stirs something deep inside me. But I can’t afford to think like that. Not now.

The Renegade always comes first.

I set her in the backseat, and he reaches over, clutching her hand, tears streaming down his face. I slide into the driver’s seat, my mind already racing ahead to what comes next. Time to get some answers.

“Arrow, go inside and make sure if anyone saw something, they keep their mouths shut or we’ll be paying them a visit, too.” I tell him before turning the key in the ignition.

As I pull out onto the street, heading for the clubhouse, I can’t help but admit—at least to myself—that there’s something dangerously attractive about her. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my cock is semi-hard at the way she protected her kid and busted Gears’ nose. Most people see the cut, know we’re Renegade and steer clear.

Not her…it’s sexy as hell.

If things were different, if I wasn’t about to possibly torture information out of her, I might’ve been tempted to pull an Arrow and see what else she’s capable of.

CHAPTER SIX

BRYDGETT

Fuck, my head hurts. The pounding in my skull is relentless, each throb feeling like a hammer driving into my brain. I try to move, instinctively wanting to reach up and cradle the back of my head, but my wrists don’t budge. My arms are bound behind my back around this chair with what feels like rope. Forcing my eyes open, I take in my surroundings.

The room around me is dim, with only the barest amount of light shining in through a window. It’s dank, the air thick with the smell of decay and dampness, as if this basement-like space hasn’t seen daylight in years. I’m in a metal chair, my ankles are bound to the front legs.

What the hell?

Then everything comes rushing back to me like a slap to the face. The sound of Judge’s frightened cry, the force of the blow that sent me crashing into darkness, and the desperate realization that I couldn’t protect my son.

Judge. Where the hell is my son?

“Hey, you alpha bastards, where the fuck is my kid?!” I scream, letting them know I’m awake. If there is even one hair out of place on his sweet little head, I will call in every favor owed to me and destroy this fucking club. They might rule the streets here in Hopewell, but they don’t know who they’re messing with. I will burn this entire place to the ground and salt the earth beneath it.

The door creaks open with agonizing slowness, and the three fuckheads saunter in, their expressions smug, predatory. The one in the middle, Gears—they call him, but in my mind, he’s just another bastard—smirks down at me. “Nice to see you’re finally awake,” he drawls, settling into a chair across from me as the other two flank him.

“Where is my son?” I demand, every word laced with a threat. My pulse pounds in my ears as fury flows through me.

“He’s fine,” Bastard chuckles, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Kind of a shithead, but he’s upstairs in one piece.”

I narrow my eyes at the bastard in front of me. “If you’ve hurt him in any way, I swear on my life⁠—”

“We don’t fuck with kids, woman,” he interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. “Usually don’t fuck with women either, but we’ve made an exception for you. Since you lied to us. We have you on video pulling something from Kenny’s bushes. So we know you weren’t there just fucking some creepy alpha.”

I plaster on a devious smile. “Sue me, I dropped something. Is that a crime?”

“Cut the bullshit,” he snaps. “Kenny was killed the same way as all the other Alpha Slayer victims, minus the playing card. We want to know who he is. He’s messing with people we needed answers from, so now he’s our business. Tell us where we can find him, and you and your kid are free to go.”

My lips curl into a sneer, the bitter taste of defiance flooding my mouth. “Go fuck yourself,” I spit, the words drenched in venom.

The third, who I haven’t caught a name for yet, advances on me. He must be the muscle, the one they send in to do the dirty work. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he rips my head back to look up at him.

“Come again?” he growls, a low rumble that vibrates through my bones.

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.” I repeat, each word precise, deliberate. They dared to touch my son, to knock me out in front of him and drag us both into this hellhole. They want information? They’ll have to rip it from my cold, dead hands.

The alpha’s face twists with anger, and he raises his hand, slapping me hard enough that the world spins for a moment. Pain explodes across my cheek, the force of the blow sending my head snapping to the side. A coppery tang fills my mouth, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing me in pain.

“You hit like a bitch,” I taunt, working my jaw to ease the sting. The taste of blood only sharpens my resolve. They think they can break me? They have no idea what I’ve been through.

His eyes darken with fury, but before he can strike again, Bastard waves him off.

“Maybe some more time in the dark, alone, will help you see reason. I’d hate to keep you away from your kid longer than necessary, but you have the answers I want.”

I swallow hard, fighting the rising tide of panic. Judge is upstairs, alone, surrounded by these monsters. My instincts scream at me to fight. Defend. Protect. I need to keep it together, find a way out. But first, I need to buy time, to understand what they’re really after.

“Why do you want to know?” I ask. “The Alpha Slayer killed Kenny, but you said it yourself he was scum. So why is finding the killer so important?”

Bastard leans back in his chair, considering me with a cold, calculating gaze. “Because Kenny was dealing heroin and meth. Both aren’t allowed in Hopewell, and we wanted to bring Kenny here and have a little chat with him about why he decided to break our rules and find out who was getting him the shit. Your buddy took that from us, and he’s not the first kill he took from us either. So we need to have a conversation with your murderous friend.”

My heart sinks as the pieces start to fall into place. This isn’t just about revenge or justice—they’re protecting their empire, their territory. And I’ve unwittingly thrown a wrench into their plans.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell him. “But just know that if you lay one finger on my boy, then all bets are off and when I get out of here, I’ll fucking castrate you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bastard says.

They turn on their heels and head for the door, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. The sound of the basement door slamming shut leaves me in a sudden, heavy silence.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.

My mind races, trying to piece together a plan. They have no clue I’m the Alpha Slayer, which is both a blessing and a curse. If they knew, they’d kill me on the spot. But without a scapegoat to hand over, I’m running out of options. They’re too stupid to realize a woman could be their elusive killer, and that ignorance might be my only advantage.

If it were just me, I’d let them do their worst. I can handle pain; I’ve been through hell and back more times than I can count. But Judge…he needs me. If I don’t get out of here, he’ll end up in the system, lost and alone, maybe even back with Earl and Tina. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.

I glance around the room, taking in every detail. The tools on the bench, likely intended for torture, the single door they used to come and go, and the small window to my right. It’s barely large enough to crawl through, but if I can free myself, it might be my only shot.

It’s dark outside—that’s good. Darkness means cover, a chance to slip away unnoticed. But it also means I’ve been out cold for hours, maybe a full day. My blockers are wearing off, and if I don’t get them soon, my secret will be out. I can’t afford that. Not now, not when everything is on the line.

My wrists ache from the rough ropes binding them behind my back, and my legs feel like lead, stiff and swollen from being tied down. My head throbs where they struck me earlier, and the metallic taste of blood still lingers in my mouth.

Eventually, the door creaks open again, the dim light spilling into the room as the same three bastards walk in—Bastard, Arrow, and the bitch. They don’t say a word, just stand there, looking at me with varying degrees of irritation and impatience.

Bastard steps forward, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down at me.

“Thought you might’ve had some time to think things over,” he says, calm on the surface. “You ready to talk now?”

I raise my head, meeting his gaze with a defiant glare. “Fuck off,” I hiss.

I won’t give them what they want. They can beat me, break me, but I’ll never betray who I am.

Gears narrows his eyes, then glances over at the bitch.

“Acid,” he says quietly. “Do your thing.”

Acid doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, looming over me like a predator eyeing its prey.

“You’ve got a smart mouth, but I’m gonna fix that,” he snarls. He cocks his arm back, and for a moment, time seems to slow. I can see the muscles in his arm tense, the malicious gleam in his eye, and then the punch lands squarely on my jaw. The force of the blow is brutal, snapping my head to the side and sending stars exploding across my vision.

I bite down hard on my tongue, tasting blood, and blink rapidly to clear the tears blurring my vision.

I won’t break. I can’t.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Gears taunts. “Just tell us what we want to know, and this can all stop. You can go back to your kid, pretend like none of this ever happened.”

I lift my head, my vision swimming, and meet his gaze with what little strength I have left. “Fuck you,” I whisper, the words barely audible through the blood and pain.

Acid’s eyes darken with fury, and he raises his fist again, ready to deliver another brutal blow. But before he can, Arrow finally steps forward, grabbing Acid’s arm mid-swing.

“That’s enough,” Arrow says, tense, almost shaky.

Gears glares at him, clearly annoyed by the interruption. “The hell, man? We’re not done here.”

Arrow doesn’t back down. He’s watching me, and for the first time, I see something in his eyes that I didn’t expect—hesitation, maybe even guilt.

“You’re gonna kill her,” he mutters. “She’s not gonna talk if she’s dead.”

The two of them lock eyes, a silent battle of wills playing out between them. Arrow doesn’t flinch, and after a tense moment, Acid lets out a low growl and steps back.

Acid, who’s been silently observing this exchange, sighs.

“Fine,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s talk.”

They huddle together in the corner, their voices low and hushed. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but the tension in the room is thick, almost suffocating. Acid’s still fuming, his hands flexing as if he’s itching to resume the beating, while Arrow’s expression is unreadable, though he keeps glancing at me with that same conflicted look. Gears, as always, remains calm, collected—calculating.

The argument doesn’t last long. Acid storms out first, his boots thudding heavily on the stairs as he leaves, followed closely by Arrow, who throws one last uneasy look over his shoulder at me.

Gears lingers for a moment, turning back to face me. He takes a step closer, his face inches from mine, and for the first time, I see a flicker of something other than cold detachment in his eyes—something darker, more dangerous.

“I’m not gonna use your boy against you, Beta,” he murmurs, the chill in his words unmistakable. “But don’t make me tell him his momma is dead.”

With that, he turns and strides toward the door, his footsteps echoing ominously in the small room. He pauses just long enough to flip the light switch, plunging the room back into total darkness. The door slams shut, the lock clicking into place, and I’m alone again.

“Fuck you!” I scream, the words ripping from my throat. “You fucking fuck!”

Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I can’t afford to break now. Not when everything is at stake. But deep down in the pit of my stomach, doubt festers, gnawing away at my resolve.

How the hell am I going to get out of this?

CHAPTER SEVEN

GEARS

My brothers and I ascend the steps, the old wooden stairs creaking under our weight. The tension between us is palpable. Arrow, normally so composed, looks like he’s struggling with something. His eyes dart around, his expression a mix of frustration and something darker, more primal. Acid, meanwhile, looks like he’s wrestling with his own demons, adjusting himself as if he’s fighting an internal battle.

We reach the top of the stairs, and I lead the way down the hallway toward the playroom. My mind is still reeling from the encounter with our captive. Her audacity and resilience have sparked something in me that I can't quite ignore, but the club and finding out how she knows the Slayer comes first.

The playroom is bright green and full of toys and anything a kid could want, a stark contrast to the darkness we just left behind. The television is on and playing the new Mario movie, its soundtrack blaring through the surround sound. Mac and cheese wafts through the air mixing with my mom’s and baby sister’s scents.

The boy sits at a small table, his attention fixed on the movie as he eats his mac and cheese. My mom, Bettie, and my little sister, Dillon, sit on either side of him, doing their best to keep him entertained and distracted. Dillon is playing with a set of colorful Legos, and Mom is perched on the edge of the couch, her gaze flickering between the boy and the door.

“Where’s my mom?” the boy asks for the one-thousandth time.

“She’s helping us with something, then she’ll be back,” I lie, and my mom cuts her eyes to me in a glare.

“If you hurt my mom, I’ll kick your ass,” the kid says around a mouthful of cheesy noodles.

“My brothers don’t let the club hurt women and kids, right, big brother?” Dillon cocks her head to the side and purses her lips.

“Right,” I grind out, annoyed that my sister and mom are on my ass about this already.

They don’t understand the bigger picture; the stakes involved. We’re on the verge of uncovering something critical—information that could lead us to a serial killer and the source of the drugs poisoning our territory.

“Keep an eye on him. We’re gonna go handle some business,” I tell my mom and sister, motioning for Acid and Arrow to follow me.

Mom gets up from her spot next to the boy. She crosses the room and grabs my earlobe, her other hand copying the action to Arrow.

“Raiden and Orion Briggs. Titus Beck, you mark my words. You hurt that female in any way and I’ll have your asses. Your daddy would be rolling in his grave if he knew you even had a female in his basement. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” we reply in unison, and I wince at the hollow promise.

The truth is, I’m lying to her—something that feels almost sacrilegious, given how much I respect her.

“Good. Now go deal with the situation and get this boy back to his momma. You know what it’s like to lose a parent, so to even let him feel an ounce of that is cruel.” She pats my cheek with a knowing look, her gaze softening slightly before she turns back to the table, her attention once again focused on the boy and Dillon.

The weight of her words lingers as we leave the room. I have an expectation to uphold The Renegade and to my dad who lost his life in service to this club.

The three of us make our way down the hallway, then down the basement stairs, the light casting long shadows on the walls. I can smell her—jasmine and oranges—stronger than before, mingling with the stench of sweat and fear. It’s almost suffocating, this heady mixture, and it does something to me. I can’t quite place it, but it unsettles me.

“Fuck, she smells good,” Arrow groans, the words tight and strained.

I give him a swift smack on the back of his head, the sound sharp in the confined space.

“Think with the head on your shoulders, not the one between your legs,” I snap, frustration seeping into my tone. We’re here on business, not pleasure, and I don’t need distractions from my men, especially not now.

Pushing open the door to the basement, the sight that greets us is all too familiar. She’s still tied to the chair, but her appearance has changed. Her hair, once neatly pinned up, is now wild and disheveled, her eyes darting around with a mix of defiance and desperation. The look she gives us is anything but submissive. Instead, it’s almost… mocking.

“So nice of you to join me in my suite,” she says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

I can’t help but feel a grudging respect for her bravery. Here she is, tied up, beaten, and yet she still has the nerve to sass us. If she wasn’t a means to an end, I might admit her bravado has my cock hardening in my jeans.

“Have you decided to cooperate or should my boy, Acid, smack you around a little more?”

“Oooh, can I take option C? We make a deal and he slaps me around? I’ve always liked it rough when I play,” she sasses and I see her wiggle in her chair. The groans from Acid and Arrow behind me are telling. They’re clearly affected by her words and scent, their restraint fraying at the edges.

“Tell us what we need to know and you can take your kid and go,” I growl, trying to keep control of the situation.

“It’s not that easy,” she says, a grimace forming on her face. “I have a few more questions before I make up my mind.”

“Shoot,” I reply and sit on the chair backward across from her, leaning my arms against the back.

She pauses, a groan leaving her throat and I quirk a brow at her. Something is going on with her right now, but I’m not sure what.

“Say I tell you who the Alpha Slayer is. I want to know what your intentions are. I’m not sending the killer to their death. Now, if you’re wanting to work together, I’d be more convinced to share what I know. But I can tell you that the Slayer doesn’t know anything about your dealers or drugs. Their kills are purely based on the hurting of helpless, unsuspecting people, not drugs, unless drugs are their weapon of choice.”

I let her words sink in, considering the implications.

“I’d prefer to work together. While Acid is one hell of an enforcer, we could use someone else with the Slayer’s skill set as our territory grows,” I answer her honestly.

“So you want to meet and see if they’ll what— join your biker gang?” She laughs, but her face contorts like she’s in pain.

Acid must have really worked her over good.

“Not that it’s your concern, but yes. If the Slayer agrees to stop killing at random and kill for us, he will be unharmed and an ally to The Renegade.”

My nose twitches as her scent gets stronger. Why her scent is so strong when she’s a beta, I’m not sure. Maybe she has a condition of some sort, or the beating put her body in overdrive.

“No.” She shakes her head.

“No?” I ask. “How do you know what he’d agree to? You his secretary or some shit?” I laugh and Acid chuckles along with me.

“Or some shit.” She smiles. “The Slayer won’t agree to stop killing at random. As I just said, their kills aren’t random. They are based on harm to others. They’re not going to give that up to become an assassin for you. No matter what the pay is.”

I look at Arrow and then Acid and they shrug.

“Fine. We could agree to go over the targets with them. I’m sure they’re planned with how under the radar he’s flown. So we just get a heads up and they are free to kill as they want. A you scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

“Okay.” She nods slowly. “I wanna see my son and I’ll tell you what you wanna know.”

“Deal.” I stand, signaling for the guys to follow me as I head upstairs.

Pulling the kid away from my mom, the movie, and the snacks is no easy feat. Mom gave us all an earful again as Dillon laughed her ass off. Seems my momma is fond of the little shit, though I’m not sure why; he’s mouthy as hell, just like his mom.

I try to ignore the pang of guilt gnawing at me. The kid's cheeky demeanor reminds me of myself as a child, too.

I hold his arm as I pull him as gently as I can to the stairs. When I get the door open, we don’t even get to take the first step before Arrow is shoving past us and bolting down the stairs.

“What the fuck was that about?” I snap, looking at Acid.

Acid’s adjusting himself, clearly uncomfortable. His groan is filled with frustration.

“I think it’s the scent. It’s overpowering, man. It’s taking everything in me not to do the same.” His eyes dart nervously, and I understand his struggle. The scent is a heady mix of jasmine and oranges—intoxicating and almost too strong.

“Let’s go.” I head down the stairs, my own pulse quickening as the scent envelops me. It’s confusing; the beta we’ve got here smells so much like an omega, it’s messing with my instincts. This isn’t right. She’s got a kid—she’s not omega-like at all.

Entering the basement, I see her tied to the chair still, but Arrow is pacing back and forth behind her like a madman. His eyes are wide and he’s pulling at his hair; he looks insane.

Acid gasps and I turn to look at him. He’s staring at her too, but his eyes hold sadness and shock. What the fuck is happening right now?

“Mom!” the kid screams, ripping his arm away from me and running to her.

“I’m alright, baby. Don’t worry about me,” she soothes him. Her eyes, however, are wild, darting between her child and us.

“Alright, you saw your kid, and he’s fine, so tell me what I want to know!” I snap.

“Ease up, Gears!” Acid growls, and I turn, scowling at him. How dare he undermine me in front of someone.

The beta’s voice quivers as she adds, “He’s got a bruise on his wrist.” Her gaze shifting to the boy as she rubs her thighs together in an anxious gesture.

“Mom, tell them whatever they wanna know. You need to go home and take your meds,” the kid begs.

“What medicine?” I ask.

“None of your business,” she gasps, narrowing her eyes.

“She takes blockers. She’s an omega,” the kid snaps, unwrapping the rope from around her ankles.

The revelation hits me like a ton of bricks. I freeze, staring at the two of them.

“An omega?” Arrow’s stance becomes rigid, and his eyes widen.

“So, what, the Alpha Slayer is your alpha? You’re protecting the kid’s dad. That’s respectable, but my offer still stands. Tell us who the Slayer is, and you two are free to go.” I try to keep my tone firm, but inside, the pieces are falling into place.

If she’s bonded to the Slayer, of course, she wouldn’t be willing to talk. I didn’t see a bond mark, but they’re not always in visible locations. Still, it means we’ve kidnapped, and Acid has slapped around an alpha serial killer’s child and omega.

This complicates things immensely.

“No. I said if he had one mark, the deal was off,” she growls.

“Mom!” the kid yells at her and my brows shoot up at him scolding her.

“Stay out of it, Judge. This is between me and them. It’s gonna be okay.”

I take a few steps toward her, but her son stands in front of her, eyes wide and ready to defend his mom.

“Nice try, pipsqueak. Your mom and I had a deal, and she’s going back on it. That can’t stand.”

“At least take him upstairs, so he doesn’t have to see this,” she pants.

I nod to Acid, who hesitates for a moment before moving toward the kid. He darts out of the way, positioning himself behind her chair, his arms tightly wrapped around her.

“Arrow,” I bark, needing his help to manage the situation, but he doesn’t move. He just stares at me, shaking his head slowly.

“I can’t. How do you not notice?” Arrow whispers as he leans against the wall, running his hands over his face.

Acid reaches for the kid again, lifting him up, but the child’s scream pierces the air. “She’s the Alpha Slayer! My mom is the killer!”

I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. There ain’t no way this tiny woman is the Slayer, let alone an omega at that.

“Judge. Baby, you know?” she asks, a tear rolling down her cheek as her words falter.

“I’m not stupid, Mom. You have that knife under your mattress, you come home late all the time, and you have blood on you sometimes.”

Fuck. He’s serious. This omega is the serial killer. Well, that’s an interesting turn of events.

“So, what, your alpha just lets you run around killing people alone? What kind of alpha is that?” I ask.

“I don’t have an alpha,” she snaps, her hazel eyes locking on mine. “Or at least I didn’t.”

“Tell me you’re not still blind to what’s right in front of you? Tell me you figured it out?” Arrow grinds out.

“Figured out what?” the kid asks, looking at Arrow. “Mom, what's happening?”

Oh, shit. How didn’t I notice as soon as I walked in? Arrow obviously did and I’m guessing Acid too, but he’s too loyal to let his own shit get in the way of our friendship and the club.

“It’s okay, Judge. They’re going to let us go. We’ll go home and forget this ever happened.”

“No, we won’t,” Acid barks, the sound more growl than words.

“Fuck no,” Arrow agrees, like he’s barely holding something back.

“You know who she is now. Just let us go!” Judge shouts, working the ropes on his mom’s wrists.

“Can’t do that, little buddy.” Arrow smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His chest is rising and falling faster now, jaw clenched like he’s fighting his own body.

“Why?”

A low rumble escapes Acid. His nostrils flare.

“Your mom is our scent match.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

BRYDGETT

They think they can keep me here? No way in hell. I’ve given them what they wanted. Whether I’m their scent match or not, it’s time for me to take my son and blow this popsicle stand.

“There’s no way you’re the Slayer. You’re an omega, for fuck’s sake.” Gears laughs, the sound grating on my nerves.

“Believe it or don’t, that’s your problem, not mine. I’ve told you what you asked. Now untie me,” I grit.

Arrow rushes over, dropping to his knees in front of me, a blade flashing as he pulls it from the back of his pants. My heart races as he slices through the binding around my left ankle. For a moment, hope flutters in my chest, but it’s quickly crushed when Gears grabs Arrow by the cut and yanks him back, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing, Arrow?” Gears growls, authority radiating from him.

“She’s our scent match—our Kismet,” Arrow snaps back, his tone urgent as if this should be obvious to everyone. “I’m freeing her.”

“She ain’t the Slayer. Look at her,” Gears scoffs, throwing a dismissive hand in my direction.

Acid steps forward, looking as pale as a ghost. We lock eyes for a brief second before he quickly looks away. “She was in the bed with Kenny’s body. We saw her grab the knife. There was no one else.”

“It doesn’t matter about any of that,” Arrow argues, his voice rising. “She’s our omega, and we have her bound to a fucking chair in front of her son.”

Their omega? No. I’m not theirs. I’m not anyone’s. Kismet means nothing to me. They put hands on my child, took both of us and kept us apart. The trauma they’ve inflicted on Judge, the fear in his eyes… that overrides everything else. I am not defined by my designation; it does not and will not control me.

But I know one thing for sure: we’re going to have to move again. They won’t stop hunting us now. It’s a shame—we really liked it here. Especially Judge.

“Okay, fine.” Gears finally relents, though his tone is still laced with skepticism. “Say she is the Alpha Slayer. We said we’d work out a deal with him. Now he’s apparently a she, so let’s work it out.”

Arrow takes that as his cue, releasing my other ankle and then my wrists. The moment I’m free, I stand, stretching my stiff limbs, shaking out the numbness. But as soon as I feel the blood flowing again, I turn and slam my fist into Gears’ already broken nose.

“Son of a fucking bitch!” he howls, clutching his face as blood spurts between his fingers.

With his hands busy with his nose, I follow up with a sharp knee to his groin. He wheezes, dropping to the floor, and I smirk at him.

“I told you if there was one mark on my boy, there’d be hell to pay. I might not be able to kill you since we’re Kismet, but I’ll be damned if we strike any kind of deal.” I spit on the ground next to him, my words low and venomous.

“But we’re Kismet,” Arrow whispers, almost pleading.

I spin around to face him, my face twisted in rage. “Yeah? And I usually slit the throats of the bastards who lay a hand on an omega. Go fuck yourself.”

Without waiting for a response, I storm over to Judge, who’s standing by the stairs, his eyes wide and frightened. My heart aches at the sight, but I push the emotion aside. “Come on, baby. We’re leaving.”

I lead him up the stairs, my grip tight on his small hand. As we reach the top, I cautiously push the door open and peer out. The hallway stretches out before us, dimly lit, with walls on either side.

“Judge, I need you to be quiet, okay? We have to get out of here without any trouble.”

He nods, and I lean down to kiss the top of his head, trying to convey some semblance of comfort. I step into the hallway, moving quickly but carefully, checking the first door. It’s a playroom, the sound of the Sonic movie humming from a large screen. Not what we need. I shut the door and move to the next one, but it’s locked. Panic starts to creep in as I hear the alphas charging up the stairs.

“Mom,” Judge whispers, pointing at a door on the opposite side of the hall.

How did I miss that?

I rush to the door, yanking it open just as the basement door slams against the wall. Gears stands at the top, chest heaving, eyes wild. “Omega!” he shouts, the command rattling through me, but I refuse to let it take hold.

Ignoring him, I shove Judge through the door and follow, my heart pounding in my ears. We’re in a large room with a bar, pool table, and a couch, but it’s empty—except for an older woman emerging from a door on the right. Her eyes widen in shock when she sees us.

“Get your ass back here now, Omega!” Gears yells, this time using his alpha bark. I wince, but keep moving. Ike had me practice for months, denying my nature to bend to the bark of an alpha. How could I kill them when they saw me coming, and they demand that I stop?

Ignoring Gears is a lot harder than some run-of-the-mill alpha, but I can still do it. My eyes scan the room, looking for an exit to the outside.

The woman whistles, catching my attention, and nods toward a door to my left. I don’t hesitate. Grabbing Judge’s hand, I dash toward it, flinging it open and stumbling outside into the cold night air.

I need my car. Where the fuck did they put my car?

As if on cue, I hear the roar of an engine and the crunch of gravel as my GTO rounds the corner, sliding to a stop just feet away.

“Get in!” a young girl shouts from behind the wheel.

I don’t know who she is or how she got my car, but I don’t care. I pull open the passenger door and haul Judge onto my lap just as Arrow, Acid, and Gears burst through the front door.

“Where to?” the girl asks as we pull out of the compound drive and out onto the open road.

“Who are you?” I narrow my eyes at her. “And how did you get my car?”

“That’s Dillon,” Judge pipes up from my lap, his words small. “She and Bettie were nice to me. They hung out with me while I was there.”

“Is that true?” I turn back to Dillon, suspicion in my tone.

She meets my gaze briefly before focusing on the road. “Yeah. Gears and Arrow are my brothers. My dad was the Prez before he died. They’re not supposed to harm women or kids. It’s club law.”

I laugh bitterly. “Well, they’re not exactly following that, sweetheart. At least, not with me.”

“We figured. My mom can always tell when one of us is lying, and she knew those three fuckheads told her some bullshit. So we made a plan to get you out ourselves. You sped it up a bit, breaking yourself out, but I like a damsel who rescues herself.”

Well, at least there’s a few people in that place that are decent. I wonder what will happen to Dillon and her mom for helping us. I don’t want them getting hurt for betraying their family.

“What’s gonna happen to you for this? To your mom?”

“Nothing,” Dillon replies without hesitation. “I’m sure Gears will lose his shit, but he knows Mom will smack his ass around if he disrespects her.”

I reach for the glove box, popping it open and rooting around until my fingers find what I’m looking for — a tiny black dime bag. Tearing the seal, I dump the small lavender pill into my palm.

“What’s that?” Dillon asks, glancing over.

“Emergency scent blocker,” I mutter, tossing the pill back and swallowing it dry. “Starts working in ten minutes. Can’t have your brothers following my trail like bloodhounds, can I?”

“No,” Dillon agrees with a faint smile. “Guess not.” She pauses, her fingers flexing on the wheel. “They’re not all bad, you know. They’re actually good guys — just… fucked up when it comes to you.”

I choke out a bitter laugh. “I’ll take your word for it.”

We drive in silence, my mind racing as I try to come up with a plan. We need to get out of town, and fast. Ike’s. We need to get to Ike’s. I’m sure since those assholes know where I work, they also know where we live. I’m not gonna force Judge to leave with nothing. This is the only home he knows.

Marcus.

We can hide out with him until the coast is clear, then I’ll send him up to Georgia’s and she can pack a bag for us. If anyone asks, she can say she babysits Judge. It’s close enough to the truth.

“Drop us at the corner of Genoa and Fifth,” I say, my voice firm.

“Yeah, I can do that. What about the car?”

“Keep it. It’s yours now. The title’s in my apartment, under my mattress. Forge my name and make it official,” I tell her, my chest tightening at the thought of parting with my pride and joy.

“You’re sure?” Her eyes widen in disbelief.

“Consider it payment for helping us.”

“Whatever you say, babe.” She shakes her head, pressing the gas harder as we speed toward our escape.

CHAPTER NINE

ARROW

This can’t be real. It feels like a dream—a sexy, chaotic, messed-up dream I desperately want to wake up from.

I have a Kismet omega.

Gears and Acid stand beside me outside the clubhouse, watching as the dust cloud settles from the GTO. My heart pounds and my nose twitches at her lingering scent of jasmine and orange, a reminder that she’s out there—away from us.

“Was that your fucking sister behind the wheel?” Acid growls, his almost-black eyes narrowing as he stares into the distance, frustration seeping into his every word.

“Appears so,” Gears mumbles, his green eyes flickering with the same disbelief I feel.

We found our omega. We should be over the moon, but all I feel is this gnawing emptiness, a sickness twisting in my gut. She ran—from us, from her alphas. And after what we did, I can’t blame her.

We tied her up, kept her from her son, and let Acid hit her.

We fucked up.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm into the clubhouse. My mind is racing. I need to find her, apologize—beg her to give us another chance. We can fix this. We have to. She’s our Kismet, our Renegade Queen, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.

“Where are you going?” Gears calls after me as he follows me inside.

“She’s our omega!” I yell, panic bubbling in my chest. Every second she’s gone feels like another mistake piling on top of the last.

Gears snorts. “She can’t be trusted. Everything she’s said is a lie. Even has her kid lying for her.”

Does he even hear himself right now? I whip around, fury flashing through me. “She’s our fucking scent match, you idiot! Why do you think her scent affected us so much? Why do you think I freed her?”

My voice cracks, the weight of what we’ve done settling like lead in my chest. He knows damn well you can’t fake a Kismet match. She may have lied about being a beta, but we never asked. We just assumed.

Our mom, Bettie, is leaning against the kitchen door frame, her arms crossed, a storm brewing in her blue eyes. She’s mad, and when Mom’s mad, everyone feels it.

“Where is she?” I ask, desperately.

Mom shrugs. “Couldn’t tell ya. All your sister and I had planned was to get her out of here. Where she has your sister take them is on her.”

Gears charges toward our mom, stopping just inches from her, his temper flaring. “You betrayed the club. Helped a prisoner escape—that’s treason.”

Like a flash of lightning, Mom whips a wooden spoon from behind her back and smacks Gears upside the head with it. The crack echoes through the room, sharp and unforgiving.

“You betrayed this club,” she snaps. “Everything your father wanted it to stand for.”

“Mom—”

Whap!

“We don’t touch women and children. Ever. I know there are exceptions for bad women, but this girl? You brought her in here, separated her from her child, and then treated her like she was less than human.”

Whap!

Gears tries to dodge this one, but the spoon catches him on the nose. Blood drips down his face—again. At this rate, his nose might never recover.

“I saw her when she came up here, Raiden Briggs.” She trembles with anger.

“You—” she points the spoon at him and he winces. “Actually, it was probably you, Titus Beck.” She turns to Acid, who’s staring at the floor, shame written all over his face. “You put your hands on her. And don’t you dare think I didn’t smell that she was an omega.”

She smacks Acid hard on the forehead with the spoon. “You three should be absolutely ashamed.”

“Sorry, Bettie,” Acid murmurs.

Then it’s my turn. Mom steps over to me, her glare cutting deep. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the hit. I deserve it. But it never comes.

“What did you mean? She’s your omega?” she asks, her words soft but commanding.

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“As you came in, you said she’s your omega.”

I glance at Gears and Acid before meeting Mom’s eyes. “She’s our Kismet,” I mumble.

Her face pales, her blue eyes widening with shock. “You kidnapped, tied up, and tortured your Kismet omega? Fucking hell. You three really stepped in it this time.” She shakes her head, disbelief etched in every line of her face. “You better find her and get on your hands and knees, begging her to hear you out.”

The spoon collides with the top of my head. “I expected better from you, Orion. Him?” She jabs a finger at Gears. “He’s always trying to be the baddest alpha in the room. But you? You’re supposed to have more sense.”

I swallow hard. “We fucked up, Mom. We need to make it right.”

“I agree, Bettie,” Acid says, his voice small. “We need to find her and fix this. Especially me.”

“No,” Gears growls, his hands trembling, his green eyes conflicted. He’s trying to fight it, but he knows, deep down, how badly we’ve messed this up.

This was our chance at happiness, at true love, at a family. And we hurt her.

We might’ve just lost everything.

ACID

The scent of jasmine and orange fills the air, but it’s the sharp, metallic tang of blood that grips me the hardest. It’s all I can focus on. My omega.

I have an omega.

The words replay over and over in my mind. I, Titus Beck, a man who doesn’t deserve anything good in his life, have an omega. And not just any omega—she’s one hell of a woman.

But I hurt her. More than once. I hit her, tied her up, and kept her from her son. I sent the one woman, who was made to love me, running. Honestly, I’m not surprised. It’s just what I do: drive away the people who should care.

First, my old man—he left for good, OD’d when I was eight. He chose drugs over me. Then my mom. She stuck around, but not for me—for the pills, the booze, and the men she’d pull in with her dirty club pussy.

After that, it was just me and the Renegade. My mom brought us here, pleading to be a club whore in exchange for cash. But she couldn’t stay clean; she blew everything on booze and pills. Gears and I were thick as thieves, even then. When Mom was caught stealing, Eagle—the President—kicked her out. But he kept me. Made me an unofficial Briggs.

Eagle took me in like a son. He saw something dark in me and molded it. He trained me, and shaped me to be what I am now—a brutal enforcer, someone to handle problems. Someone to hurt and kill.

I’m damn good at it. Too good. Today, I was too loyal to my president, to Eagle’s son. I hurt her. Hurt my omega.

Images flash in my head—her restrained to the chair, that defiant smirk on her face despite the pain. She didn’t break, not until her kid was brought up. That’s when I saw the cracks. And now, I feel a sick, twisted feeling in my gut even as Bettie scolds us. I’m ashamed of what I’ve done, of the arousal that rises from the memory of her strength, her fight.

The urge to get on my bike and chase her down claws at me, but I know seeing us now will only make things worse. We need a plan.

Arrow looks two seconds away from breaking down completely, and I’m not far behind him. We’ve done something unforgivable. We need to fix it, to make things right, but how? We need to find her, get down on our knees, beg if we have to, and show her we’re not just monsters. We’re rough, ruthless, and cruel to everyone else—but never to our omega. We failed her. I failed her.

I look at the others. “Arrow’s right. We need to learn everything we can; figure out where she went.”

Gears scoffs, still stuck in his own world. “She lied to us from the start. Why should we trust her? Her kid’s lying too.”

“Because she’s our fucking scent match, you idiot,” Arrow snaps, glaring at Gears. “Do you really think she can fake something like that? Do you even understand what a Kismet bond is?”

Gears looks torn, his face hard, but I can see the uncertainty creeping in. He knows Arrow’s right, but it’s easier to stay angry than to admit how badly we messed up. It’s easier to cling to the Renegade rules than to face the truth of what we’ve done.

“She needs to tell us who the Slayer is. She can claim it’s her, and her kid can too, but there’s no way that tiny woman has killed over ten alphas single-handedly,” Gears mutters, rolling his eyes.

Bettie crosses her arms, cocking her head as she stares at him. “And just why couldn’t she?”

“She’s tiny, and she’s an omega.”

Bettie lets out a sharp laugh. “You’d be surprised what a scorned woman can do. The look in her eyes when she shielded that boy, the way she came through here… she’s got scars, boys. A woman like that? Omega or not, she’ll burn the world down if she has to.”

“Ain’t no way, Mom,” Gears argues, though there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes now.

She whips the spoon his way, and he barely ducks in time. “You listen here, Raiden. I didn’t raise no idiot. If she’s an omega, and she’s unbonded, raising a kid on her own—what do you think that means?” She narrows her eyes. “You know many single omega moms?”

“No,” he says quietly, like the pieces are just starting to fall together.

“Exactly. Now stop thinking like the Renegade President and start thinking like the good, caring alpha your father and I raised you to be.” She blows a kiss to the sky. “God rest his soul.”

I swallow hard; the words coming out rough and strained. “You think… you think that boy is a product of rape?”

Bettie’s expression softens, but there’s no denying the truth in her eyes. “More than likely. And then you three idiots took her prisoner and beat her. You better have a plan to fix this, or I swear I’ll throw your asses out of this clubhouse until you do.”

I don’t doubt a single word she says. Bettie is the club’s top old lady, the President’s mom, and the former President’s old lady. When she speaks, everyone listens. And we all know it.

The weight of it all feels overwhelming, like I’m about to drown when there ain’t a drop of water to be seen. I hurt the one person I’m meant to protect. My omega. I can’t shake the sick feeling in my gut, the shame clawing at my insides. But Bettie’s right. We’ve got to fix this. I just don’t know if I’m worthy of her forgiveness.

CHAPTER TEN

GEARS

I’m still pissed. Not just pissed, but that slow-burn rage that simmers under your skin, making you feel like you might explode at any moment. How the hell did she get away? My own mother and sister, helping her slip right through our fingers, of all people.

I grind my teeth, replaying the last few hours in my head. Those bold, piercing eyes. She stared at me as if my authority meant nothing to her. No fear, no tears—just rage and defiance. It makes me sick how much I want her. She’s ours, damn it. Mine, Titus’, and Orion’s.

But she ran. After everything, she ran. And now, I’m stuck with the bitter truth—I broke one of the club’s top rules. Never lay a hand on a woman. But is it really that simple? I didn’t do it out of cruelty. It wasn’t random. It was for the club, for the cause. I mean, hell, we need answers. It wasn’t just about me or some primal need to control her. We need to know who the Slayer is before he kills another of our interests.

The image of her tied to that chair flashes in my mind again. The bruises on her arms, the way her head jerked back when Acid landed the first punch. A sick part of me remembers how her lips parted, not in pain, but in sheer fury. It made her even more attractive in that twisted moment. I hate myself for feeling that. What kind of alpha am I?

I didn’t break her. None of us did. But we were close. I don’t know if that makes it worse or better.

“Raiden!” My mother’s voice cuts through my thoughts, yanking me back to the present. I blink, realizing I’ve been zoning out while she’s talking.

I glance at her. “Yeah?”

She’s standing there, arms crossed, that look of impatience she always gets when I’ve pushed her too far. “Are you even listening to me?” she snaps, her blue eyes narrowing in on me.

“I was thinking,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. My head’s been spinning since the second she escaped.

“Well, hear me now,” she says, low and firm. “When your sister gets back here, you will not be a dick to her. Or so help me God, Raiden. There will be hell to pay. My spoon will look like a kiss on the cheek compared to what I’ll do if you hurt your sister.”

“I wouldn’t ever…” I start, but she cuts me off before I can finish.

“I mean with your words or your cold shoulder. You hear me?” She steps closer, eyes boring into mine like she’s daring me to argue with her.

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, trying to keep my tone steady. Mom doesn’t fuck around when it comes to family, and I know better than to cross her.

“Good,” she says, softening just a bit. “I’m gonna go watch my soaps. You three need to go do whatever it is you do in that office of yours and find that girl. Make things right.”

“We will, Mom,” Arrow says, leaning in to give her a gentle peck on the cheek. Always the charmer. Always the good son.

Acid gives her a sharp nod. “I’ll fix it, Bettie,” he promises.

She tilts her head, and her gaze locks on me. Her lips purse, waiting for something. A response, a promise, hell, maybe even an apology. But I can’t give her what she wants. Not yet.

“I can’t make any promises, Mom,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “She’s not being honest, and our omega has to be honest with us. We need the truth.”

Mom rolls her eyes like I’ve just said the dumbest thing in the world. “I bet all the women just line up to tell you their truths and secrets when you lock them in a basement and smack ’em around. If your daddy did that to me, I would’ve gotten on my back sooner for him.” The sarcasm drips from her as she speaks.

“Mom!” I groan, immediately regretting every second of this conversation as the mental image of my parents having sex crashes through my brain. I really didn’t need that.

She shrugs, unapologetic. “You’re grown enough to make the choice to hurt a female. You’re grown enough to know your parents fucked. Now, go on. You have an omega to beg for forgiveness from.”

I swallow hard, nodding. What else can I do? She’s right, in her own messed-up way. Mom always is. I sigh heavily and head toward my office where Acid and Arrow have already disappeared.

The walk through the clubhouse feels longer than usual. The weight of what we’ve done presses down on me with every step. We’ve crossed a line with her, and I don’t know if there’s a way back. But we’re gonna find her because I need to know the truth. I want to know if what Mom said is true. That she… my omega… has murdered ten people that we know of. Ten alphas, dead. All while working at a damn diner and raising a kid? That doesn’t add up.

But that’s the thing. Is she really single? Or does she have someone we don’t know about? I grit my teeth. We couldn’t even find her address when we started looking. She’s been a ghost, slipping through our fingers every step of the way. It was only by chance that my idiot brother figured out she works at that diner. And now we know the make and model of her car. But I’d bet my left nut she’s already stashed it somewhere by now or destroyed it.

We need to find her before she makes a run for it. I want answers. Real ones. Kismet or not, we’re owed that. I’ll apologize when I know she’s telling the truth. When I know she isn’t playing us for fools.

The door to my office creaks as I push it open. Acid and Arrow are already inside, sitting at the desk, maps and the laptop spread out before them. Acid looks up at me, his dark eyes almost black, always intense, like he’s on the verge of snapping.

“We’ve got a lead,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow, crossing the room to stand next to him. “A lead? How?”

“Turns out, according to the tax records for Ruby’s, there’s only a handful of employees that work at the diner,” Arrow chimes in, his honey-colored eyes gleaming with a mix of anger and determination. “We ran the names through the DMV database and there’s only one who doesn’t bring up any information; Brydgett Hale.”

Not having a huge trail leading back to her. Smart. She’s not just some helpless omega waitress, that’s for sure. Every move she makes is calculated, and that pisses me off even more. It’s like she’s playing us, keeping us chasing shadows while she stays two steps ahead.

“How the hell did she pull this off?” I mutter, mostly to myself. I’m not sure if I want to know the answer or not.

“She’s smart,” Acid says. “Smarter than we gave her credit for. And ruthless. Don’t forget that.”

I nod slowly, my mind spinning. Mom’s words echo in my head. “She’s got scars, boys. A woman like that, omega or not, will burn this world to the ground.”

Is she right? Is that what we’re dealing with? An omega who’s been pushed so far that she’s capable of murder? The thought sends a chill down my spine. But if she’s telling the truth, if she really has killed ten alphas, then we’re not just dealing with a runaway omega. We’re dealing with a killer. Our killer omega.

“How’s that a fucking lead then?” I spit through gritted teeth. I don’t have the patience to deal with this runaround right now.

“I looked up the plate number for her GTO. It came back to Ike Hale.” Acid smirks.

“Is there an address for this Ike?” I ask finally, breaking the silence. “We need to know where she’s been staying. If we don’t find her there, we’ll at least know more than we do now.”

Acid and Arrow both nod in agreement, standing from their chairs.

“Yeah, some shitty ass apartment building on the edge of town.” Arrows shuts the laptop and waits for my response.

“Let’s go check it out.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BRYDGETT

“Mom, where are we going?” Judge asks as we walk the block to our apartment. I had Dillon drop us off a few blocks away from home, so nothing would directly lead back to us. My identity here isn’t airtight—just enough to get by. I didn’t plan on needing anything more secure. But I know with a little digging, they’ll link that GTO back to Ike and, inevitably, to this apartment.

Which is fine. By the time they figure it out, we’ll be long gone. Ike’s house isn’t even in his name. It’s in his wife’s—a wife who, to anyone else, doesn’t exist. They’re married in name only; some backyard ceremony in Belize, where they dedicated themselves to each other in front of a few drunks. But nothing official. And it’s good that it’s that way, because while Ike thinks he’s clever, his real name is Irving—a detail he doesn’t know I’m aware of.

“We’re going home to grab a few things and then heading to Ike’s,” I answer, keeping my cool for Judge’s sake.

He furrows his little brow and looks up at me, his eyes wide. “Okay. But… won’t it hurt you to be far away from your Kismets?”

The mention of them makes my stomach twist, but I keep my face neutral. “No, baby. It would if we were bonded, but we’re not.”

He’s too young to know about things like that. Too young to carry that kind of worry. But Judge has always been wiser than his years—watching, listening, piecing things together long before he should.

My heart clenches a little. I don’t let him see it, but Judge can tell I’m not telling him the whole truth. I feel his small hand tighten in mine, seeking some kind of reassurance. I want to give it to him, but I can’t afford to slip, not now.

We reach our building, but instead of going inside, I steer Judge down the alley beside it. We’re looking for Marcus. He doesn’t stray far from here, so he should be close.

“Marcus?” I call softly as we move further into the alley.

A figure steps out from the shadows between the buildings, his face lighting up when he sees Judge. “What’s up, Brydge?” Marcus asks, friendly but curious.

“I need a favor,” I say without hesitation. “But you can’t ask any questions.”

His face hardens for a second, his smile fading into a look of concern. “Anything. Just name it.”

“I need you to go up to Georgia’s and tell her the pretzels are burning. She’ll know what it means. And Marcus… don’t stop for anyone. Don’t talk to anyone. And you didn’t see us. Got it?”

His eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s about to ask something, but he catches himself and nods. “Yeah, okay. I got you.”

Without another word, Marcus jogs off, disappearing around the corner.

Judge and I tuck ourselves into the far end of the alley, hidden from view. I press my back against the cool brick wall, my heartbeat steady but rising. It’s quiet, except for the faint rustling of garbage nearby. I hold Judge’s hand tighter and run my thumb over his knuckles.

Minutes pass, but it feels like hours. My nerves are buzzing, but I keep it all contained. I glance down at Judge. He’s watching me closely, his eyes reflecting the tension I’m trying to hide.

Just as I start to consider going inside to check on Marcus, he emerges from the shadows again, a duffel bag and a backpack slung over his shoulders. Relief washes over me for a brief second, but then the unmistakable roar of motorcycles shatters the silence.

My stomach flips. They found me.

I pull Judge close, my pulse racing. My body betrays me as heat pools low in my belly at the sound of the engines. Even now, even after everything, the pull of my Kismets sends a jolt of desire through me. My traitorous body wants them, craves them.

But I shove the feeling down.

“Marcus, hurry,” I whisper, waving him toward us.

He jogs over, handing me the bags just as the first bike pulls up to the front of the building. My breath catches in my throat as Acid, Gears, and Arrow dismount, flanked by three other bikers.

“Shit,” I mutter, my heart pounding in my ears.

I yank Judge toward Marcus’ tent, shoving the duffel bag inside before pushing my son in after it. I scramble in, dragging the flap closed behind me. The smell of stale cigarettes and the faint mustiness of Marcus’ makeshift home fill my nose, grounding me for a moment.

Marcus leans his head inside, his brow furrowed. “Brydgett, what’s going on? That’s the Renegade out front.”

I clamp my hand over his mouth, my other arm pulling Judge closer to me. “I pissed them off with my extracurriculars,” I whisper urgently. “Came to find out they’re my Kismets. But I’ve got no interest in being anyone’s good omega. It ain’t given me nothing but pain, so they can take their Kismet and shove it.”

Marcus gives a slow nod, understanding lighting his eyes. “Got it,” he murmurs, pulling back out of the tent.

From outside, I hear footsteps, the heavy thud of boots hitting the pavement. My body tenses, adrenaline surging through me.

“Hey!” Acid’s voice cuts through the air, loud and demanding.

I freeze.

“They spotted me,” Marcus mutters, dropping to his knees outside the tent. “Mine,” he says loudly, pretending to rummage for something. “Don’t touch it. It’s mine.”

“Not trying to touch your tent, man. Just wanna know if you’ve seen a woman ‘round here? About yay high, auburn hair, a smoke show. She’s alone and got a kid with her, a little boy.”

“No woman. No kid. It’s mine. Don’t touch it!” Marcus repeats, his voice steady, like he’s said it a hundred times before.

I glance at Judge, his wide eyes staring out from behind the flap of the tent. I can feel his heart racing, hear the soft thud of it in the quiet. He’s trying to stay calm, but I can see the fear creeping up in his posture. He’s holding his breath, barely moving.

I want to comfort him, tell him it’s going to be okay, but I can’t risk giving away our position. I squeeze his shoulder lightly, trying to ground him, and shift closer to the edge of the tent, waiting, praying that Acid will leave before we have to make a move.

“Alright, dude,” Acid says finally, exasperated. “If you see her, let us know. She’s our omega, and we just want her back safe.”

Back safe, my ass. They want me back so they can mold, form, and knead me to do their bidding. Before or after they smack me around some more, since Gears is convinced I couldn’t be a killer.

I hear footsteps retreating and I let out a breath.

“Don’t worry, Brydge, I got you,” Marcus mutters and I hear him rummaging around outside the tent.

We wait in silence inside Marcus’ tent, and I can’t help but notice how immaculate it is, especially considering it’s tucked away in an alley. I’ve always respected his space, never poking my head in, but I’d pictured something rough—maybe a cardboard mat or a pile of blankets on the ground. Instead, he has an air mattress neatly set up, a small table stacked with a few well-worn books, and his clothes, few as they are, folded carefully in the corner. The care he’s taken with everything surprises me, stirring something deep inside—respect, maybe a bit of shame, too. He’s living out here with so little, yet he’s still found a way to create some order in the chaos.

I can’t say for sure how much time has passed, but it’s definitely been a while. Once again, I hear the familiar roar of the motorcycles starting up. I wait, holding my breath. Minutes tick by before the bikes finally pull away.

“They’re gone,” Marcus says, unzipping the tent. His expression is serious as he meets my eyes. “But they’ll be back. You better get where you’re going, fast. Don’t stop.”

I nod, pulling myself up and helping Judge to his feet. “Thank you, Marcus,” I say quietly, stepping out of the tent. I pull him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I owe you.”

“Nah, you don’t owe me anything. Just take care of yourself and the kid.”

I look down at Judge, who’s watching Marcus with wide eyes. “Thanks, Marcus,” Judge says, small but sincere.

“I paid my rent up through the end of the year, so if you wanna stay up there, you can. Mi casa es su casa.”

I nod, pulling the keys from my pocket and handing them to him. “Here. Place is all yours for as long as you need it.”

“Thanks, Brydge.” He looks at Judge and ruffles his hair. “You take care of your mom, little man.”

“I will, Marcus. Thanks.”

I grab the duffel bag, slinging it over my shoulder. Judge pulls on the backpack, and we quickly make our way out of the alley, moving in the opposite direction of the Renegades. My mind is spinning with everything I need to do next. We need to get to my storage unit, get my other car, and head to Ike’s. He’ll let us lie low for a while, just long enough for me to figure out our next move.

We walk in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on me. My mind drifts to the Kismets. To the pull I felt. My body yearns for them, but my heart and mind know better. They won’t protect me. They won’t love me for who I am. They’ll only want me for what I can give them.

But I won’t be anyone’s pawn. Not anymore.

I squeeze Judge’s hand tighter, my resolve hardening. We’ll get through this. We always do.

CHAPTER TWELVE

GEARS

I hated Church twice in one damn week. Makes me feel like I don’t have my shit together. Makes me feel like the walls are closing in and I’m the idiot who built them too tight to breathe inside.

Still. I do it.

The gavel's in my hand, heavy like guilt. Or maybe regret. The room’s full, my brothers around me, tension thick enough to chew through. Arrow leans back in his chair like his muscles are made of steel rods, arms crossed. Acid's beside him, leg bouncing, eyes flicking between his laptop and the door like he's ready to bolt or bite, maybe both.

"Thanks for comin’ back," I say, standing. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "I wouldn't have pulled you all in unless it mattered."

A few nods. Some murmurs. No one's relaxed. That’s fair.

I blow out a breath. “We—me, Arrow, and Acid—we made a call.”

A pause.

“We took a woman. Believed she was connected to the Alpha Slayer.”

The room doesn’t react all at once. Just a slow ripple of silence, then shifting bodies, narrowed eyes. It’s Nitro who speaks first.

“The fuck?” His voice is sharp, not disrespectful, but close. “We don’t fuck with women and kids. That’s always been the line. What the hell, Gears?”

Acid’s chair screeches as he stands.

“Your president made a call,” he growls. “And you’ll respect it.”

Nitro raises both hands. Not backing down, but not throwing punches, either.

“I got a little sister, man,” he says. “I patched into The Renegade ‘cause there were lines. Morals. Shit we didn’t cross. I respect you three immensely, but I won’t be a part of a club that hurts women and kids.”

A few murmurs of agreement echo. A cough. Someone shifting their weight like they want to say more but won’t be the first to mutiny.

I slam the gavel. Hard. The wood cracks against the table and everyone shuts the hell up.

“I made a call,” I say again. Not yelling. Just owning it. “Turns out it was a bad one. And I’m alpha enough to admit that.”

Acid doesn’t like it. I can feel his frustration rolling off him like steam, but he sits back down. Arrow doesn’t move.

“We took the woman thinking she’d lead us to the Alpha Slayer.” I pause. “She didn’t.”

Lie. They don’t need to know she is the Slayer. Hell, I’m still choking on that truth myself.

I rake a hand down my face. My nose hurts—bruised, maybe cracked. “Turns out…” I look at Arrow. He gives me the smallest nod. “She’s our Kismet.”

That gets ‘em.

A roar goes up—cheers, whoops, the sudden clatter of hands slapping the table. Someone whistles. Someone yells “Finally!”

I slam the gavel again. “She left.”

The room quiets.

“She smashed my damn nose in and took off. So yeah, this ain’t the fairytale version.”

I glance around the room, meeting every set of eyes I can. “She’s out there. Scared. Pissed. Guarded. And she’s got a kid with her—a boy, maybe eight or nine.”

My chest aches saying that out loud. Not just for her. For him. For the fact I didn’t protect them better when I had the chance.

I nod to Acid, who clicks something on his laptop and turns it toward the table.

“This is her,” I say, pointing to the grainy still pulled from Kenny’s surveillance. Her hair’s wild, her eyes sharp. She looks like she could kill someone and cry about it in the same breath.

I take a beat. Swallow hard.

“Name’s Brydgett. Her son’s name is Judge.” My voice tightens. “They’re ours. That means we’re officially claiming her as our Ol’ Lady—no maybes, no bullshit. She’s Kismet. And once she’s back here, and we’ve groveled like slugs, we’ll see if she stays. But for now, we ride like she’s already wearing our patch.”

A few low growls of approval. Someone mutters "Fuck yeah."

I clear my throat. “Hit the streets, boys. I want my omega back here where she belongs. She’s one of us now, even if she doesn’t know it yet. And we’ve got some serious making up to do.”

The brothers rise in a slow wave—boots scraping, cuts shifting. No questions now. No doubts.

Nitro still looks conflicted, but he gives me a nod as he passes. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But respect. I’ll take it.

As the room empties, I stay standing. The gavel’s still in my hand. My nose throbs. And my chest?

My chest feels hollow and full all at once.

Come back, Omega. Please. Let us get this right.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BRYDGETT

I keep my hand wrapped around Judge's as we move through the alley, the weight of the day pressing down on me, thick and suffocating. The city hums with life behind us, but it feels miles away. I can’t focus on anything but the path ahead—the need to stay one step ahead of the Renegades. The need to get to the storage unit. To get to Ike. My body aches, craving the safety of my alphas.

No. Not mine. Just… alphas. Ones who could protect me.

It's a visceral pull, deep in my bones—like my soul knows their strength and the way they could make us feel safe. But I can’t fall for that again. Not after everything. You let your guard down with an alpha, and it ends with you damaged beyond repair.

The thought of it makes my heart race, the rhythm of it thundering in my chest. My core tingles with that dangerous, familiar heat, and I can feel it—slick and needy—my body betraying me. It's too much, too close, and I can't let myself forget what that kind of power does to me.

I glance down at Judge, his face a mix of innocence and worry. His small fingers grip mine, and I feel his pulse, steady and warm. He’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this life. To the hope that, someday, we’ll be able to outrun the ghosts of our past. And now Gears and his brothers.

I don’t look back. Not at our apartment, not at the alley, not at anything that might trace our steps. We have to be ghosts now—quiet, elusive, shadows in the dark.

We round the corner, keeping low, blending into the night. The plan is simple: get to the storage unit, get my car, and head to Ike’s place. He’ll let us crash there for a while. But first, we need to get there without anyone seeing us.

Every step feels too loud in the silence between us. Every breath I take is calculated, controlled. Judge’s grip on my hand tightens, and I glance down at him again. His eyes are wide, alert. He’s too smart for his age, and I hate that he’s already learned the rules of survival. But I won’t let him become like me—not if I can help it.

We keep moving through the streets, staying in the shadows, the edges of the light. The weight of the duffle bag on my shoulder is a reminder of everything I’ve lost, and everything I still have to protect. My hands itch for the comfort of the weapons I’ve hidden under the seat of my car. I need to feel them there. A sense of security in a life that offers none.

Every so often, I glance over my shoulder, scanning for any sign of them. The Renegades. Acid, Gears, and Arrow. I know they’re out there, hunting me. I can almost feel them, their eyes on my back, their presence heavy in the air. But I don’t stop. I can’t. Not while Judge is by my side. Not while there’s still a chance to escape.

We reach the street where the storage unit is located; the lights flickering in the distance. The place is isolated, tucked away behind an old warehouse that’s seen better days. The perfect place for a car that doesn’t belong in the world I’m trying to leave behind.

I squeeze Judge’s hand one more time, pulling him into the shadows between two buildings. We wait for a moment, my pulse pounding in my ears. I can feel the quiet hum of the city, the low buzz of life happening just out of reach, but it all feels miles away. I pull the keys from my pocket, the cold metal biting against my fingers. This is the part I’ve been dreading. The part where I can’t be sure if I’m safe.

I take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it go. We step out into the street, keeping to the edges, my eyes flicking back and forth like a hunted animal.

The storage unit comes into view, and I let out a slow breath. We’re almost there. I can almost feel the weight of the past few days lifting off my shoulders, but the moment I open that door, the real work begins.

We move quickly, my steps silent but urgent. I don’t look at Judge. I don’t want to see the fear in his eyes. He knows the rules by now. He knows what’s at stake, even if he doesn’t fully understand the danger we’re in.

I reach the unit and pull open the door, the metal grinding against the track. The sound seems too loud, too sharp, in the stillness of the night. But it’s too late to turn back now. The car is inside, parked as I left it, a nondescript silver Honda Civic. Nothing flashy, nothing that’ll attract attention, but it’s mine. It’s my ticket out.

I pull the key from the box under the seat, my fingers shaking slightly as I turn it in the ignition. The engine roars to life, and I hear Judge’s quiet breath behind me. He’s still here. Still with me. We’re still moving.

I pull out onto the main road, keeping the car steady, eyes flicking constantly to the rearview mirror. Every turn, every shadow, every flicker of movement behind me has me on edge. I know they’re out there. The Renegades are somewhere close, and I can feel it. They won’t stop until they find me.

But not tonight. Tonight, I won’t let them catch me.

Each mile between us and the storage unit feels like a small victory, but I know it’s only a temporary one. Ike’s place is close, but the Renegades are still hunting. And I can’t afford to make any mistakes now.

Judge shifts in his seat behind me, his small fingers tapping lightly on the back of my seat. He doesn’t speak, but I feel the tension in his movements. His fear, his anxiety. It echoes in my chest, but I don’t let it show. Not now. I glance in the rearview mirror again. The headlights of passing cars blink like fleeting shadows, but there’s nothing else.

We’re safe—for now.

But I can’t stay still for long. Not while they’re out there.

I push the Civic harder, the engine humming louder as I take another turn, my mind spiraling through everything that’s led to this moment. My thoughts are a whirl of survival, of what’s coming, of what I need to do to keep us both alive. The urge to drive right back to the clubhouse nags at me, a constant reminder of what my designation demands. But I can’t afford to be weak. Not again.

When we finally pull up to the modest two-story house, my body sags with relief. My fingers ache from gripping the wheel too tightly, my nerves frayed from the constant need to stay ahead. The porch light flickers on, casting a warm glow over the front steps, and a familiar figure emerges from the doorway.

Ike.

He’s barefoot, his jeans slung low on his hips, his t-shirt wrinkled from sleep or just sheer indifference. His beard is streaked with more gray than the last time I saw him, but his sharp eyes—those same eyes that have seen me at my worst and still never wavered—lock onto me with a mix of concern and surprise.

“Brydgett?”

I barely get the door open before I’m moving, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten as I launch myself at him. My arms wrap around his solid frame, the scent of leather and old spice grounding me in a way nothing else has. The fight drains from me, leaving behind a hollow, aching need for stability, for safety—even if it’s just for a little while.

“We need to stay awhile,” I whisper against his chest. “I need to figure out what to do next.”

Ike doesn’t hesitate. He nods, his arms tightening around me briefly before he pulls back and glances at Judge. A grin tugs at his lips, softening the hard angles of his face, before he effortlessly swoops the kid up.

Judge shrieks with laughter as Ike swings him around, his small fingers clinging to the front of Ike’s shirt. “Ike!”

“C’mon, kid. Let’s get you inside.” He shifts Judge onto his back in one smooth motion, piggybacking him toward the house like it’s second nature. Like we belong here. Like we’re not running.

I follow silently, my muscles aching with exhaustion, my mind a whirlwind of regret and indecision. As soon as I step inside, I head straight for the room Ike keeps for me. It’s untouched. The same neatly made bed, the same old dresser, the same scent of cedar and the faintest hint of gun oil. My safe haven.

Piled high on the bed are soft blankets and way too many pillows—comfort I didn’t ask for but always end up needing.

Guess some omega traits, not even suppressants can fix.

I set our bags down, releasing a slow breath as I run a hand through my tangled hair. My reflection in the mirror over the dresser catches my eye—dark circles smudging under my eyes, my skin paler than usual, my mouth pressed into a thin, wary line. I look like someone who hasn’t slept in days. I look like someone who’s running from something she might not actually want to escape.

A knock sounds at the door before it creaks open. Ike steps inside, shutting it behind him with a quiet click. He crosses the room with that steady, measured stride of his, settling into the chair at the desk. His arms folded across his chest, his sharp gaze pinning me in place.

“Where’s Judge?” I ask, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips beneath me, an unfamiliar comfort.

“With Jackie. They’re making cupcakes,” Ike replies, leaning back in his chair, one brow arching slightly. “He asked, and you know she can’t say no to him—grandma thing. Now, seriously, what’s going on?”

I swallow hard, my hands twisting together in my lap. How do I even start? My throat feels tight, my mind still reeling from everything that’s happened.

“I got caught.” The words feel foreign on my tongue. “I wasn’t sloppy, I swear. But the Renegade MC—they took Judge to get to me, thinking I could lead them to the Slayer. They had me in the basement, trying to break me—unsuccessfully, I might add—when Judge burst in and told them I was the killer they’re looking for.” I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “The little shit has known for God knows how long. And in the middle of all of it, my blockers wore off.”

Ike’s brows furrow. “What are you saying?”

I close my eyes, exhaling shakily. “I’m Kismet to the President, VP, and Enforcer of the Renegade. Gears, Arrow, and Acid.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. Ike rubs a hand over his chin, his jaw ticking as he processes my words. When he finally speaks, he’s calm—too calm.

“Honey, are you sure you weren’t exactly where you needed to be?” He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “Kismet bonds are serious, girl. Maybe they’re not as bad as you think. You got off on the wrong foot.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “They tied me to a chair and hit me, Ike.” I can’t believe he’s seriously defending them right now.

He doesn’t flinch. “I did worse to you during training. Don’t act like you don’t get off on it, Brydgett. I know you.”

“Ike!” I howl, my hands curling into fists. Anger rises like a wildfire in my chest, burning away the exhaustion.

He just shakes his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We ain’t blood, honey. I love you like we are, but I know violence is your love language.”

My stomach twists. “I can’t, Ike. I thought I was safe with a family and an alpha before, and look where that got me. A world of hurt.” I waver, but I force myself to meet his gaze. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

His expression softens just a fraction. “It also got you Judge,” he points out. “So don’t let all that hurt and anger make you forget that the worst time in your life brought you the best thing that ever happened to you.”

A lump forms in my throat. I hate that he’s right. I hate that despite everything, the reminder of Judge—my reason for surviving, my anchor—makes me hesitate.

“You’re right,” I murmur. “And I’m grateful for him every day.” I lift my gaze, my resolve hardening. “But I can’t let myself trust an alpha. Especially not three who have already shown they’re violent.”

Ike exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Just don’t close a door that’s begging to be open, girl.” He stands, stretching. “Now, I’m gonna go see that boy of yours—he owes me a round of Uno.”

He leaves, and I sink back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts spiral, the what-ifs circling like vultures.

What if Ike’s right?

What if I made a mistake?

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, willing away the doubt clawing at my insides. I don’t run from my problems—I never have. But this… this feels like something I’m running toward just as much as I’m running from.

And I don’t know which terrifies me more.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

GEARS

I’m not sure what’s worse: the throbbing in my head or the fucking pull inside me that’s dragging me under.

I sit on the worn leather chair in the clubhouse, spinning my whiskey glass between my fingers, the ice clinking lightly, but the sound feels distant. My mind’s too busy to notice. It's consumed by her—Brydgett. That damn omega who’s been haunting me since the moment we took her, since the moment I decided I had the right to take whatever I wanted.

Acid and Arrow are pissed, and rightfully so. She's not just any omega. She's a fucking serial killer, a cold-blooded one, and I let myself get tangled up in her. I can still see her face, a mix of fury and terror, when we grabbed her. The way she fought. It wasn’t fear I saw, though—it was something more dangerous, something I couldn’t ignore. And now? Now, it's like I can't shake her off, no matter how hard I try.

Fuck.

I drag my hand through my hair, trying to steady my breath. My club needs me. My brothers need me. Arrow’s out there, scouring the city, looking for her with the rest of the crew. They’re in the wind, searching for the woman who might be the death of us all. But right now, it’s not the club I’m thinking about. It’s her. It’s Brydgett.

“Gears.” Acid’s voice cuts through my thoughts. His heavy boots hit the floor as he strides in, his eyes glinting with concern. The fucking bastard knows me too well.

“What?” I grunt, rough from the lack of sleep, from the weight of everything I’m trying to juggle.

“You good?” He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, looking every bit like the enforcer he is. But there’s something else in his gaze—a warning, maybe? Or just the weight of knowing that what’s happening inside me is a ticking time bomb.

“I’m fine.” I don’t even believe it myself. The words taste like sandpaper, harsh on my tongue. “We find her. We get her back.”

Acid raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “That so? You sure it’s just ‘find her and get her back’? Or is there something else going on?” He leans in slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’m guessing there’s more and that it’s her that’s got you all worked up. You’re putting out that mango and patchouli scent. Been a while since I’ve smelled that on you.”

He fucking knows. He knows exactly what’s eating at me. He knows about the way I keep fucking thinking about her—her scent, the way her eyes burned with hatred, the way we had to restrain her just to get her to fucking cooperate. And yet, she still haunts me. Her blood is still on my hands, and I want to touch her again, taste her anger, make her burn like I am.

I scowl at him, shifting in my seat. I can’t tell him the truth. I won’t. Acid’s my best friend. He’s the one who’s always had my back, but this? This feels like a weakness I can’t afford.

“I’m handling it.” I bite the words out, my jaw clenched tight.

“Uh-huh,” he says, pushing off the frame and stepping into the room. “You sure about that, Gears? You don’t look like you’re handling shit.”

The anger’s building inside me, a familiar heat that I can’t seem to put out. I stand up, the chair scraping back hard against the floor. I face Acid, eyes locked, and for a moment, I let the walls come down. I let him see the struggle, the frustration, the pull toward her that’s stronger than I want to admit.

“I’m torn, Acid.” The rawness is there, the honesty. “I should want her dead, you know? Should want her gone because she’s now a threat to the club, to everything we’ve worked for. But I can’t stop thinking about her. About what it would be like to have her. Hell, to own her. She’s the kind of omega that makes a man want to burn everything to the ground just to claim her.”

Acid's silent for a beat, his gaze steady, unreadable. Then, he chuckles, but it's not the usual humor I’m used to. It’s dark.

“You know she won’t make it easy for us, right?” he says, a knowing edge in his words.

I don’t need him to tell me that. I already know. She’s the kind of woman who fights, who tears things apart because she’s been doing it her whole life. And I don’t fucking know if I want to tame her, break her, or just let her burn me alive.

“I’m not asking for easy,” I reply, the words sounding more like a warning than anything else.

He nods and steps closer, leaning in like he’s about to tell me a secret. “Just don’t lose yourself in this, Gears. Don’t let her make you forget what we are. What you are. This club needs its president, not some lovesick alpha chasing an omega who’s already shown she’ll cut us to pieces.”

His words hit hard, like a slap to the face. He’s right. I know it, deep down. But the more I think about her, the more I feel the pull of that fucking omega, the harder it is to keep the pieces of myself together.

“Like you're any better,” I growl, laced with a dangerous edge. “You think I’m the only one feeling this? You need to want her just as much as I do. Don’t act like you’re above it. You can feel it too, Acid.”

Acid’s eyes flicker with something that looks like frustration, or maybe it’s regret. Either way, he takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before sighing like he’s letting go of some damn burden.

“I do,” he mutters, the words heavy between us. “I want her. I fucking want her more than I can stand. But we have to keep it together, Gears. We can’t let this break us. If we fall apart, the whole damn club does, and that’s the last thing any of us need right now.”

He pauses, the weight of his words sinking in, before his gaze sharpens, locking onto mine. “We already have enough shit going on. We need to figure out who the fuck is getting tar all over our territory, or we won’t have a fucking club left to run, let alone a woman to fight over.”

His words cut through the fog in my head, slamming into me like a fucking truck. He’s right. There’s a hundred things we need to deal with. Our territory’s being fucked with, people are stepping on our turf, and the Renegades aren’t a charity—they don’t take kindly to outsiders thinking they can step in and claim what’s ours.

“We need to find her,” I grit out, barely hearing my own words.

We have to be close. Arrow’s relentless. But that doesn’t make me feel better about it. I’ll have to hunt her down, drag her back kicking and screaming, and force her to accept what’s happening. But in the back of my mind, a darker part of me wants her to fight me. Wants her to challenge me every step of the way, because that’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.

I don’t know if I can keep holding it together.

I don’t know if I want to.

But I will.

For the club.

For the brotherhood.

And maybe, just maybe, for her.

BRYDGETT

The air in Ike’s house is thick with old leather, sweat, and the kind of silence that wraps around you like a heavy blanket. A place you don’t need to talk much in—there’s a calmness here that Ike’s presence seems to command. I can still feel the echo of his lessons in the walls, the weight of every move he taught me.

I inhale deeply as I stand in the dim hallway, my fingers trailing across the edge of the old wooden banister. Every step I take here feels like I’m walking in the shadow of my past, and a part of me wants to turn around and run back out the door. But I can’t.

Judge is in the living room, eyes glued to his game console. He’s only eight but already, he’s glued to technology like it’s the only thing that’ll keep him safe in a world full of things that want to tear us apart. I glance at him, my chest tightening. He doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know about the man who we are always hiding from. He’s just a kid. My kid. And I’ll die before I let him get anywhere near him.

My thoughts slide back to Gears, Arrow, and Acid. I’ve never felt the pull of anything like I do with those three. It’s like there’s a thread tying me to them, invisible but strong. Gears’ voice haunts me. Acid’s eyes scorch me with a heat that I swear leaves marks on my skin. Arrow… Arrow’s touch is like fire and ice at once, a contradiction that makes my heart stutter in my chest.

But it’s a danger I can’t let myself get tangled in. I won’t let them pull me back into their world. Not with Judge depending on me.

Not after struggling most of my life and what I learned from Ike.

I step into the kitchen, the scent of coffee and frying bacon mixing with the familiar scent of musty gym gear, a strange comfort. Ike’s home is nothing fancy—just a small two-story house tucked away in a quiet part of the country. There’s a gym in the basement, complete with a heavy bag that’s seen better days, a few weights that are rusted at the edges, and a lot of old equipment that Ike refuses to throw out. It’s where we trained after I earned his trust and moved from the gym to his house.

"You good?" Ike startles me. He’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with that knowing look in his eyes. He doesn’t need to ask; he already knows. But he does it anyway, like he’s still trying to read me in a way that no one else can.

I give him a tight nod, not trusting myself to speak. I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not with everything so close to the edge.

Ike crosses the room in a few long strides, his boots making a soft thud against the old wood floor. "You know you don’t have to keep running, right?" he says, gruff, but with a softness underneath that I rarely hear from him.

"I’m not running, Ike." The words feel like a lie the moment they leave my mouth. My eyes dart toward the window, the curtains pulled tight against the world outside, but the feeling of being watched is suffocating me. It’s like I can feel them, Gears and the others, out there somewhere, looking for me. Looking for us.

I turn away, trying to shake the thought. "I just need to figure things out."

Ike grunts, a sound that says everything he’s thinking. "I know you do. But running... that’s not the answer, kid."

I hate when he calls me that. "Kid." Like I’m still the same scared young omega he found on the streets all those years ago. Like I haven’t changed.

But I have changed. I’m not that person anymore.

I was a mess back then, barely clinging to my sanity. Ike took me in when I had nothing. He showed me how to fight—not just with my fists, but with my mind. He taught me to stalk, to move in the shadows, to kill when necessary. Every lesson was hard, grueling. But it made me strong. It made me capable of surviving in a world that had been cruel to me, to Judge. It’s the reason I’m still here, still alive, while the people who once controlled me are long gone.

He gave me the skills I need, even if I didn’t want to use them.

The sound of Judge’s laughter breaks through my thoughts, and for a moment, I allow myself to relax, to smile. I look over my shoulder at Ike, and there’s something in his eyes that’s different from the usual hard exterior he wears.

"I can’t let my guard down, Ike," I whisper. "I can’t. Not with Judge. He can never know about him." My voice cracks on the last sentence. I hate that it does. I hate that the thought of him makes me feel weak.

Ike’s eyes narrow, and he steps closer, his hand resting on my shoulder. It’s a simple touch, but it grounds me in a way I don’t expect. "You’ve got fight in you, Brydgett. I’ve seen it since the day I met you. And I know you’ve got the strength to deal with Earl. But don’t do it alone. You don’t have to now, not if you don’t want to."

My stomach drops at the mention of his name. I glare at Ike, my chest tightening. “Don’t say his name.”

Ike fires back without missing a beat. "A name doesn't have power, Brydge. You say his name and tell yourself he doesn't have power over you anymore. You've been safe all these years, and if he does show up, you know how to handle him now. You're not some weak omega going through her first heat, hoping the people who should love you will help. You're Brydgett Hale. I gave you my last name because you are strong and worthy enough to carry it. You owe the Osbournes nothing."

His words stick with me, gnawing at the edges of my mind. But there’s a part of me, deep down, that knows he’s right. I can’t keep running forever.

But if I face my Kismets again… If I let them close, if I give in, then I risk everything. Not just for me. But for Judge too.

I won’t lose him.

But I know that the time to choose will have to come soon. Sooner than I want it to. The pull is getting stronger, and I can feel it in the way my heart skips when I think of them. When I think of Gears, of Acid, of Arrow.

I can’t let myself fall back into that world. But the harder I fight it, the more the bond burns through me.

I take a deep breath and step away from Ike, my eyes moving toward the living room where Judge is still lost in his game.

“I’m not asking for your help, Ike,” I say quietly, the strength returning to my words. “But I will protect him. I will protect Judge. No matter what.”

Ike nods, his face hardening, but his gaze softens just a little. He knows the stakes. And even though he’d never admit it, I know he’s proud of me. But I can’t afford to let that pride be the thing that breaks me.

I can’t afford to let anyone close.

At least, not anymore.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ARROW

I stand in front of the run-down apartment building, the stench of decay and piss hitting me the second I step off my Harley-Davidson Iron 883. The yellow paint job gleams under the low, gray sky, and it’s the only thing about this shitty part of town that doesn’t feel like it’s decaying. Everything else around here feels like it’s given up, forgotten. Just another corner of the city no one wants to talk about—the places you go when you’ve fallen through the cracks.

The shitty apartment gave us nothing. No sign of her, no leads. I’m starting to feel like I’m chasing ghosts. There’s no solid trace, just fragments. She’s playing a game with us. Like she’s always ten steps ahead, pulling strings while we’re stumbling through the mess she’s left behind.

I shake my head, frustration boiling up inside me. Every lead so far’s been a fucking dead end.

The only thing worth noting was a homeless guy in the alley. His words were incoherent, but I could catch fragments—“Mine,” and “Don’t touch it.” His eyes were wild, darting around like he could see something no one else could. The way he gripped his jacket, like he was clutching something dear to him, it made my skin crawl. He was no help. Hell, the dude barely knew what day it was. But there was something off about his ranting. “MINE,” over and over, like he was trying to stake a claim on something that didn’t belong to him.

I push off my bike, walking toward the clubhouse. Brydgett’s GTO is parked out front, right where my sister left it after she dumped our omega off somewhere. Dillon’s been tight-lipped about where they went, and I know my sister well enough to know she’s not going to spill. She did, however, have no problem telling us that Brydgett gave her the GTO before she left, and Dillon brought it back here. At least that means we’ve got a chance to go through it, see if there’s anything useful inside.

I start with the glovebox — nothing but an old gas receipt, a crumpled napkin, and a half-used pack of gum. The center console’s no better — a few hair ties, a dead pen, and a faded grocery list scribbled on the back of a business card. I check the floorboards, under the seats, even pop the trunk. Still nothing — except a tube of half-melted lip gloss, a goldfish cracker wrapper, and one tiny, scuffed-up tennis shoe that I know damn well belongs to Judge.

My frustration builds, clawing at my ribs. Feels like I’m chasing smoke — like Brydgett’s always just out of reach.

Grimacing, I shove my hand down between the seams of the backseat, more out of stubbornness than hope — and that’s when I feel it. Something crinkled, wedged deep in the crease. I fish it out, and sure enough, it’s a crumpled receipt.

A storage unit.

My pulse kicks up a notch. Now we’re getting somewhere.

I take the receipt and head straight for the storage facility. It’s a small, rundown place on the edge of town, nothing that screams security or top-notch service. I march up to the manager’s office, where a greasy guy in a stained shirt is sitting.

“Hey, I need to see one of your units. The one listed on this receipt,” I say, tossing the paper onto the counter. The manager barely looks up, running his finger along the edge of his coffee cup like I’m some kind of inconvenience. Alpha, technically, but the kind that makes you wonder if the designation was a clerical error. Pathetic posture, weak scent, not an ounce of presence. No wonder he works a desk

He glances at the receipt, then shakes his head. “Can’t help you, pal. You’re not authorized.”

I let out a slow, controlled breath, my jaw tightening as I lean in closer. "I’m not asking, I’m telling you. I need to see it. Now."

The manager smirks, his lips curling into a lazy grin. "Yeah, well, I don’t care what you tell me. The answer’s still no.”

I don’t have time for this shit. I take a step back, eyes narrowing as I ball my fist. Stepping around the counter to close the distance between us, I throw a punch, landing it square in his gut. He doubles over with a gasp, but I don’t give him a chance to recover. Grabbing him by the collar, I slam him back against the counter, growling through clenched teeth.

“Now, do you want me to make this worse? Or are you going to give me the unit number?”

His eyes widen in panic, and he coughs, trying to suck air back into his lungs. "Fuck you," he manages, but I’m already pulling my fist back for round two.

I land the second punch, and he grunts, a little more winded this time. His eyes dart around, clearly trying to figure out how to get out of this. Finally, he slumps back against the counter, his face pale.

“Alright, alright!” he yells. “Unit 12B. That’s all I’m telling you.”

I lean in, my face inches from his. “I need the key. Now.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but I raise my fist, and he freezes. He knows exactly what’ll happen if he doesn’t move fast. With a shaky breath, he hurries to a drawer, rummaging around before pulling out the key, handing it over with a trembling hand.

“Don’t make me come back here,” I warn him, my tone colder than before.

I shove him one last time before turning on my heel and leaving, my mind already racing. Unit 12B. It’s a start. A shitty start, but a start.

The unit’s empty—just like I expected. Nothing here but a few old boxes and a reminder that this woman is playing a game we’re barely keeping up with.

I grit my teeth, pissed off and more determined than ever. This is bullshit.

I pull out my phone and dial Acid, hoping he’s got some good news. When he answers, there’s an edge to his voice.

“Got something?” he asks, and I can practically feel the tension rolling through the line.

“Maybe,” I grunt. “Found a storage unit. Empty. The car had a bunch of useless shit in it. Dillon say anything about where she took them? What the hell was she thinking?”

Acid lets out a frustrated sigh. “Great. Another dead end. What now?”

“I think we need to bring Stone and Levi in,” I reply, steady and controlled. “See if the informant that helped them with their omega has anything on Ike Hale. We’re willing to pay whatever it costs. No more wasting time. No more dead ends.”

There’s a long pause, and I can practically hear Acid weighing his options.

“Their beta’s not someone you want to fuck with. Do we really want to risk her wrath and pissing off Levi?” he finally says.

“I don’t care,” I growl. “She’s our Kismet. And we’re not stopping until we find her. I don’t give a shit about anyone else. She’s the future queen of this MC, and we’re gonna get her back.”

I hear Acid’s sharp breath on the other end. “Alright. I’ll make the call.”

“Good,” I mutter, hanging up and slipping my phone back into my pocket.

I turn, walking back to my bike, the rumble of the engine a comforting sound. The yellow Harley gleams in the dim light as I straddle it, feeling the weight of what we’re doing pressing down on me.

Brydgett Hale.

The woman we’re hunting down, the one we laid hands on—our Kismet. The one who’s going to tear everything apart or put it back together, depending on how you look at it. I should be angry. I should be furious that my brother, Gears, had us break the rules and lay hands on her. But I’m not.

I can’t be.

There’s something about her that’s different, that pulls me in. It’s like I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for this, even if I didn’t know it.

The irony hits me harder than I expected. We’ve kidnapped her. We’ve hit her. And now we’re chasing her down, hoping she’ll come back to us.

Dillon and my mom haven’t let us live it down. They’re pissed, mad we went that far, even if it was for the right reasons.

I pull the bike to a stop and take a deep breath, the weight of it all sinking in. Acid might never forgive himself for what he did to her, but I’m not sure I can forgive myself either for letting it go that far.

But what’s done is done. We’ve already crossed that line. We’re in this.

And I’m not stopping until I find her.

I won’t stop until she’s ours.

ACID

I pace the length of my room, phone in hand, fingers flexing around it like I might crush the damn thing. Levi's number is already pulled up. I hit call, and lift it to my ear.

"Yeah?"

"I need a favor from Stone," I say, cutting to the chase.

“Hold on a minute.”

There’s nothing but silence until another male voice answers. “What can I do for you?”

“Stone, this is Acid. Levi is our brother from the club. We need a favor.”

He sighs, long and slow. "This about that omega?"

"Yeah. I need you to reach out to your informant, see if they can dig up anything on an Ike Hale."

"I don’t know, man." There's a hesitation in his voice that puts me on edge. "That contact's solid, but I can't risk burning that bridge. They came through when we got our omega back. If I push too hard..."

"Please," I say. "We'll pay you and him—or her—whatever it takes. Just make the call."

Stone goes quiet for a beat too long. I hold my breath, waiting. Finally, he exhales. "Fine. I'll be in touch."

I hang up and immediately head to Bettie and Dillon's apartment at the clubhouse. The place smells like home when I walk in—garlic, butter, and something cooking on the stove.

"Take a seat, Titus," Bettie says without turning around.

I freeze in the doorway. "How did you know it was me?"

"You've been my bonus son since you were eight. I know you as well as Raiden and Orion."

I huff at the use of our legal names. Bettie may have been an old lady and the late Pres' wife, but she always called us by our government names in private. Road names were only for the brothers.

I lean against the wall next to the kitchen table, running a hand down my face.

"What's the matter, Titus?" she asks, finally turning from the stove. She's stirring a pot of creamy chicken and dumplings, her wooden spoon swirling like it's keeping time with her heartbeat.

"I don't know, Bettie." The words come out rougher than I expect. "This omega's got my head a mess."

Bettie whirls around, slamming the spoon down on the counter so hard it splatters broth onto her hand. She barely seems to notice. "She doesn't have you anything. You did that. You and my idiot sons." Her eyes narrow. "What the hell were you thinking? Kidnapping an omega? Putting hands on her? And then you find out she's your Kismet? Ughhh!"

She visibly shudders like she's trying to shake off the disgust.

"I'm sorry, Bettie," I say, the words softer than they should be.

"Don't be sorry, Titus." She points her finger right at me, unwavering. "Fix it. You get that young lady and her son back here, and you grovel like you've never groveled before, you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I don't want Acid the Enforcer trying to woo her." Her words soften slightly. "I expect Titus Beck, the gentleman I raised, to be catering to her. You understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," I repeat, and this time I don’t waver.

"Good." Bettie grabs her spoon again and stirs like her life depends on it. "Now sit your sorry ass down and eat. You're not fixing anything on an empty stomach."

By the time I finish my second bowl of chicken and dumplings, my stomach is full and warm in a way that eases some of the tension riding me all damn day. Bettie might be furious with us, but the woman can cook like nobody's business.

I'm at the sink washing my bowl when my phone rings, vibrating on the counter like it's about to jump off. My pulse spikes. I grab it, setting the dish down in the drying rack with a clatter.

"Stone," I answer as I jog toward my room. "Tell me you got something."

"I do. Or well... my contact did." There's a pause, and I can hear Stone sucking in a breath like he's holding something back. "First of all, you should know that you're Levi's people, so I won't charge you anything."

"Appreciate that," I say, trying to keep calm. "What else?"

"My contact apparently knows your omega," Stone says with a dry chuckle. "They were real eager to help. And by 'help,' I mean the text message had a ton of laughing emojis and said 'good luck to your pals who wanna mess with her.' So... there's that."

My heart stutters. Brydgett's tough; I know that better than anyone. But someone knowing her well enough to think she’s untouchable? That makes my blood run cold. "Just tell me what you know," I snap.

"Ike Hale lives at 114 Mason Creek Drive, Ridgeville," Stone says. "That's all I got."

"Thanks," I mutter and hang up.

Ridgeville's just a little over an hour from here. I need to tell Gears and Arrow so we can get our asses moving.

I head straight to Gears' office. Sure enough, he's there, half-buried in papers and sipping whiskey like he's the goddamn king of patience. His head lifts when I enter, and before he can say a word, I blurt out, "Got Ike's address."

"Arrow!" Gears shouts, his glass hitting the desk hard enough to slosh whiskey over the rim.

The sound of boots pounding down the hall follows, and a second later, Arrow shoves through the door, breathing heavy. "You got something?"

"Acid has Ike's address," Gears says, his expression dark. "Now let's hope she's either there or this Ike can tell us where she is."

Arrow's gaze snaps to mine. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," Gears says firmly.

"Tomorrow?" I repeat, incredulous. "We should head out now."

"No," Gears says, leveling me with a look that says he’s not budging. "We're going in prepared, not half-cocked. We'll leave tomorrow, when we're rested, clear-headed, and ready to handle whatever we find."

I blow out a breath, every instinct in me screaming to go now. But Gears is right. If Brydgett’s in trouble, we can’t afford to screw this up.

"Tomorrow," I repeat. "Fine. But we hit the road at noon sharp."

"Agreed," Gears says, tipping his glass back.

Arrow slams his fist into his palm. "Tomorrow, we bring her home."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

BRYDGETT

The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and asphalt as Judge and I walk down Main Street. The distant hum of engines and chatter from small clusters of people fills the gaps between our footsteps. Judge's fingers curl around mine, small and warm, steadying the whirlwind in my head. We've been holed up at Ike's for a few days now, and I can tell Judge's patience is wearing thin. He needs this trip. I need this trip. Just a quick stop for ice cream and a few groceries. Nothing more.

The town has never felt like home. I know better than to let it. A few locals know my face from the gym or through Ike, but they don't know me. Not really. They smile and wave, but no one pries. That's how I like it.

The bell above the door jingles as we step into Frosty Blossom Creamery. The pastel walls are splashed with cheerful murals of cartoon cows and oversized cones. Judge’s face lights up as he presses his palms against the glass display case, peering at the vibrant mounds of ice cream.

"Bubblegum," he declares with a grin, pointing to the electric pink swirl. "Two scoops in a cone."

I smile at him, ruffling his dark hair. "You sure you don't want a cup? That stuff melts fast."

"Cone," he insists.

I turn to the girl behind the counter. "I'll have a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Mixup, extra Reese's."

She nods, and I guide Judge to a corner booth. The vinyl is cracked along the edges, and the cushions have that faint sugary scent unique to ice cream shops. Judge bounces in his seat, fingers drumming on the table.

"How long are we staying here, Mom?" he asks.

I lean back, exhaling slowly. "I don't know, baby. Did you wanna go somewhere?"

"Back home," he says without hesitation. "I miss Georgia.”

My stomach twists. I rub my face with both hands, dragging them down my cheeks. "Judge..."

"Bubblegum cone and Reese's mixup!" the girl calls, saving me from finding an explanation that doesn't feel like a lie.

"Be right back," I mutter, slipping from the booth to grab our order. The cold cup sweats against my palm as I return to our table.

"Here ya go." I hand the bubblegum cone to Judge and take a deliberate bite of my own ice cream. The peanut butter hits my tongue in a wave of creamy richness, the chocolate sharp and sweet. For a moment, I let myself sink into it, eyes closing as I savor the familiar comfort.

"We can go home, Mom," Judge says quietly. "You found your bonds. That's good."

"Judge, they kidnapped us."

"They didn't know what you were then. They were looking for... you know." He runs his thumb along his throat in a slicing motion, his grin lopsided. "I'd knock you out too if I thought you could... you know."

I shake my head. "It's not that simple, baby. I don't trust alphas."

"What if I'm one?" he counters.

I set my spoon down. "I'll love you no matter what, but I know you. I don't know them."

"Then we should go back so you can get to know them."

"You're too damn smart for your own good, you know that?"

"So... we're going back?"

"No."

His face falls, and we finish our ice cream in tense silence. The warmth from our earlier conversation feels distant, replaced by the cool ache of disappointment clinging to the air.

Outside, the breeze is sharper, carrying the crisp scent of fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke. The air feels heavier, charged with something I can’t quite name, and a chill creeps up my spine. I guide Judge toward our rusty sedan, parked crookedly at the curb. The GTO flashes through my mind—sleek, powerful, mine. God, I miss that car. This one rattles when it idles, and the air conditioning has a mind of its own, but it gets us from point A to point B. That's what matters.

I climb in and start the engine when the hair on the back of my neck rises.

Something's wrong.

I scan the street, trying to pinpoint the source of the sudden unease. Then I see him.

A man steps out of the post office across the street, adjusting his tie as he looks around.

Earl.

But he's not alone. There's another man with him, someone I don't recognize, standing just a bit too close, his posture stiff like he's expecting trouble.

My breath lodges in my throat, and my pulse skitters like a trapped moth. Memories of nine years ago claw their way to the surface—his hand clamped over my mouth, the weight of him crushing me, the unbearable helplessness. He shouldn't be here. He can't be here.

"Change of plans, Judge," I say. "Let's head back to Ike's. Maybe Jackie will want to order pizza and play some board games."

"She owes me a round of Guess Who!" he chirps, his mood instantly lifting.

"Sounds fun." I force a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes.

"I think I dropped my phone under the seat," I say quickly. "Can you check for me?"

"Sure!" He eagerly ducks down, fingers fumbling beneath the seat.

I take that moment to pull away from the curb, keeping Earl in my peripheral vision. He strolls down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets like he's just another guy running errands. My gut tells me otherwise.

"It's not down here," Judge says, lifting his head.

"Oh, silly me! It's right here." I hold up my phone with a grin that tastes like ash.

Judge laughs. "You're a mess, Mom."

I chuckle, but my knuckles are bloodless against the steering wheel. Earl's face is burned into my mind—that smug grin, the cold glint in his eyes. I don’t know how he found us, but one thing's certain: he isn’t here for small talk.

The drive back to Ike’s feels like a race against time. My fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles ache, and my eyes flick to the rearview mirror every few seconds. There’s no sign of Earl, but my heart refuses to slow down.

As soon as I pull into the driveway, Judge jumps out before the engine is fully off, his little legs pumping as he dashes toward the front door. His laughter rings out as Jackie opens it, her smile bright and warm as she steps aside to let him in. For a second, I let out a shaky breath, but then instinct kicks back in, and I whip around in my seat, nearly giving myself whiplash in the process.

No one followed us. No one saw us leave.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling crawling up my spine. Earl didn’t see us—there’s no way—but I have to be sure.

We have to go.

My hands tremble as I pull my phone from my pocket and type out a message to Ike.

Me: Earl is in town. Took Judge for ice cream, and he was coming out of the post office.

The response comes fast.

Ike: You're sure it was him?

Me: I'd never forget his face. It's him. He found us. But how?

Ike: I'll be home soon. Don't panic, Brydge. We'll handle it.

Don't panic?

How am I supposed to stay calm when the man who ripped my life apart is in town? The man who hurt me. The man who doesn’t know he fathered a child the same night he almost ended me.

If Earl knew about Judge, he’d take him. I know he would. He’d twist him into someone cold and cruel, someone molded in his image. I won’t let that happen.

But what’s worse—why is he here now? After nine years? Surely he doesn’t want me. He never wanted me; I was just something he could overpower.

But I know his secret. Not just know it—I am his secret. His victim. His witness. A man doesn’t leave loose ends like that hanging around.

I force my legs to carry me inside.

Judge and Jackie are sprawled on the floor, setting up Guess Who. Their laughter rises and falls as they flip down characters and throw out guesses. I try to let their joy settle my nerves, but my mind keeps spinning.

The front door bangs open, and Ike storms inside, his boots scuffing hard against the floor. His face is like thunder — jaw clenched, eyes blazing, shoulders tight enough to snap. I don’t have to ask. He found something else out. He knows more.

“Kitchen. Now.” Ike barks.

Judge’s head pops up, his face scrunching in concern. I force a casual shrug. “No idea what that’s about,” I lie, flashing him a small smile.

“Judge, honey, does your person have a mustache?” Jackie asks, cheerful but a little too bright—she’s helping by keeping him calm and distracted.

I mouth thank you to her, and she gives me a small nod before focusing back on the game.

In the kitchen, Ike leans on the counter, arms crossed tightly across his chest. The look on his face makes my stomach drop.

“What’s up?” I ask. “Did you see him? You’ve seen his picture.”

“I didn’t,” Ike says, his face grim. “But I asked around at the gym. Showed his picture to a few of the guys.”

“And?”

He sighs, shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry, kid.”

My throat tightens. “Sorry for what? What is happening, Ike? Don’t do this to me. Why is he here? How did he know to come here?”

Ike scrubs a hand down his face, like he’s trying to figure out how to soften the blow. “One of my fighters knows him. Apparently... well... Eric and Tina are distant cousins. Tina was talking about you, showed a picture, and Eric recognized you. When he heard you were here visiting, he called her.”

Ike’s gaze flicks toward the living room like he's already regretting telling me.

“What else, Ike?” I murmur. “You’re not telling me everything.”

Ike swallows hard. “Eric told him you have a son.”

It’s like someone’s doused me in ice water. The room spins, and I grip the counter to stay upright. My pulse pounds in my ears.

“I’m so sorry, kid.”

“It’s not your fault,” I rasp, each breath burning in my chest. “But we need to go. Now.”

“You do,” Ike agrees. “Go grab what you can and get out. I’ll handle things if he shows up here. And Eric...well, I’ll deal with him too. Promise.”

“Ike…” My voice cracks as I lean in and kiss his cheek. “Be safe.”

“You too,” he says, giving my arm a firm squeeze.

I bolt to my room, yanking open drawers and stuffing what I can into my duffel bag. My hands shake so badly that half the clothes fall to the floor. I don’t bother picking them up.

“Judge!” I shout. “We’re leaving, honey. Hurry up.”

“But Mom!”

“Don’t argue with your mom, boy,” Ike says firmly. “Just listen to her.”

“Yes, Grandpa,” Judge mutters, appearing in the doorway with his Ghostface plush tucked under his arm. He grabs his backpack and hurriedly shoves his clothes inside.

“Okay,” I say, breathing hard as I zip my bag. “Let’s go, baby.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “But we just... we just gotta go, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

I take his hand in mine, holding it tight as we head for the door. My heart pounds, but there’s no time to calm down.

We just have to get away.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BRYDGETT

A heavy weight settles on my chest as I shove my bag into the passenger seat, barely noticing how it slumps halfway off. My hands shake, fingers fumbling with the seatbelt as Judge climbs into the back.

“Buckle up,” I say, my voice tighter than I want it to be.

The click of his seatbelt barely registers over the thunderous pounding in my chest. I jam the key into the ignition, twist hard, and slam my foot on the gas. Gravel spits out from under the tires as I tear down Ike’s driveway. My knuckles ache from how tightly I grip the wheel, my heart racing faster than the speedometer’s needle as it climbs.

I just need to get us out of here. Away from Ridgeville. Away from him.

The afternoon sun glares down, baking the pavement and shimmering off the hood of my car. Even with the A/C on, sweat clings to the back of my neck, and my shirt sticks uncomfortably to my skin. Judge sits quietly in the backseat, his gaze flicking between his lap and the view outside the window.

“We just need to get out of Ridgeville,” I murmur, half to him, half to myself. “We’re almost clear.”

The houses get farther apart, replaced by sprawling fields and patches of dense trees. The golden light makes everything feel too bright, too exposed—like there’s nowhere to hide.

I glance in the rearview mirror for what feels like the hundredth time—nothing but empty road behind us.

“You okay back there?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Judge says, but he doesn’t sound sure. “Where are we going?”

“Just… away.” I try to smile, but my face feels tight, stretched too thin. “Start thinking of places you wanna visit.”

Judge nods, but his fingers keep tugging at the hem of his shirt—a nervous habit.

Minutes drag by, and still, there’s nothing behind us. My chest loosens a little, the tension easing just enough for me to breathe. I can almost believe we’re in the clear.

But as we approach the four-way stop near the “Welcome to Ridgeville” sign, I see it.

The silver Yukon sits at the stop sign to my left, its chrome grille catching the sunlight like a flash of teeth. My stomach knots, cold and hard.

I wave the driver through, urging him to go. My hand shakes, but I try to act casual.

“Go, you fucking moron,” I mutter under my breath. “You have the right of way.”

The driver doesn’t move.

The passenger window glides down, and that’s when I see him.

Earl.

He’s leaning back in the passenger seat, one arm draped lazily out the window like he hasn’t got a care in the world. That familiar sneer stretches across his face, all teeth and malice. He lifts his hand in a slow, mocking wave.

My pulse slams against my ribs.

“Shit,” I whisper.

I slam my foot on the gas, tires shrieking as we lurch forward. The car jolts to the side before I wrestle it straight, tires squealing.

In the mirror, the Yukon jerks into motion, turning left to follow.

“Who is that guy, Mom?” Judge’s voice wobbles.

“No one to worry about, baby,” I lie, forcing myself to stay calm. “Just stay down, okay?”

“They’re right behind us!” he shouts.

“It’s okay, Judge.” My breath comes in sharp bursts, my vision narrowing to the stretch of road ahead. “We’re gonna be okay.”

The Yukon gains on us, its wide chrome grille growing larger in the mirror. I whip the car down a narrow side street, tires skidding as I nearly clip a mailbox. The SUV follows, its tires shrieking against the asphalt.

“Shit,” I hiss.

I push the gas pedal harder, my car trembling as it fights for more speed. My arms ache from clutching the wheel. My eyes flicker from the road to the mirror—to the vehicle chasing us down.

A deafening thud rattles the car as the Yukon’s front bumper slams into the back of mine.

“Mom!” Judge cries.

“I’m okay! We’re okay!” I shout, but my heart is clawing at my ribs.

I swerve left, tires screeching. Another hit. The car jolts hard enough to send my bag flying from the seat to the floor.

“Hold on, baby!”

I cut the wheel hard right, trying to shake him. The Yukon mirrors every move like a shadow.

Another slam. The back tires fishtail, my car veering too close to the edge of the road. I grip the wheel tighter, desperate to stay steady.

But the next hit is harder. The wheel jerks violently from my hands, and the car spins. My scream tears out of me as we hurtle off the road, tires shrieking against the asphalt.

I see the fence post a split second before we hit it.

The impact punches through me. My head snaps forward, slamming into the steering wheel. Pain explodes across my forehead, hot and blinding. Blood rushes down my face, warm and sticky, filling my vision with streaks of red.

“Judge?” I croak.

“I’m okay,” he whimpers. “I’m okay, Mom.”

Relief and terror collide inside me. I can’t let this end here.

“Stay here,” I whisper, fumbling blindly for the glove box. My fingers find cold metal—my handgun. I wrap my fingers around it and stumble out of the car, my knees nearly buckling beneath me.

The Yukon screeches to a stop behind us. The driver’s door swings open, and a man—someone I don’t recognize—throws himself behind it for cover. His gun appears a second later, the barrel flashing as he fires off a shot.

Crack!

I dive behind my own door as the bullet slams into the side mirror, shattering glass across my arm. The sting barely registers. Heart hammering, I grit my teeth and pop up just enough to fire two rounds in return.

Bang! Bang!

“Judge!” I scream over the chaos. “Baby, stay on the floor! Don’t move—you hear me?”

“I’m down!” His voice is high-pitched, panicked.

“Stay there, no matter what!”

Another shot blasts from the Yukon, this one punching through the window above my head. Glass rains down, cutting into my scalp and shoulders. I drop lower, pressing my back against the car.

Think, Brydgett. Think.

I push myself up again and fire twice, aiming for the driver. One bullet whizzes past his head, the other hits the driver square between the eyes. He falls back, his body crumpling in the dirt.

A second door slams, and Earl steps out, grinning like this is all some twisted game.

“Brydgett!” he calls sickly sweet. “You sure have grown up. You look good enough to eat.”

“Fuck you!” I spit.

"Oh, I plan to do just that. I've been dreaming of you for almost a decade. Almost gave up hope, thinking you offed yourself, but then Tina comes home from a family thing and says her cousin's nephew knows you."

I fire a shot at him.

Miss.

Somewhere in the distance, a low, steady hum rises—faint but growing louder. The unmistakable growl of engines. More than one. My pulse stutters, hope flickering in my chest.

“Oh, don't be like that,” Earl taunts. “I’ll be so good to you… during your heats, that is. Tina says you’ve got a boy with you. Tell me, Brydgett… is he mine?”

“He’s mine!” I roar, firing once more.

Earl fires back. Pain sears through my side like fire, sharp and unforgiving. I stagger, clutching the wound as warmth soaks my shirt.

“Mommy?” Judge says from the backseat.

“I’m okay,” I gasp, pressing my palm harder against the bleeding. “Shhh, baby. Listen to me.” My breath comes in shallow bursts. “If he comes over here… you run. Do you hear me? You run to Ike’s. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. You know the way, right?”

“Mom…”

“Promise me, Judge.”

“I know the way,” he whispers.

“Good boy,” I choke out. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I peek over the top of the car door. Earl’s grinning as he strolls closer, gun in hand. I pull the trigger one more time.

Click.

Empty.

“Gonna be so good for me, aren’t you, Brydgett?” he says, twisted pleasure filling his words.

My stomach twists. My vision blurs, my head swimming from the blood loss. His footsteps crunch closer, slow and deliberate.

I glance at Judge, but there’s no time. Earl’s too close. One move and he’d shoot him down before he made it five feet.

This is it, I think. I can’t protect him. I failed.

The rumble intensifies, vibrating the air around us. The thunder of pipes rolls closer, closer—and then⁠—

The roar explodes like a war cry. Tires screech. Gunfire erupts in rapid bursts.

“Shit!” Earl shouts.

I hear his boots scrambling across gravel, then the slam of the Yukon’s door. Tires screech as the vehicle roars away.

The world spins as my body slumps against the car. My vision narrows to a pinprick of light before the darkness swallows me whole.

Just before I lose consciousness, I swear I smell bergamot and blackcurrant with a tangy sweetness. Something warmer follows, rich and earthy like patchouli and mango. And finally, apple and plum—crisp and ripe, swirling together in a comforting haze.

My heart races and my belly flutters.

I love you, Judge, I think as everything fades away. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

GEARS

The roar of our engines drowns out everything else, but my instincts are sharp, tuned to the pulse of the ride, to the wind in my face, the gravel under our tires. Arrow’s ahead of me, pushing his bike hard, his back a streak of black and chrome in my peripheral. Acid’s right beside me, his bike growling like a hungry animal, and I can feel it in my chest—the way we’re all synced up, all heading for something we can’t ignore. Something’s wrong. I know it.

It’s the kind of wrong that gets under your skin. I woke up today with this gnawing feeling in my gut, like I was being watched, like eyes were on me, no matter where I went. My hair stood on end, even as I got dressed, as I grabbed my keys, as I walked out the door. I kept looking over my shoulder, like I could sense something, but there was nothing there. I told myself it was just nerves, maybe too much shit running through my head, but I couldn’t shake it.

And then, back at the house, Acid caught my eye, the question in his gaze obvious. “You feel that?” he asked, like he was trying to keep it between us, but the tension in the air made it hard to ignore.

I nodded, a tight knot in my chest. “Yeah. Something’s off.”

Arrow didn’t need to speak. I could see it in the way he carried himself—rigid, alert, like he was waiting for the first sign of trouble. He gave me a sharp nod, and we both knew. We were all keyed up, but none of us could pinpoint why.

It can only be one thing.

Our omega.

I shouldn’t be able to feel it—we’re not even marked yet. But the bond is there, buzzing in the back of my mind like something I can’t shake off. It’s weird. Bonds aren’t supposed to work like this. Not without the mark.

But somehow... I can feel her.

Like, really feel her. Something’s off. She’s in trouble—I don’t know how I know, I just do.

This isn’t a normal bond. It can’t be.

It has to be ‘cause it’s Kismet or something. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

And if that’s what this is… then I have to get to her. No matter what.

We just ride harder, faster, like our lives depend on it, and maybe, in a way, they do.

Then I see it.

A battered car with a crumpled front haphazardly parked in the field, looking completely out of place. My eyes narrow. There’s no way a car that shitty just happens to end up there. But it's the figure behind the door that freezes me, makes me jerk hard on the throttle. My gut twists. I know that hair. That’s her.

Brydgett.

And just beside the car—a man in a greasy suit, standing by the passenger side of an SUV that’s parked too close. His stance is tense, gun drawn, the barrel aimed in her direction.

My blood drains from my face as I take in the scene. She’s crouched behind the battered car, gun in her hand, trying to fight her way out of whatever fucking mess she's in. Her hair’s sticking to her face, and she's too damn still for my liking, like she’s waiting for something, someone, to end her. I don’t care how deep the shit is; I’m not letting her go down without a fight.

Not my fucking woman.

I glance at Arrow, then Acid. They see it, too. We're not even close enough to take a clean shot at the bastard with the gun, but I know we're not about to let him win.

I hear the gunshots. Three, maybe four, rapid fire from behind the car. The sound of the bullets hitting metal and gravel, and my pulse races. She's still in this, still fucking fighting. But the bastard's got her cornered. My eyes are glued to her, watching her every move. I see her jerk back.

“Brydgett!” I shout, but the sound is swallowed by the wind. She's out of sight now, disappearing behind the car.

My heart slams in my chest as I instinctively jerk the throttle, speeding us forward, but it's not enough. Not fast enough.

Then—fuck—Acid pulls his gun out. He doesn’t even hesitate. He lines up his shot, steady hands, and the loud crack of his gun is followed by a sickening silence.

I don't wait for him to confirm it. I’m already pulling my gun from its holster, firing in quick succession. The bastard with the greasy suit—he stumbles, curses, and then makes a break for it, rushing back to the SUV like a coward. Tires screech as he guns it, kicking up a cloud of dust. The bastard knows when he’s lost.

I glance at the SUV, barely catching the plate through the haze of dust. A glance, and it’s burned into my brain. My fingers twitch on the throttle, ready to chase, but there's no time.

Brydgett.

We slam our bikes to a stop, quickly dismounting and standing them upright before taking off running. I don’t care about anything except getting to her. My heart’s in my throat, and my legs feel like they’re moving on their own. We round the car, and what I see hits me like a punch to the gut.

There she is, slumped against the side of the car. Blood. It’s already soaking through her shirt, her breath shallow, and her eyes… they’re half-lidded, barely open, like she’s fading fast.

“Brydgett!” I roar, dropping to my knees beside her, feeling the warmth of her blood soaking into my palms. Panic claws at me, but I force it back. Not yet. Not now. I can’t let myself fall apart. Not when she needs me.

I press my hand against her side, trying to apply pressure, but it’s not enough. I need help.

Her scent—jasmine and orange, just a few days ago, was so sharp and unmistakable—is barely there. Muted. Faint. Maybe it’s the blood masking it, or maybe she got back on blockers in the days she’s been missing. Either way, it unsettles me. She doesn’t smell like her.

“Stay with me,” I beg. “Just… just hold on. Please.”

I press harder, desperate to stop the bleeding, to keep her here—with me—but her breathing is so shallow, and her skin’s gone cold beneath my fingers.

Then, through the haze of adrenaline, I hear it.

“Mom?”

The voice is raw, strained. It’s Judge. He’s peeking up from the backseat of the car, his face pale, eyes wide. His gaze flicks between Brydgett and the three of us, the realization dawning on him. His lips tremble, but he doesn’t speak. He can’t. Not right now.

My heart stops for a beat, but it’s Arrow’s intake of breath that shakes me. Acid’s gaze hardens, fists clenched, his body taut with barely controlled fury. And me? I can’t even breathe. We’re all paralyzed by the sight of her, broken and bloodied. The woman we all share a bond with, the one our alpha nature demands we protect.

I want to tell Judge that everything’s going to be fine, but I can’t. I can’t make promises I don’t know if I can keep.

Arrow kneels beside me. “Shit, man. What the hell happened?”

I try to catch my breath. My chest feels tight, suffocating. “She’s bleeding,” I rasp. It’s all I can get out. The words stick in my throat, heavy and choking on the reality of the situation.

“Who the fuck was that guy?” Acid growls. His fists are clenched so tightly, the knuckles are white, his body radiating with raw anger.

“Doesn’t matter now,” I snap, pulling Brydgett’s head into my lap, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. The bond—the invisible tether between us—barely pulses, but I feel her slipping away, fighting to hold on. “We’ve got to get her out of here. Fast.”

Acid’s eyes flick to me, then to Brydgett, and his jaw clenches harder. He looks like he’s about to rip someone apart, but we all know it’s not the right time. Not now. There’s nothing left to do except keep her with us, keep fighting for her.

But even as I say it, I know. We’re all too late. The fucker’s already gone, vanished into the dust. And now, all I can think about is making sure Brydgett survives.

“We need to get her medical attention right fucking now!” I bark. The words hit the air like a slap, and I don’t give a damn how loud I sound. My heart is pounding in my chest, blood rushing in my ears, and my hands are shaking as I fight to keep it together. She’s slipping, and I’m running out of time.

“How?” Arrow adds. “We’re too far to call a brother, and she sure as hell can’t safely be on one of our bikes.”

Acid murmurs, low and deadly serious, “She won’t survive the time it’ll take to get back to the club to see Doc.”

He’s right. All of us have been thinking it, but none of us dared to say it out loud. The car’s not going anywhere, and she’s in no condition to be moved like this.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, looking at her fragile form, trying to find some way to fix this. She’s barely holding on.

“We can call Ike,” Judge pipes up. “He’s fixed Mom up before. He can help.”

“We don’t know him, kid,” I say, the doubt clear. “How the hell will we get a hold of him?”

Judge doesn’t hesitate. “I know his number.”

I pull my phone from my cut, handing it over to him without thinking. He dials quickly, his hands shaking just as much as mine.

“Ike? It’s me, Judge,” he says when the line picks up. “Mom’s hurt. The car won’t drive, and we need you to come get her right now. She was shot and is bleeding a lot.”

“I don’t know where we are. The side of the road,” Judge continues, glancing at me for confirmation. “Hold on, someone here can tell you.”

He hands me the phone, and I press it to my ear. My fingers are slick with Brydgett’s blood, but I don’t give a shit. I’m past caring about anything but getting her help.

“This is Gears,” I growl into the phone.

“Who the fuck are you and what kind of name is Gears?” Ike’s gravelly voice barks.

“We’ll deal with that later,” I retort. “We’re at mile marker 37, County Road G. We’re coming with her, wherever you take her.”

“Be there in twenty minutes, tops. Keep her alive no matter what it takes, or I’ll rip your fucking heart out of your chest while it still beats.” Ike hangs up.

“Alright,” I mutter. “Bye.”

I hang up and glance at Judge. “He’s a cranky son of a bitch, huh?”

Judge doesn’t flinch, just gives me a small, tight-lipped smile. “He loves Mom like a daughter. Taught her everything she knows. He’s our only family.”

I nod, respecting that.

"Who was that man who was here?" Arrow asks, cutting through the silence.

"I don’t know," Judge murmurs. "But he waved at Mom before his driver started chasing us."

“His driver?” Acid asks, disbelief creeping into his voice.

“Yeah,” Judge adds. “Mom shot him. He’s dead over there somewhere.”

I jerk my head toward Acid and Arrow, signaling for them to check it out. We were all so focused on getting to Brydgett that we didn’t notice the body. Good. My woman’s a badass, and that little fact makes my chest swell with pride.

A heavy silence hangs over us as Acid steps toward the body. His boots crunch on the ground, the sound sharp and unnatural in the stillness, as he crouches down for a closer look. Time seems to slow, each second stretching longer than the one before.

When she wakes up, though, she’s going to be mad as hell that we found her. But it’s clear we’re not the only ones she’s running from. Maybe we’re the lesser of two evils. Maybe.

“I’ll be damned,” Acid mutters under his breath as he looks over the body. “I knew she was tough, but damn. She doesn’t play.”

Arrow just shakes his head, eyes scanning the area as if searching for any more threats. “Whoever that guy is, he’s after her. We need to know why.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, my hand still pressed to Brydgett’s side, doing my best to stop the bleeding.

I glance back at Judge, who’s standing silently, his eyes darting between us and his mom. I can see the worry in his gaze, but there’s also something else—something like determination.

I holler to my brother and best friend, “What’s the deal? Is he dead?” my hands pressed to Brydgett’s side.

Acid grunts. “As a doornail. She popped him right between the eyes.”

Judge's eyes snap to me, and I see something flicker in them—understanding, maybe. He knows what this means. What it could mean for his mom. For all of us.

Arrow digs through the man’s pockets and pulls out a wallet. “Name’s Jim Wolfe. Forty-one. Lives in Pinecrest Hollow, Arkansas.”

“What the fuck is he doing in Virginia?” I growl, my mind racing.

“We’re gonna find out.” Arrow hands the wallet to Acid.

We all sit in the quiet, waiting, the seconds stretching into what feels like hours. The only sound is the distant hum of the wind, the soft shuffle of feet, and the occasional rustling of leaves.

Then, without warning, the sharp screech of tires breaks the stillness. A shelter green Ford Raptor barrels toward us, the engine roaring, the tires screeching as it comes to a halt in front of us. Acid and Arrow both snap to action, drawing their guns in an instant, their bodies tense, ready for whatever comes next.

“Wait!” Judge shouts. “That’s Ike’s truck!”

The truck slams on the brakes, sending a cloud of dust into the air, and a man gets out, jogging toward me and my omega. He’s built like a brick wall, shoulders broad and thick, with dark stubble covering his jaw. His face looks like it’s been through a few battles—tough, scarred, and lined with experience, but his eyes are sharp, focused. He looks like Sylvester Stallone in Rambo—a little older, maybe, but no less dangerous.

“Fuck,” he mutters, like he’s been worn down by years of hard living. “Get her in the truck.”

Without hesitation, I scoop Brydgett up, cradling her gently in my arms, and hurry to the backseat, setting her inside.

"I can’t leave my bike here, kid," I say. "You need to hold pressure on your mom’s side. Hard. You hear me? Don’t let go until Ike tells you to."

Judge slides in next to her. He nods, his hands trembling as he replaces mine on her side, pressing hard to stop the bleeding.

"We’ll follow you," I tell Ike. He’s already climbing behind the wheel, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel.

“No funny business or you won’t live to see tomorrow,” he growls, and before I even get the door shut, he slams the gas and starts backing up.

The truck shoots off, and Acid, Arrow, and I run for our bikes, firing them up and speeding after him.

I send a silent prayer up to whoever’s listening. “Please don’t let our omega die. We don’t even know her. This can’t be the end. We haven’t even proven to her we’re good men.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ACID

We follow Ike to a small two-story house tucked away with no neighbors in sight. The house itself is modest—faded blue siding, a sagging porch railing, and a rusted wind chime that barely stirs in the still air. It's unassuming, easy to miss. A good hideout.

Ike parks his Raptor, kills the engine, and steps out. He throws open the back door, then cradles Brydgett in his arms, with Judge following close behind. Her face is pale, and her blood-soaked shirt clings to her skin like a second layer. I can barely catch her jasmine and orange scent, and what’s left is weak—drowned in blood and sweat. Smells like death creeping in, and I fucking hate it. It's muted, barely there, like she’s already fading.

We park our bikes and jog after him. My heart hammers in my chest, too fast, too hard. I can feel Gears’ and Arrow's tension beside me, the bond between us crackling like static. We don't need words right now—we all know what’s at stake.

Gears steps forward. "Gears," he introduces himself with a curt nod. "We spoke on the phone earlier. This is my brother, Arrow," he gestures to his left, "and Acid," he says, nodding toward me, his face hard as steel.

Ike doesn’t pause to shake hands. He’s already moving, focusing solely on getting Brydgett inside.

A woman with tan skin and dark hair opens the front door, her eyes wide with concern.

"Ma'am." Arrow nods as she lets us in.

"Jackie, you know what to do. Lock it down and keep Judge busy, please," Ike calls over his shoulder.

"I got it," Jackie replies firmly. She locks the front door with one hand and pulls a twelve-gauge from a cabinet behind her with the other, leaning it against the wall by the door like it belongs there. The woman doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. She’s seen things before.

"Judge, honey," Jackie coaxes gently, "why don't we go sit down and play a game? Any game you want."

Judge whispers, "Okay," before spinning back to shout, "You better save my mom, Grandpa!"

We follow Ike deeper into the house, past dimly lit hallways and into a room that smells faintly of antiseptic and old wood. He opens a door that leads to a basement, descending the steps with Brydgett still limp in his arms.

The basement is a stark contrast to the house above—bright, sterile, and organized. A large fluorescent light hums overhead, casting everything in a harsh, clinical glow. A metal table sits in the center, surrounded by shelves cluttered with supplies. Ike sets Brydgett down carefully, like she's made of glass.

"What the fuck is this?" Gears snaps, eyes scanning the setup. "Why the hell do you have something like this in your basement?"

Ike spins on him, snatching a pair of scissors from the counter. "Not that it’s any of your damn concern," he growls, "but I've patched Brydgett up before. Not to mention my fighters when they need it. Doctors are expensive, and sometimes they can’t seek trained medical attention. You should know that better than anyone. Unless your parents hit the crack pipe for far too long and actually named you Gears. I’m assuming that's a road name, which means you’re the three fuckheads my girl here’s been running from."

"Watch your mouth," Gears warns.

"Or what?" Ike barks back. "You gonna play tough guy while your omega bleeds out in front of you? How about you pull your head out of your ass and help me save her instead?"

Gears clenches his fists, but his eyes flick to Brydgett’s face. Her breathing is too shallow, her skin too pale. He swears under his breath and steps closer to the table, eyes sharp and cold.

"What do you need?" Arrow asks quietly.

"Clean towels. Alcohol. And that red box on the shelf," Ike barks.

We move fast, working in tandem like a well-oiled machine. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything but Brydgett’s ragged breathing and the low murmur of Ike’s instructions. My stomach twists when I see just how much blood she’s lost.

I step up to the table, my hands shaking as I reach for her. Her hair is matted to her forehead, auburn strands clinging to her skin. I gently brush it back, trying to make it right, trying to fix a fraction of the mess I’ve made. My fingers tremble as they skim across her skin, and I tell myself it shouldn't faze me. I’ve seen worse—done worse. But this? This is my fucking omega.

I can't keep my hand steady. I shouldn't feel this. But I do.

The weight of regret presses down on me harder than the blood soaking her shirt.

"I’m sorry," I whisper, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. I’ve been a fucking idiot. A monster.

My heart aches as I look down at her pale face, the woman I’ve hurt. The woman I should’ve protected.

If she even gives me the chance, I swear I’ll spend every second showing her just how wrong I was. How much I’d give to take back every stupid decision, every asshole moment in the clubhouse basement. But I can’t undo it. Not all of it.

I swallow the lump in my throat, fighting the urge to choke on the apology that feels too small, too late.

"I’m a right asshole, a prick really," I mutter. "But not to you. Never to you, Brydgett. Not again. You deserve more. And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend every damn minute of my life proving that I’m not the man I’ve been. I’ll show you. I swear I will."

I don’t look up, don’t even expect her to hear me. But I can’t stop the flood of guilt rushing through me.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to push past the suffocating remorse. I can’t let myself break down now, not in front of her, not when she's hanging by a thread. I brush her hair back one more time, steadying my hands. My heart pounds like a war drum, thudding in my chest, and I let the rage simmer beneath my skin.

When she’s on the mend, when she’s safe—then I’ll let it all loose. I’ll track down the bastard who did this to her. The son of a bitch who ran her off the road, who shot her. And I’ll make him wish he’d never taken a breath.

The image of him crawling, begging for mercy, flashes in my mind. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of stopping. No, I’ll pull every organ from his fucking body, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left, but a broken shell begging me to stop.

I’ll take my time with him. Every second I make him suffer, I’ll savor. But the best part? One of those organs will be the one he can’t live without. When that happens, I’ll make him understand what real pain feels like. And only then will I put him out of his misery.

But first, I need to make sure Brydgett is breathing. I need her to stay with me. And once she’s stronger, I’ll hunt down the fucker who tried to take her from me.

For now, I keep my focus on her. My woman. My omega.

“Step the fuck back, Acid,” Ike growls. “You ain't helping her standing there like a dumbass.”

My fists clench, the urge to argue rising in my chest, but I swallow it. He’s right. I take a step back as I try to keep my composure. But it's hard, seeing her like this, seeing the blood soaking her side, and knowing I played a part in her pain. I ball my fists and bite my tongue, watching Ike move with the calm confidence of someone who’s seen too much.

Ike pulls open the red box with quick hands, grabbing IV bags. "She’s lost a lot of blood. We’ll get her on a drip and give her some blood just in case."

He sets up the IV, inserting the needle with precision. "Gears, Arrow, get her positioned," Ike orders, and they immediately move to hold her steady while Ike hooks up the IV drip. The faint beep of the IV machine is the only sound that fills the room.

"Now," Ike mutters under his breath, "let’s keep her from going into shock. We dig that bullet out after we get some fluids in her. We’re not risking any more damage."

I watch Ike’s every movement, knowing that time is against us. He grabs alcohol, swabbing the area around the bullet wound as the IV begins to drip. "Stay with me, kid," Ike mutters as he works, his hands steady as he preps for the incision.

I glance over at him, curiosity and worry flooding my words. "How do you have blood on hand that matches her type?"

Ike looks up at me, eyebrows raised, a mix of frustration and disbelief in his expression. "It's her fucking blood," he says, his tone hard as stone. "I thought you three knew she was the Alpha Slayer? Don’t you think a woman in her field might run into trouble here and there? I have her blood stored if needed. It’s called autologous blood donation. She donates every few months. Blood doesn’t last forever, so we rotate it out. I keep it in the medical-grade refrigerator down here—properly stored, properly labeled. In her line of work, it’s just common sense. Something every goddamn professional should know about."

The words hit me like a splash of ice water. It makes sense, but I hadn’t even considered it. The woman we’re fighting beside? She’s prepared for this kind of thing. The way Ike talks, it sounds like she’s been through hell and back and knows exactly how to handle herself in situations like this.

"Alright, let’s get this bullet out of you," he says coldly, focusing on the task at hand.

Ike grabs a set of surgical tools, his movements quick and deliberate. "Arrow, get me that morphine.”

Arrow rushes to the cabinet and grabs the morphine, his hands shaking as he hands it over to Ike.

"We’re digging that bullet out, and if any of you fuckers can’t handle it, I’ll throw you out."

Ike works quickly, moving like he’s done this a thousand times. He cuts through the fabric of her shirt with surgical precision, the sound of the scissors snipping echoing through the room. He’s already got the tools laid out, and his eyes flick between them and Brydgett as he prepares.

“Alright, you idiots, focus,” Ike barks again. “The quicker we do this, the better. Acid, go grab me that alcohol. And someone get me fresh gauze.”

I’m shaking as I move to get the supplies, but I don’t argue. I grab the alcohol with the gauze and hand it over, swallowing down the bile in my throat.

"What's her deal, Ike?" Gears asks, confusion and concern tightening his features as he watches Ike work.

Ike doesn't look up, his hands moving with practiced ease as he secures the sterile supplies, his focus on the task at hand. The alcohol’s already been applied, and the IV is flowing steady, so now it’s all about the incision.

"Not my story," Ike replies flatly, his eyes narrowing as he focuses on the wound. "It's hers. If she thinks you’re worthy of knowing it, she’ll tell you.”

There’s a brief silence, then the sharp sound of Ike's scalpel as it cuts a small, precise incision around the bullet wound. I flinch, but don’t look away. The tension in the room is palpable, every one of us holding our breath as Ike begins to dig in.

“Jesus Christ,” Gears mutters. “I’ve seen bullets get removed hundreds of times. Seen torture that would make anyone else pass out. But this… knowing this is our Kismet… this is brutal.”

“Quit fucking whining,” Ike snaps. “She’s the one who’s got the bullet in her. Focus.”

The wound is deep with the bullet lodged under her skin, and Ike works methodically, using the forceps to search for the bullet. His hands are steady despite the blood pooling beneath her, his focus absolute.

With practiced hands, he digs carefully, his brow furrowed as he works the forceps around the bullet where it's lodged. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ike pulls the bullet free, the metal slick with blood.

“Got it,” Ike mutters, tossing the bullet aside, as he reaches for a needle and thread.

He wipes the area clean and then starts stitching the wound closed with quick, practiced movements. His hands move seamlessly, pulling her skin back together with precision. Once the stitches are in place, he wraps the wound with sterile gauze, securing it firmly.

“Alright, you three,” Ike says, looking over at us. “Help me lift her. We’re getting her upstairs.”

As we move to lift her, Acid, clearly concerned, glances at Ike. "Ike, do you need a catheter for all the fluids she’s getting with the IV?"

Ike slaps a hand to his forehead, exasperated. "Are you three stupid or just ignorant? Do you know anything about omegas except how to fuck ‘em?"

Arrow’s eyes flash with defensiveness. "We've never fucked an omega. We were waiting for her. Our Kismet."

Ike shoots a sharp look at him, then shakes his head. "Well, either way. An omega's body just knows what it needs in times like this. You don’t see an omega taking a piss all those days in heat, do ya? No. Same here. Brydgett's body will just store or absorb the liquid. I don't really know the science behind it, since I’m with a beta, but she won’t need a catheter. In fact, her body would reject it, and I’m sure as hell not going near her lady bits to put one in, and neither the fuck are you."

"Yes, sir," Acid nods, the tension easing from his posture.

We move solemnly, lifting Brydgett with careful hands. She’s limp in our arms, her body pale and still, but there’s something about her—the way she’s holding on to life—that makes my chest tighten.

We carry her up the stairs, the house eerily quiet except for our footsteps. Once we’re inside her room, Ike directs us to place her gently on the bed. He hooks her up to another IV, the drip steady and slow, before stepping back to assess her.

We all stand around the bed, watching as Brydgett’s shallow breaths rise and fall beneath the thin blanket. Gears and Arrow stand close, their bodies tense, but neither of them says a word.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and little Judge walks in, looking up at us with wide eyes. He doesn’t say anything at first, but when he sees his mom lying there, his face crumples, and he climbs up onto the bed without a word. He curls up beside her, pressing his small body close to hers.

“I love you, Mom,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he snuggles against her side.

The room goes quiet for a long moment, the weight of the silence settling over us all. There’s nothing more we can do now except wait. Hope. And pray that she pulls through.

CHAPTER TWENTY

ARROW

Hours pass in a blur. Brydgett’s room smells like blood and antiseptic. It clings to the air, making each breath feel harder to take. Her once vibrant face is now pale, and the stillness of her body cuts through me like a knife.

Gears stands beside me; his usual composure shattered. His fists are clenched at his sides, but the tremor in his hands betrays the panic he's trying to suppress. He won’t look at her directly—it’s too much for him—but I know he’s fighting just as hard as I am to hold it together. The guilt gnaws at him, at all of us. What we’ve done to her. What we’ve put her through.

Acid’s near the door, his eyes locked on Brydgett as though he’s trying to will her back to life. Hours seem to pass, silence only broken by the incessant clicking of Acid’s lighter. A nervous habit of his that he can’t break. The raw emotion I see in him—guilt, frustration, fear—is a heavy force in the room. He wants to fix this, wants to make it right, but it’s like he’s suffocating in the reality of what we’ve done. We all are.

I keep my gaze on her, my heart hammering in my chest. The steady rhythm of my pulse feels like a pounding war drum now, filling my ears, making my throat tighten. It’s hard to think, hard to focus. My thoughts spin, each one tangled with the mess we’ve made. I just keep telling myself to breathe, to stay calm. Don’t lose it. Not here. Not in front of Judge. She needs us. We can’t fall apart.

But the reality of the situation presses down on me, sharp and undeniable. She’s a serial killer, a woman we kidnapped, tortured in our basement. We didn’t know what would happen when we took her and the kid. When we stripped her of her power, her freedom. Would we have hurt her more if Mom and Dillon hadn’t helped her escape?

The silence in the room is suffocating, broken only by the quiet rustle of sheets and the faint hum of the IV machine. It’s maddening, waiting for her to wake up. Waiting for any sign that she’s pulling through. But what happens if she does? What happens when she wakes up and remembers everything? What happens when she faces us again?

“She’ll wake up,” Acid mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. I can hear the cracks in his words, the fragility of his belief. He wants to believe, but even he’s not sure. We’ve done too much, crossed too many lines. She might never forgive us for what we’ve done.

“Come on, Mom,” Judge whispers. It’s a raw plea, his small voice cracking with the weight of everything he can’t say. He needs her. More than he knows how to express. He needs her to wake up. But in the silence of the room, I can see the doubt in his eyes, the confusion that even at his age, he can’t hide. She’s not just the woman he’s been dragged into this messed-up world with. She’s his mother. But she’s also a killer. A monster.

Her body remains unmoving, and the air in the room feels heavier with each passing second. We’re waiting for something we can’t control, hoping for a chance at redemption we may never deserve. And maybe, just maybe, if she wakes up, we’ll find a way to make it right. Or will it all fall apart.

I glance at the door, my mind racing through all the things we could’ve done differently. But there’s no time for that now. She’s here, and we have to deal with the mess we made. We don’t get to choose the consequences.

“We won’t let anyone get away with this,” I say, every word laced with the promise of retribution.

Gears clenches his jaw, nodding. His anger’s boiling over, but he doesn’t let it consume him. Not yet. “I got the plate from the SUV. I’m calling one of the brothers at the MC. They’ll run it, find out who owns the thing and where we can find them. Once we know, we take care of the rest.”

I know Gears is itching for action, but we don’t have all the answers yet. Not until Brydgett wakes up.

Ike enters the room then, his presence cutting through the tension like a cold wind. He checks Brydgett over with a practiced eye, his hands moving methodically, his face set.

He looks at the three of us and then at Judge, who’s still tucked up beside her. “We need to talk,” Ike says, his tone sharp. “Judge, you too, son. I need to know what happened out there.”

Judge looks at Ike with a spark of defiance in his eyes. “I’m not leaving Mom,” he says, firm and unshaken.

“She ain’t doing nothing but healing while she sleeps, Judge. Now come on, you need to eat something, anyway. Jackie cooked some frozen pizzas.” Ike’s voice softens, but just a little.

Judge glares like a wet cat, furious but exhausted. After a long beat, he relents, rolling off the bed. We all head toward the kitchen, and as we enter, Jackie hands each of us a paper plate with pizza. The smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce is a small comfort in the chaos.

“Alright,” Ike says, looking directly at Judge, who’s sitting at the table, holding his plate like it’s a lifeline. “Tell us what happened from the time you pulled out of the driveway until you called me.”

Judge hesitates for a second, his eyes dropping to his plate, but then he begins. “We were driving. When we got to the stop sign by the town sign, the guy rolled his window down and waved. Mom got upset and started driving real fast. They followed us and rammed our car a few times. Mom went into the ditch and hit something. She got out and told me to stay down. They started shooting at each other. The guy knew Mom’s name... He said he knew she had a kid and asked if he was his.” Judge looks at Ike, his face hardening. “Was that my dad?”

Ike swallows hard before answering. “That’s for your mom to tell you. But you remember this, boy. It takes a lot more to be a dad than just to be called the word. You hear me? So while your mom can answer your question better, I’ll tell you this: that man is not your dad.”

Judge just nods, barely whispering, “Okay.”

“Then what happened?” Ike presses.

Judge continues, the words coming out slowly, cracking with emotion. “Mom got shot. She told me that if that guy got to the car, to run. She made me promise. Run back here, and don’t stop. I told her I knew the way. I was about to get out and start running when I heard more shots, and then you guys were there. How did you find us?”

Ike looks at me, his eyes searching. “Yeah,” he adds, “How did you find them?”

I take a breath, answering since I was the one who dug up the lead. “Brydgett gave her GTO to our little sister. I went through it, found a receipt for a storage unit. But it was empty. I ran the plates on the car, and they came back to you. We have a friend who knows a hacker who likes to help if it’s for a good cause. They gave us your address. We were headed here, just trying to get Brydgett to give us a chance... to hear us out. It was pure fucking luck we happened upon her on the side of the road when we did.”

“So it was,” Ike mutters, stroking his chin. He turns to Judge. “You can go back to your mom. Take the pizza with you.”

The kid jumps up, grabbing his plate and scurrying back toward Brydgett’s room. Once he’s gone, Ike turns back to us, and the weight of his gaze lands on us like a hammer.

His voice drops, as serious as it’s ever been. “You three better pray she wakes up. Because when she does, we’ve got some serious things to sort through. This mess... it’s far from over. You better be here for the right reasons, and not just thinking you’re gonna snag an omega. Brydgett is more than that. She’s been through hell and back, and I trained her for a fucking war. You better be prepared to ride into battle with her and take care of that boy like he's your own flesh and blood. Or I’ll peel the damn skin from your bones. I never had any kids, but those two are my family. Understand?”

The room falls into a heavy silence. We all stand there, absorbing the weight of his words.

Gears shifts in his seat, his jaw tightening, but there’s a flicker of guilt in his eyes before he speaks, steady but edged with regret. “I’m not here to just snag an omega. Hell, I don’t even know if I have the right to ask for that. But I owe her. I owe her for what we’ve done. I know what she’s capable of, and yeah, maybe she’s a killer. But she’s also a survivor. And I’m prepared to stand beside her in whatever fight comes next. I can’t walk away from that. Not now.”

Acid cracks his knuckles, his usual calm slipping as his eyes harden, the rawness of his emotions showing through. “I don’t give a damn about what people say she is or what’s been done to her. Yeah, she’s a killer. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s one hell of a woman. I’m here because I respect her strength, and I owe her, too. I’ve made mistakes, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try to make it right. And as for that kid? He’s ours to protect now. No matter what. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m in this for the long haul, and that’s a promise.”

I lean forward, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, every word firm with the weight of my own guilt and resolve. “I’m not here for some easy ride or because she’s a damn omega. I know what we’ve done, and it’s not just the killing that makes this messy. But she’s not just a weapon, and she’s damn sure not someone you just walk away from. She’s our Kismet. And I’m here for her. I’ll make sure she and that kid are taken care of, even if it means putting my life on the line. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll fight for them, and I’ll fight for the chance to make things right.”

Ike stares at each of us, his gaze sharp, unyielding. He’s reading us, testing us. There’s a long beat of silence before he nods once, slow and deliberate.

“Good. Then let’s see if you’re all in when it matters most.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

GEARS

I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on my knees, eyes locked onto Brydgett’s still form. The low hum of the IV machine and the faint scent of sterile equipment mix with her natural sweetness, something dark and addictive underneath. My Kismet. Our Kismet.

She looks too fucking fragile like this. Skin pale, lips dry and parted like she’s trying to suck in a breath. My fingers curl into fists, the raw need to protect her surging through me, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. She’s mine. We’re connected, and every instinct in my body tells me to keep her safe.

Arrow leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. Acid paces like a caged animal, hands flexing, itching for violence. The bond thrums between us, thick with frustration and the need to protect what’s ours. We don’t have to say it. I can feel it—every growl, every wave of fury. Acid's wild energy is something primal, like an untamed animal protecting its territory. And Brydgett is his. She’s mine. We share her, we protect her, and nobody gets to touch what belongs to us.

Ike clears his throat, stepping into the room like he’s about to drop a bomb. His usual scowl deepens as his sharp eyes move over us. He’s an alpha in his own right, but there’s something restrained in him, something measured, always holding back. “There’s something you need to know.”

Acid stops pacing and locks eyes with Ike. “What happened?”

Ike’s gaze flicks to Brydgett, and for the first time since we met the bastard, there’s something almost sympathetic in his eyes. “I’m not gonna tell you her whole story,” he says, “But I do know who betrayed her.”

“Who?” Arrow asks, his expression tight with barely contained anger.

Ike hesitates, his expression hardening before he answers, cold and measured. “One of my fighters. Name’s Eric.”

Acid’s jaw clenches, his fists tightening. “He caused this?” he whispers, venom laced in every word, the alpha growl rumbling low in his throat.

Ike doesn’t nod, doesn’t need to. The silence speaks for itself.

Arrow steps forward, eyes burning with barely contained rage. “Explain.”

Ike sighs, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s reliving some nightmare. “He’s fought for me for years. There’s a rule at the gym—mind your own business, don’t talk about who’s there or what they’re doing while training. What happens at fight club stays at fight club, you know?” He shakes his head. “Apparently, he broke that rule. Told his cousin about Brydgett and Judge. That led to the events that put her in this bed.” His eyes darken.

Acid growls low in his throat. “That motherfucker still breathin’?”

Ike’s gaze hardens. “Yeah, he’s still out there. And if she wakes up and finds out he’s still free, it’ll piss her off. She’ll expect me to get her revenge.”

I stand, my chest tight, forcing myself to see past the red haze. “Then we handle it.”

Arrow’s already pulling out his phone. “I’ll call Bat and get him here. He’ll transport the bastard once we’ve got him. He’s been with us since the start, knows how to move things without questions.”

Acid cracks his knuckles, a twisted grin stretching across his face. “Time to hunt.”

We head to the gym first, but Eric’s not there. One of the guys behind the counter takes the phone when we call Ike, then passes it off to another guy working there. After a brief exchange, the guy sets the phone down with a smirk.

“Eric’s been talking about meeting some whore at a motel on the edge of town.”

That’s all we need to hear. We’re back on the road in seconds, the silence between us humming with anticipation. The motel isn’t hard to find—it’s the kind of place that looks like a crime scene waiting to happen, neon vacancy sign flickering weakly against a backdrop of peeling paint and shattered streetlights.

Inside, the air is thick with the stench of piss, cheap booze, and broken dreams. And there he is. Eric. A beta through and through—cowardly, twitchy, never able to look an alpha in the eye for more than a second. Holed up in a room that reeks of desperation, hunched over the rickety motel desk. He’s flipping through some ratty notebook, muttering under his breath, so lost in whatever he’s reading that he doesn’t even hear us come in.

Not until Acid’s got him by the throat.

The crack of drywall splitting on impact is sharp, echoing through the tiny room as Acid slams him back against the wall. His grip is a vise, alpha power rolling off him in thick, suffocating waves.

“Nice to meet you, you fucking snake,” Acid snarls, his fingers tightening.

Eric’s eyes bulge, his hands clawing at Acid’s wrist, his whiskey-soaked brain scrambling to catch up. “W-who⁠—”

Arrow drives a fist into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs before he can even think about spitting out some excuse.

“You don’t get to talk,” Arrow growls. “You don’t get to beg.”

I step forward, gripping his chin, forcing him to look me in the eye. “You betrayed her. Sold her out. And you thought we wouldn’t come for you?”

He wheezes, shaking his head frantically. “Who the fuck are you talking about?”

Acid throws him to the floor, sneering. “Brydgett.”

Eric freezes, his pupils dilating as the name hits him. A quick, nervous laugh escapes his lips, shaky and desperate. “No... no... you can’t be serious,” he stammers, trying to push himself back up.

But Acid’s booted foot slams into his chest, forcing him back down. “Shut the fuck up,” Acid growls, and the fear in Eric’s eyes deepens.

The slam of a door down the hall echoes through the motel, and we move quickly—no time for niceties. One of us shoves a cloth into Eric’s mouth to muffle his screams, while the other pulls duct tape across his face. His muffled protests die as we drag him out of the room, his body kicking in a weak, desperate attempt to break free.

The motel is quiet—no sounds of anyone reacting from the other rooms, or maybe they're too afraid to.

We drag him out to the van Bat’s waiting beside, shoving him into the back like the trash he is. Bat doesn’t ask questions—he’s a trusted member of the Renegades, always keeps his head cool under pressure. He secures Eric like a pro and nods. “I’ll get him back to the clubhouse. Keep him nice and chilled ‘til she’s ready.”

I clap him on the shoulder. “Good.”

Back at Ike’s, Brydgett hasn’t moved, but her presence still commands the room. She may be unconscious, but she’s ours, and that’s all that matters.

Ike’s waiting for us in the doorway, arms crossed, looking more irritated than usual. “It’s done?”

Arrow nods. “Eric’s handled.”

Ike exhales through his nose, glancing at Brydgett. “Good. But now we have another problem.”

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

He gestures to her. “She can’t stay here.”

Acid scoffs. “You think we don’t know that?”

I step closer to the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. “She needs to be somewhere safe. Somewhere locked down tight.”

Arrow nods. “The clubhouse.”

Ike frowns. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

Acid crosses his arms. “You got a better one?”

Silence stretches. Finally, Ike grumbles, rubbing his temple. “Fine. But you make damn sure no one lays a fucking finger on her.”

I smirk. “She’ll make sure of that herself, I’m sure.”

Ike mutters something under his breath, but doesn’t argue. “I want you all to have my number and any hint of trouble, you call me. I’ll be there ASAP. Otherwise, I’ll stay here and keep my eyes open. Let you know if I see or hear anything.”

“I’ll call one of the prospects to get out here with the van and trailer,” I say, my mind already working.

Arrow raises an eyebrow, glancing over at me. “Call Keg. He’s been around long enough to handle this without screwing it up.”

Acid nods, cracking his knuckles. “Yeah, Keg’s solid. He’s still proving himself, but he knows the drill. He’ll get it done.”

Arrow claps a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get our girl home.”

Our girl. Our Kismet. Our deadly, broken, beautiful omega.

And God help anyone who tries to take her from us again.

A few hours later, Keg pulls into the driveway in the Sprinter van, the flatbed trailer behind it, with his bike secured on the back. He slows to a stop, his heavy boots hitting the gravel with a thud as he steps out, already nodding toward us.

He’s one of the prospects who’s worked his ass off to get to this point, still earning his place, but proving he’s got the guts to stand with us. And right now, his loyalty is undeniable.

I watch as the van’s doors swing open, the cool night air rushing in. We move fast, no time to waste.

Acid’s the first to move, quickly jumping to load our bikes onto the trailer. He handles them like they’re an extension of himself, securing each one with practiced ease.

When the bikes are secured, I don’t hesitate. I walk into the house and to Brydgett’s room, kneeling beside the bed where she’s lying. She’s too fucking fragile like this. She’s tough—fierce and independent. Seeing her like this, helpless, it twists my gut.

Her scent’s off. It’s still there, but faint, muted. Stunted by meds and pain. No jasmine. No orange. Just something flat and wrong that makes my instincts coil.

It doesn’t smell like ours. It doesn’t smell like her.

And I hate it.

I slide my arms under her, lifting her carefully. My chest tightens as I feel the weight of her in my arms, not just her physical form, but the responsibility we all share for her. Our Kismet. She’s ours to protect, and nobody’s going to take that away.

We move quickly, my heart racing with every step. Acid’s ready to help me lay her down on the gurney we’ve got for emergency situations. We strap her in tight, making sure the IV is still hooked up right.

Ike steps inside, his face grim. He checks the IV, the machine beeping softly as it pumps life into her veins. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “Give ’em hell, kid,” he murmurs, the words thick with something I can’t quite place. It’s not just fatherly concern—it’s the weight of someone who’s watched over her through thick and thin.

Ike stands back up, his eyes hardening. He pulls out his phone, tossing it to Judge, who’s beside me. “Here. Brand-new iPhone for you,” Ike says, his tone lighter now. “Your mom’s gonna have my ass for giving you this, but if you need anything, you call. If you want to talk, you call. You need me to come get you, or if you need someone dead, you call. I put Jackie’s and my number in there. I love you, boy.”

Judge’s lips twitch, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he takes the phone. “I love you too, Grandpa Ike.”

With that, Ike steps back, clapping his hands once, his face returning to a no-nonsense expression. “Alright. Get moving.”

I climb behind the wheel of the van, feeling the familiar weight of control fall over me. Acid slides into the passenger seat, his eyes scanning the area. Arrow takes one of the seats on the sidewall, next to Judge.

The van starts up, the engine growling to life as I shift into gear. Ike gives me one last wave as I check my side mirror. Keg pulls his bike out from behind the trailer, revving the engine with a roar as he falls in line behind us.

We hit the road, the familiar rhythm of the ride settling over us. The weight of Brydgett, of everything that’s happened, hangs heavy, but we’re a team. We’ll keep her safe. We’ll make sure the bastards who hurt her pay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

BRYDGETT

I wake up to unfamiliar surroundings. The smell hits me first, thick and rich, like someone bathed in a vat of plums and sandalwood. It’s an oddly pleasant mix, but not one I’m used to. My breath hitches as my mind scrambles to make sense of where the hell I am.

I blink, trying to shake off the haze. The room is dimly lit, soft light filtering through curtains I don’t recognize. The bed beneath me is too soft, too damn comfortable. My side aches with a dull throb, a sharp reminder of what happened. I wince as I sit up, instinctively pressing a hand to my ribs.

"Fucking bastard." The words slip out before I even register saying them. My throat feels dry, sore. I can't help but run my tongue over the inside of my mouth, tasting blood. I yank the IV out of my arm without a second thought, grimacing at the pain. It stings, but it’s nothing compared to the confusion swirling in my chest.

Where the hell am I?

Where the fuck is Judge?

Panic claws at my insides. Did Earl take me? Is he waiting for me to wake up, lurking somewhere in the shadows, ready to finish what he started? My stomach tightens, and my pulse spikes at the thought of him. But the scent in the room… it’s not his. This is something different—something sexy, something rich. My core slicks, an involuntary reaction I can’t ignore. The scent pulls at me, making my insides flutter with an unnerving need.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to breathe, but it’s like the air is thick with it. The scent lingers, a strong, masculine presence that stirs something deep within me. The instinct to pull away is drowned by the burning ache of my omega, my body’s traitorous response. My fingers curl against the sheets, fighting the whine that tries to escape from my throat.

Footsteps echo outside the door. I freeze, holding my breath. Whoever it is, they’re coming. My heart thunders in my chest, and I push myself back against the headboard, desperate for some kind of defense, but I’m too damn slow.

The door creaks open, and in strolls Mr. Ink and Sexy himself—Arrow. His light brown eyes widen when he sees me, and the smile that spreads across his face is enough to make me feel like I’ve been sucker-punched. That damned smile. I hate it. It’s too fucking warm, too fucking comforting. The tattoos on his arms, torso, and legs—floral, animal, and traditional designs—just add to the fact that he's hot as fuck.

“You’re awake!” His voice is bright, almost... too bright. And then, to my absolute horror, he starts to purr, a low, vibrating sound that seems to come from deep within his chest. It’s smooth and hypnotic, a sound I wasn’t prepared for. My pussy tightens against it, betraying me, and I fight to keep my face neutral. The last thing I need right now is to show him how much his presence affects me.

I narrow my eyes at him, not bothering to hide my contempt. “What the fuck am I doing here?” I push myself up further in the bed, trying to shake off the last remnants of the fog in my brain. “How did I get here? And where the hell is my son?”

His smile falters, and his posture shifts, turning serious. “We found you and kinda saved your ass,” he says, his voice a little quieter now, but still rough with that underlying alpha tone. My skin prickles. I hate how easily he slips into that role. “Judge is here. I’ll get him.”

Before I can respond, he turns toward the door and hollers, “Judge! Come here.” The sound booms, and I feel an involuntary shiver run down my spine. It’s too much. Too sexy. Too... everything.

He pulls out his phone, eyes flicking to mine for a second, before he presses the device to his ear. “She’s awake.” He says it like a fact, like I’m some fucking object. The way he makes it sound, it’s like he’s reporting a crime. The condescension is practically dripping from his tone. He hangs up without another word. The action so practiced it makes me grit my teeth.

The door bursts open again before shutting, and I feel it—him.

Judge.

He doesn’t even give me a second to process what’s happening before he barrels in and onto the bed, wrapping his arms around me like I’m the only thing that matters in the world. He’s so goddamn warm, so solid and real. For a second, the world outside this bed disappears, and all I can feel is his heat, his strength.

“Easy, baby.” I chuckle weakly. “I’m still sore.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Judge mumbles, soft with concern as he pulls back just enough to look at me. “I’m glad you’re awake. You slept forever.”

I raise an eyebrow, glancing at Arrow, who is standing by the door, watching us with an intensity that sets my teeth on edge. “How long?” I croak, still trying to gather my bearings.

Judge’s light brown complexion and those warm brown eyes are inches from mine, his face so close I can see the way his short, jet black hair is styled with that side part, the buzzed sides making him look even more sharp-edged than usual. His lean, athletic frame, that body I’ve watched grow and shift over the years, is so close to me now, it feels like he's become part of my very breath.

“A week,” Arrow says, his tone flat, like he’s trying to keep things casual. But there’s something in his eyes. Something that tells me he’s not as relaxed as he’s trying to appear.

“A week?!” My voice rises, the shock more than I can process. “A fucking week?”

Arrow steps closer, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve been through a lot, Brydgett,” he says softly, but there’s no real sympathy. “You were hurt pretty bad. We had to⁠—”

I cut him off before he can finish. “Don’t even try to explain.” My voice comes out sharp and I watch his expression shift—regret, maybe, or guilt, I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter. “You didn’t have to do anything. How the hell did you even find me? Suddenly, I’ve got Kismet bonds and bam—everyone and their fucking mom knows exactly where I am.”

Arrow’s smile fades completely, replaced by a seriousness that makes my skin prickle. “We didn’t⁠—”

“You didn’t?” I scoff, cutting him off again. My heart is hammering in my chest, rage building up with every word that leaves my mouth. “You didn’t have to do anything, but you did. You swept in and didn’t think for a second about how I’d feel. You think I’m just some slick struck omega you can play with?”

Judge is quiet, low and soothing as he presses a hand gently against my arm. “Mom, they’ve been really worried about you, and Grandpa Ike scared them, I think.”

Arrow moves—steps into the room and closer to the bed—his eyes never leaving mine. The room feels small suddenly, the air thick with tension. He’s an alpha, there’s no denying it. And I can feel that pull, the way his presence dominates the space between us. It’s a challenge, and I hate that my body reacts to it.

“Brydgett,” he says, almost growling. “You’re pissed. I get it. But if you want to survive, you need to get past the anger and focus on what matters. You think that bastard’s the only problem you’ve got right now? You think⁠—”

I laugh bitterly, cutting him off again. “You think I give a damn about surviving? I’ve survived everything so far, but you assholes—” My voice breaks as I choke back a surge of emotion, my body trembling with the weight of my fury.

Before I can even catch my breath, the door slams open, and Acid and Gears practically stumble over each other as they rush in.

"Just what I need, the last two of the three stooges," I mutter, my stomach twisting with frustration.

The room immediately fills with the mixed scent of mango and patchouli, sharp and heady like a tropical storm, clashing with Acid’s lemon and black currant, a sharp sweetness that cuts through the air. The two scents swirl around me, a sensory overload that makes my skin prickle.

But then, mixed in with them, is the subtle, too familiar scent of jasmine and orange. My perfume soaks the room like an overachieving air freshener.

"Omega..." Gears growls, a low rumble that curls in my chest, stirring something deep within me. It's like a magnet pulling at my core, something familiar, almost comforting in its intensity. It makes me want to crawl to him, to nestle in his arms despite everything I've been through, to let him wrap me up and shield me from the world. But I won’t. Not now. Not after everything.

I shake the feeling off, refusing to let it take root. "Don’t fucking call me that!" The words come out sharp, desperate to push him away.

Gears freezes, his square jaw tensing. His light green eyes narrow as his well-groomed beard and tousled dark hair make him look even more imposing. Acid, on the other hand, just stands there, his neutral expression hard to read beneath his short, neatly cut hair and tanned skin. His muscular frame seems to fill the space as he stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.

They don’t get to reduce me to that.

There’s silence, and then Acid speaks, calm—the kind of calm that only comes from knowing you’re on the edge of losing everything. “We’re sorry. For everything.” His words feel like a quiet promise, and as much as I want to throw them back in his face, something inside me hesitates.

I stare at him for a long moment, my anger making it hard to breathe. I feel the tension between us like an electric current, sharp and sparking.

Finally, I turn my gaze to Arrow, my fury still burning in my chest. “You don’t get to apologize. None of you do. I’m done with all your bullshit.” My voice is a guttural growl, the words sharp as daggers.

For a long beat, no one speaks. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears, the anger still smoldering just beneath the surface.

Finally, I exhale, the breath shaky but determined. “But I’m not leaving,” I say quietly. “For him.” I nod toward Judge—toward my son, the one piece of me I can’t afford to lose. The one thing keeping me from falling apart completely. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a part of me that knows I’ll never fully walk away from them.

Not while they still own a piece of me.

Gears crosses his arms, his posture stiff as he stares at me. “Like you had a choice. You’re injured; you can’t do a whole lot right now.”

I bite back a retort, a muscle in my jaw twitching. “Don’t try to keep me caged like a goddamn bird, Gears. It won’t work. I’ve had worse. I just need to get my energy back.” The words come out sharper than I mean, but the frustration clogs my throat, tightens my chest. I’m not some fragile thing they need to protect. I’m not broken. Not yet.

Gears’s eyes narrow, and I catch the flicker of doubt there, but he says nothing. I wonder if he’s trying to figure out whether I’ll snap.

“Gears is a fucking moron,” Acid interrupts, his words heavy with something I can’t place—resentment, guilt, or maybe both. “We want you here. You’re our Kismet. We fucked up. I fucked up. But we want to explore what this is with you. We’re just glad you’re okay.”

There’s a raw sincerity there that I can’t ignore, but it doesn’t erase the doubt curling inside me. Can they really want me? My mind races, fighting against the need for their approval, for their love, but the question lingers like an open wound. Am I truly their Kismet, someone they’ll cherish, or am I just something broken, a puzzle they’ll put together and then discard when they’ve figured out how to fix me?

The thought of being nothing more than something to occupy their time, a temporary distraction until they move on, hits me like a punch to the gut. My stomach twists. God, I want to believe them. I want to believe that their words are true, that I’m more than just an afterthought to them. I want to be wanted, to be held close, but the fear gnaws at me, the fear of being nothing more than a passing phase.

I feel the walls inside me close in. “People reject Kismets,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.

“You’d do that?” Arrow asks, his words shaky, like he’s not sure if he believes I really would walk away.

Even the thought of this makes my chest tighten.

“She wouldn’t,” Judge cuts in. His tone is firm, unyielding, as though he’s speaking for me, as if he’s defending me from the monsters I’ve created in my head.

“Judge,” I scold, but there’s no real heat in my voice. I can’t bring myself to be angry with him.

He smirks, reaching into his pocket, and for a moment, I don’t even register what he’s doing until I hear the soft click of a phone being unlocked.

“Where the hell…” I snap my gaze toward the three alphas in the room, but they raise their hands, innocent.

“Hi, Grandpa Ike. Mom’s awake and being grumpy. Yeah, you can. She’s been real mean to her alphas, too.”

I roll my eyes and snatch the phone from Judge’s hand, my fingers brushing his skin for just a moment—long enough for a flicker of warmth to surge up my arm. I stick my tongue out at him.

“Hello.”

“Brydge. Fuck, it’s good to hear from you.” Ike’s deep, gravelly words crackle through the phone.

“How’d we get here, Ike?” I ask, speaking more quietly than I mean to.

“They found you on the side of the road with Earl shooting at you. You were hit. They scared him off and called me, thanks to the boy. I came, and we rushed you to the house where I fixed ya up. You couldn’t stay here, kid. He knows you’re here. They’ll protect you, and no one knows you’re their Kismet.”

My chest tightens. My breath catches. The weight of what he says hits me in waves. They protected me? They brought me here to keep me safe? The same men I’ve been avoiding, the same ones I’m fighting like hell to not want?

“They’re fucking dickheads, Ike,” I spit. “You sent me to the lion’s den.”

There’s a soft chuckle on the other end. “They might be dickheads, kid, but they’re your dickheads, if you’ll have them. They might not show it to you, but they were scared to death you were gone. The kind of gone you don’t come back from, ya feel me?”

A heavy sigh slips past my lips, the reality of the situation crashing down. I do feel it. I know exactly what he means.

“Yeah,” I whisper, the word barely audible.

“I’m glad you’re safe, kid. You’ll be sore for a while, but the scar should be minimal.”

“Thanks, Ike.”

“Anytime.”

The call ends, and I stare at the phone in my hand for a moment before passing it back to Judge. My mind is spinning, and I’m not sure what to feel, let alone what to do next.

“I guess Ike gave this to you?” I ask.

“Yeah, can I keep it… please?” Judge asks, softer now, the usual playful edge gone.

I can’t help the tiny smile that tugs at the corners of my lips. “Yeah, you can keep it. But there are rules.”

“Deal!”

I can’t stop my breath from catching in my throat as Acid speaks up. “Brydgett, we need to talk. Not about us... yet, but we have something for you.”

The words pull me out of my haze, but I can’t shake the unease gnawing at my insides.

“What is it?”

“Not in front of the kid.”

I glance at Judge, who’s already edging toward the door. “Can you go play? Safely?”

“Yeah, I’ll go see what Dillon’s doin’.” He gives me a quick nod before leaving the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

The room feels suddenly quieter, and I cross my arms over my chest, holding on to some semblance of control. “What could you possibly have gotten me?”

Acid smiles—slow, predatory, his eyes dark. “Eric.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

BRYDGETT

I can still feel the sting where the IV had been, but the rush of adrenaline in my veins drowns it out. My mind’s spinning, and my body’s not ready for what’s about to come. But I’m awake now. No more pretending I’m anything other than what I am.

I roll my shoulders, the tightness in my muscles reminding me how long I’ve been out of it. I wish I could stay in this half-dazed state where nothing feels real, but life’s not waiting for me to catch up.

The three alphas tower over me like some kind of fucking nightmare, and for a second, I almost wish Judge had stuck around. Arrow stands closest, his presence unnervingly steady, while Gears and Acid linger near the door, their eyes locked on me. But then again, maybe it's better this way. This is my shit to deal with.

I pull the blankets tighter around my shoulders, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable. I try not to let it show. I’m not some damsel in distress. Never have been, never will be.

Eric.

“You have Eric?”

“Yeah. We’ve got him. And he’s waiting for you.” Acid speaks evenly, like he knows exactly what effect his words will have on me.

I can feel the cold sweat dripping down my back, the throbbing in my side reminding me that I’m still alive. But I’m not going to let that show. I’m awake now, and I’ve got unfinished business to deal with. Ike did what he could with my side, so I know I’ll be fine. Pain’s just a distraction, nothing more.

“Take me to Eric. We have things to discuss,” I tell them, pushing myself up further in bed so that I can slide my legs over the side.

"First, we need some answers." Gears sounds steady, but there’s urgency in his words. "What the hell happened? Why are you in this mess?"

Oh, great. The mighty alphas have spoken. I shake my head, feeling the pressure of their eyes on me. Part of me wants to shut them out, keep the story locked up tight where it belongs. But the way they look at me—like they’re waiting for me to break—I can’t keep up the act forever. Not with them.

I roll my eyes, biting back a sarcastic comment. If they expect me to bare my soul to them, they’ve got another thing coming. I’ve been through enough shit to last a lifetime. But even as I cling to that resolve, a sliver of doubt creeps in. Because no matter how much I want to keep it all buried, there’s a part of me that wonders—what if letting them in wouldn’t be so bad?

“Start talking,” Gears barks, the weight of his command making me freeze. I shoot a look at the three of them, each one looking at me with barely contained fury. They’re waiting. They’re expecting me to explain.

I sigh, my head falling back against the pillow.

"What do you think happened?" I snap. "You really want to know? You think I’m some damsel in distress you can fix with your little tough guy act?"

"Stop," Arrow says, his voice more soothing than the others, but I see the anger in his eyes. "We’re not here to judge. We’re here to understand. So, tell us. Who was the guy that shot you and why is he after you?"

I exhale slowly, weighing my options. I could keep it all locked up, never say a word. But I can see the concern in their eyes, the desire to protect me, and something inside me stirs. They might not know everything, but they deserve to know. And honestly, I need to say it. I need them to understand why I’m so fucked up.

I lean back against the bed, my hand instinctively brushing over the spot where the bullet wound still aches. I want to ignore it, pretend I’m stronger than the pain, but the reality is, I’m not invincible.

“Alright,” I mutter. "It’s a long story. One you won’t like. But you want the truth?"

They nod, waiting. Gears looks like he’s ready to tear someone apart, and Acid's fists are clenched. But it’s Arrow, the one who always looks calm, who holds my gaze, his steady presence somehow more unsettling than the others.

“Earl and Tina adopted me when I was younger,” I begin. “When I had my first heat spike and Tina was out… Earl broke down my bedroom door and raped me.”

A sound tears from Gears’ throat—a low, guttural growl that vibrates the air between us. The sharp tang of mango and patchouli floods the room, his scent spiking with rage.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep going. “And Tina... when I told her afterward, she just laughed. Told me, at least now, she won’t have to worry about him cheating on her with some random whore.

The silence that follows is suffocating. Acid’s scent spikes next—bergamot and lemon turning harsh and bitter, cut with the dark bite of blackcurrant. He’s practically trembling, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he paces like a caged animal.

Arrow doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His scent—apple, plum, and sandalwood—rolls out warm and steady, but there’s something darker curled beneath it. Controlled fury. The kind that waits for the right moment to strike.

“I ran away. Couch surfed for a while. Then I ended up in Ridgeville, and Ike found me—homeless and taking care of Judge.”

Gears' breath catches in his throat. “Judge is... the product of that night?”

I nod, barely able to keep my gaze steady. “Yeah. Ike took us in. Let me stay in the gym, taught me how to defend myself. After a while, he moved us to his house. Trained me, made me who I am today—the Alpha Slayer.”

“So that guy who was shooting at you... that was Earl?” Arrow asks, calculating.

“Yup,” I snap, the anger bubbling up again. “Fucking bastard. He was saying all kinds of shit—how I was his, how he missed me. He knows Judge is his, but he can’t have him. I’ll die before I let him get his hands on my son.”

“We won’t let him get his hands on either of you,” Gears growls—it sounds like a promise—dark and lethal.

Acid’s nostrils flare as he growls, dangerous. “That son of a bitch. Earl and Tina... they’re both dead.”

I shake my head sharply, a fire burning in my chest. “No. They’re mine to kill. And you can’t tell Judge. I’ll tell him when he’s old enough to understand. Promise me that.”

Arrow's face is tight with anger, but he nods. "We promise. But Brydgett, you need to tell him. Sooner or later, you have to face it."

I roll my eyes, a humorless laugh escaping my lips. "Yeah, well, he’s not old enough to hear about Earl or Tina. Not yet. He won’t understand that even though the night he was created was the worst night of my life, having him is the best thing that’s happened to me.”

I can feel their frustration rising, but they’re not pushing me further. They don’t understand, but they’re respecting my wishes.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, a grunt escaping me as I try to stand. Every muscle in my body protests, but I power through it.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Arrow barks.

I roll my eyes, barely holding back the sarcasm. “I was planning on making a run for it, but thought I’d pass out in style first. You know, for the dramatic effect.”

I sound like a dick. I know it. But it’s the only defense I have right now.

Acid leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes scanning me with a mixture of concern and disbelief. He lets out a short, humorless laugh before his gaze drifts to my side. His face hardens. “You’re lucky Ike’s a damn miracle worker,” he mutters. “You should be dead.”

I blink, letting the words settle in the air like a bitter taste. “And here I thought I was just that badass,” I quip, the corner of my mouth twitching into something resembling a grin.

But my voice turns serious, steel creeping into every word. “Now, I’m going to see Eric.”

That gets their attention. They freeze, exchanging glances.

“You’re not fully healed,” Gears warns, concern evident in his words. "This isn't the right time."

“I don’t give a shit,” I snap. “I’m not waiting any longer. If you want to help me, then help me get to him. I need to see him. Now.”

They exchange another set of looks, but none of them dare question me. They’ve seen me at my worst; they know better than to think they can hold me back.

My scent sharpens. It’s tinged with frustration that I can’t hide. The air is thick with it.

“Fine,” Acid grumbles. "But you're not in any condition to⁠—"

“Just get me to him,” I interrupt, frustration bubbling up. I’m done with waiting. Done with the silence. I want answers from Eric, and I’m going to make sure he gives them to me.

Just as I start to rise, the world tilts, and I lose my balance. They finally relent, helping me to my feet and steadying me as we move toward the basement. The cold air hits me first, like a slap in the face, the smell of cement and oil filling my lungs. I push past it, focusing only on the task at hand. Eric. My betrayer. The one who sold me out for whatever the hell reason.

When we reach the basement door, I can hear his voice from the other side—weak, panicked, just the way I want it. They open the door, and there he is, dangling from the ceiling by chains around his wrists, forced to stand on his tiptoes. His body sways slightly with the weight, and I can see the strain in his posture—just the way I want him to feel.

For a moment, the world holds still. The blood in my veins feels like it’s turned to ice, but I don’t care. I stand there, staring at him, watching the fear flicker in his eyes.

And then I speak. My words are cold and sharp, breaking the silence.

“Surprise, Eric,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me, did ya?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ACID

The basement smells like damp concrete and stale sweat. Chains rattle softly from the ceiling, the only sound aside from the steady drip of water from a leaky pipe. The shadows in the corners seem thicker down here, swallowing the weak light from the bare bulb swinging overhead.

Eric hangs like a slaughtered pig, his wrists bound and stretched above him, forcing him to balance on his tiptoes. His head droops, greasy hair plastered to his forehead. Even now, with the bruises blooming across his face and the blood crusted on his temple, there’s a flicker of defiance in his eyes. Fucker doesn’t know when to quit.

I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching. With a grunt, I push off and shrug out of my cut, rolling my shoulders as the leather slides free. No reason to risk getting it dirty. Arrow’s in the corner, sharpening a knife with slow, deliberate strokes, the sound slicing through the tense silence. Gears stands by the door, fists clenched, his entire body coiled tight.

None of us speak. Not yet.

Brydgett’s small frame is dwarfed by the chair she lounges in. But even seated, she carries herself like a goddamn warrior. She’s an omega, but her presence crackles with an energy that has me on edge, something dangerous and intoxicating. Her auburn hair falls in loose waves, strands curling wildly around her face. There’s a cut on her forehead, still pink from the fight. Ike stitched her up good, but the bruises remain. They make her look fierce. Untamed.

She crosses her legs with a casual confidence that only makes her presence more commanding. Her scent lingers in the air. It’s intoxicating, but it also warns us. She’s not just an omega, she’s the storm in the eye of the hurricane. Her eyes lock onto Eric, amusement flashing in them as he watches the alphas around her shift in their positions.

I can see the flicker of something in her eyes, something cold. She’s playing it cool, but deep down, she’s aching for this. The control, the power, the satisfaction of watching him crack. It's not just about the answers. It’s about sending a message.

A slow smirk curls her lips, amusement flashing in her eyes as she meets Eric’s gaze.

Eric lifts his head, blinking through the blood and sweat.

“Brydgett,” he rasps. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah? Well, you should know better than to talk about others,” she says, smooth as silk, but the bite of her words cuts through the air like a blade. “But lucky for you, I’ve got questions. And I’m feeling really generous today.”

She doesn’t let her eyes leave him, savoring the look in his eyes as his bravado crumbles a little bit more. He’s just a man, after all—weak, vulnerable, and soon to be broken.

Arrow and Gears move closer, one on each side, their dominant auras settling around her, ready to protect and support. But Brydgett is the one in control here. The omega-alpha dynamic is a twist of attraction, power, and deep, unspoken understanding. She might not have the raw physical strength of an alpha, but she commands the space like she’s the center of it all, drawing the alphas in like magnets.

“Why don’t we start with the easy ones?” Brydgett’s voice is calm, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. The kind of calm that makes you wonder if the storm’s already building behind her eyes. “Where’s Earl?”

Eric sneers, his swollen lips cracking, the blood from his split lip running down his chin. “You think I’d tell you? Didn’t you just say to not talk about others?”

Brydgett’s laughter is dry and humorless, the sound as sharp as broken glass. "Oh, sweetheart," she coos, dripping with mock sympathy. "You’re gonna tell me everything. But I’m not above getting a little creative if you make me wait."

Her eyes flick to me, a silent command I don’t question. I move, but it’s not out of submission. It’s out of loyalty, an understanding that I’ll follow Brydgett's lead because I know exactly how she operates. She’s an omega, but she commands us, her alphas, in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.

Eric flinches, but there’s nowhere for him to go. The chains groan as he strains against them. His silence earns him a swift punch to the gut. He wheezes, the air forced from his lungs. I shake out my knuckles, satisfaction thrumming beneath my skin.

“Talk.” I keep my tone steady. No need to raise it—the promise of pain is enough.

“I don’t know!” Eric sputters, coughing.

Brydgett’s eyes narrow, a smirk curling her lips as she surveys him like a predator. She leans forward, her scent intensifying in the air, curling around us all like an intoxicating cloud. It’s a mix of dominance and softness, something you want to fight against and fall into all at once.

“How’s a goddamn pharmacy tech pulling this off? Fancy suits, drivers, like he’s some high-rolling asshole. Last I checked, Tina was still scraping gum off the floors of that cleaning company.”

When he doesn’t answer fast enough, Brydgett nods at me. Without hesitation, I grab a fistful of Eric’s hair and yank his head back. His neck strains, veins bulging, his eyes flicking up toward the ceiling. He can’t see her, but he doesn’t need to—just hearing her is enough to send a chill down his spine.

“I’m done being nice,” she says. “You think I won’t hurt you? That I’m still that scared little girl from the gym? Ike’s little project…that’s what you always called me, right?”

She chuckles darkly; the sound sends a shiver down my spine. “Guess again, asshole.”

Even without looking at her, Eric knows. I can see it now — the fear creeping in, the realization sinking deep. He knows she’s not bluffing.

“Start talking,” Brydgett commands. “Because I’m not leaving this room until I have what I want.”

And neither am I.

“Let’s try a different question. Why is Earl still looking for me, huh?” she says, her words syrupy sweet with a dangerous undertone that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Eric swallows hard, trying to muster whatever courage he has left. “You really think he’s just a middle-class nobody?” he scoffs, desperation clinging to every word. “Well, you’re in for a surprise, lady. Earl’s not who you think he is.”

“Acid,” she says, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I want him to feel every second of this.”

I don’t hesitate. My fingers slide into my pocket, pulling out the serrated blade I’ve had on me since this whole mess started. It gleams in the light, hungry, like it knows what’s coming next. Eric’s eyes widen, a flicker of panic washing over him. Good. Let him squirm.

“No! Please!” he cries out, the words cracking like a damn child’s. “I’ll tell you whatever you want!”

But Brydgett? She just laughs—dark, cold, and completely unbothered. “Too late for pleasantries now,” she says, a glint in her eyes. Her tone's light, almost mocking, but there’s something deeper there. She’s enjoying this way too much.

I tighten my grip on Eric’s hair, keeping his head yanked back. My boots stay planted against the concrete. I lean in, my hand hovers over his skin before I press the blade to his jawline—just enough to make him feel it. A soft, terrified whimper leaves him, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. I lean in, and this time, I press the blade to his stomach, the tip digging in just enough to make him gasp. I deliver a series of quick, deliberate jabs, each burst of pain sinking deeper, but controlled, meant to break his resolve, not his life. He chokes on his breath with each stab, his body jerking, but I don’t let him look away. Brydgett’s scent sweetens all the while watching, making it that much more satisfying).

“You’re going to tell us everything,” I growl, keeping my voice low. “Or we can make this very uncomfortable.”

Brydgett crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes never leaving the scene, and I get to work. A quick slice here, a shallow stab there—each one leaving a trail of blood and taking another layer off Eric’s bravado. Each one feels deliberate. Precise. It’s almost like I’m peeling away the man he thought he was.

“Why is Earl acting like Daddy Warbucks?” Brydgett asks again. I punctuate it with another cut, this one a little deeper, running across the side of Eric's cheek. His skin splits, and the blood comes in a steady stream, slow enough for me to watch. His head is tilted back, held by one of the other guys, ensuring he can't move too much.

“I swear! He’s just… he’s just trying to find out where you are!” Eric gasps, each breath ragged, but it’s not enough. I want more.

“I’ve been gone for years. Why is he still looking for me? Still coming after me?” Brydgett questions. I press again, my fingers digging into Eric's jaw, forcing him to keep his eyes on me, not the ceiling.

Eric, his eyes barely able to stay focused through the haze of pain, shakes his head. “I don’t know! He said something about power... about needing control over you again.”

The words land hard, and I can see Brydgett process them. She doesn’t miss a beat. “Control?” she whispers, almost to herself. The weight of it hits her, and for a split second, I can see the fire in her eyes. She’s not just pissed now. She’s thinking—about power, about what this means. And fuck, I’m ready to see where this goes.

I let the silence hang there a moment before stepping back, keeping my eyes on Eric. The fun’s just beginning.

Brydgett turns to me, her gaze icy and unyielding. "Acid," she says, a command wrapped in silk. "Cut his eyelids off."

The words hit me like a jolt of electricity. My hands are already shaking as I take a step forward, the knife cold against my skin. It’s not fear that makes me tremble—it’s the loss of control. I’ve done this before, too many times to count, but this is different. Brydgett’s in charge now, and I’m not used to sharing my torture space, to sharing the pain I usually dish out.

I approach Eric slowly, his body trembling in fear, his wide eyes already soaked with terror. I grab his face in a firm grip, forcing him to look at me. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t scream—not yet.

“Hold him,” I growl.

A cold realization crawls up my spine as I look at Brydgett, watching her take charge with unsettling ease. She’s different, more than just a tool to be used. This isn’t just some casual threat—it’s real. She’s the Alpha Slayer, and the way she moves, the calm in her eyes, sends a shiver through the room. For the first time, it hits me—she’s not just someone to be feared in whispers; she is the one everyone’s terrified of.

Gears steps forward without a word, his massive hands clamping down on the sides of Eric's head. The pressure alone is enough to keep him locked in place, his trembling growing more violent under Gears’ unrelenting grip.

I place the blade just above his eyelid, pinching the delicate skin between my fingers and pulling it taut. The cold steel bites lightly at first, and Eric gasps, the fight draining from him as his body goes stiff. He’s begging without words now; the silence between us louder than any scream could be.

Without warning, I slice. The blade glides through the tender tissue as if it were nothing more than paper. Eric’s body jerks, a sound halfway between a scream and a choke escaping from his throat, but it’s cut off as quickly as it came.

I cut the other eyelid next, the motion swift, the blade gliding through the delicate skin. His eyes bulge, filled with a mixture of pain and terror, but the blood and swelling blur everything, distorting his expression.

Brydgett stays seated in the chair, her gaze fixed on Eric. Her injury keeps her still, but it doesn’t dull the venom in her voice or the satisfaction in her smile. She tilts her head slightly, eyes flicking to the bleeding wounds on Eric’s face, the sight of them clearly bringing her a twisted sense of pleasure.

And then it hits the room—faint but unmistakable. Arousal. She’s getting off on this.

My fists clench at my sides. My pulse spikes. Everything in me tightens, instinct roaring to the surface before I can shut it down. Gears growls low, and even Arrow shifts, his pupils dark and blown wide, trying to keep his cool.

Brydgett doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she does. And just doesn’t care.

“Good. He won’t be needing those anymore,” she says. A sick smile spreads across her lips as she leans forward, her eyes never leaving his battered face. "How do you feel now, Eric? Seeing how quickly things can unravel?"

Eric’s body trembles, but no words come. He’s broken, completely. His face is a mess of blood and tears, his eyes ruined beyond repair.

Eric stammers, barely able to breathe between his ragged gasps, his swollen lips quivering as the chains rattle with every movement he makes. “Earl... Earl's not just some nobody. He's... he's set on having you. He thinks you’re his omega now, especially with the kid.” His words stumble over each other, desperation coating every syllable. “Tina couldn’t give him kids, so he wants yours—wants the boy. And you’re the key to all of it. He’s obsessed.”

I can’t hide the fury that pulses through me, but I stay quiet, my eyes flicking to Brydgett. We just found out about Earl, and I know what kind of man he is, but hearing it from Eric, it feels like a kick to the gut.

Brydgett leans in closer. “How’d he get the money for all this, Eric? Spent the last of his middle-class paycheck on that shitty suit, did he?” Her eyes never leave Eric as she waits for the answer, the air between us thick with tension.

Eric’s eyes dart around, panic setting in as he’s cornered.

Brydgett’s patience runs thin, her lips curling into a sneer. “Deglove him,” she snaps.

"No!" Eric shouts, his voice a mix of desperation and fear. “He’s... he’s involved with some bad people,” he sputters, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “Selling pills, drugs, other shit—I’m not sure what. But I know he gets paid to create new strains of drugs. That’s what he does. He’s making a fortune off of it.”

Brydgett’s gaze hardens, her lips curling into a twisted smirk. “Creating drugs, huh?” Her tone’s sweet, like she’s talking about a piece of candy, but I know that edge of darkness running through her. “I’ve heard enough.”

“Finish it, Acid,” she says, her words dropping in pitch. She doesn’t stand, but the weight behind them is clear as she braces herself.

I’m not used to taking orders, never have been. I’m not the submissive type. But with Brydgett, there’s something about the way she speaks, the way she commands the room, that pulls me in deeper. I owe her—I owe her everything for the pain I caused. For her, I’ll do anything. I’ll be what she needs, no questions asked.

“You hurt her, Eric. And I’m not letting you walk out of here alive after that.” My voice is low, calm, but there’s an edge to it now, something that even I can’t ignore.

He shakes his head, his eyes wide, pleading. “I didn’t—please, I didn’t mean—” But I don’t give him a chance to finish.

I drive the blade in fast, a quick jab to the shoulder. The sickening sound of flesh tearing is drowned out by the deafening pounding of my heartbeat. He screams—loud, guttural, but his screams mean nothing to me. Nothing.

But Brydgett? She doesn’t flinch, not for a second. She watches, her gaze as cold as steel, hungry and calculating. Her lips twitch with something dark, something almost… satisfied. I’m seeing her for who she really is–the Alpha Slayer. There’s no pretending, no hesitation. She’s not just giving orders—she’s waiting for me to finish, almost like she’s studying the precision of it, the way I carry out the violence. She enjoys it, and that realization hits me hard.

In all the stories I’ve heard, I never truly understood the weight of them. But now, in this room, watching her—it's clear. She thrives on this.

With one final motion, I drive the blade deep into his chest, the steel sinking with sickening precision. Eric’s body goes limp, collapsing forward as the life drains from him. Blood spills from the wound, pooling beneath him.

“Well, that was fun,” Brydgett says, wiping her hands clean as if she’s just finished a simple task.

I stand there for a moment, my chest rising and falling with the heavy breath of adrenaline still coursing through my veins. It’s done. I’ve done what she wanted. And, strangely, in this twisted moment, I’m okay with that. Because it’s not just about her taking charge anymore. It’s about the fact that she owns this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

GEARS

I pull my phone out of my pocket, hitting Keg’s number with a swift press of my thumb. The ring cuts through the silence as I glance over at Brydgett, who’s still sitting in the chair looking every bit the badass she is. She's a sight—stubborn as hell and just as beautiful. But right now, there's a different fire burning in me, not the one I usually get when I look at her.

"Keg," I say, "get the other prospects down to the basement. We need a cleanup. Now."

There's a grunt of acknowledgment from the other end, the sound of rustling as Keg probably moves to get things together.

“Got it, Prez,” he replies before hanging up. I shove the phone back into my pocket, a quick motion that feels more mechanical than anything.

I turn back just in time to see Brydgett push herself to her feet, her eyes locking with mine—challenging and wild. I’ve heard of feral omegas before, but never truly believed the stories. This right here in front of me is truly feral.

“Well, boys," she begins, "this was fun. But I have an alpha to hunt and take down.”

And that’s when it hits me like a punch to the gut. It’s not just that she’s dangerous—it’s that she is the Alpha Slayer. There’s a coldness in her now, a disconnection from everything human. She moves through this world like a predator, completely unbothered by the violence she’s capable of. I’ve heard the rumors, sure, but seeing it up close, watching how she carries herself... It’s real. This is real. She’s every bit the monster we thought, and something about it makes my cock harden… she was made for us.

I don’t give her a chance to move, grabbing her wrist before she can make a step toward the door. There’s an immediate pulse of heat under my fingers, a sharp contrast to the icy irritation in my veins. I’m not sure what bothers me more—the fact that she thinks she can do this alone, or that she’s still carrying the weight of everything she’s been through, and won’t let her alphas help her. The hunter mentality in her is there, but so is the softness. She’s barely holding it together, and she doesn’t even realize it yet.

My alpha demands I protect her in any way I can, even if that means adding fuel to her burning fire.

"Stay," I growl, forcing her to meet my gaze. The fire in her eyes flickers but doesn’t die. It only shifts, something like amusement sneaking in. She’s challenging me again, daring me to stop her. But now, I’m not just seeing her as a partner—I’m seeing her as a force.

She looks up at me, her eyes wild, unyielding. For a second, we stand there, staring at each other, fighting for dominance. She’s an omega, yes, but she’s not mine to command—not yet. Her pulse races under my grip, but she doesn’t give an inch.

"No," she responds, the word practically a hiss.

Her defiance is like a flame, but I’m not backing down.

"You’re hurt and still healing."

"I’ll be fine." Her tone is firm, but I can hear the strain, the lie wrapped in that boldness. She doesn’t fool me for a second.

Arrow steps up then, pressing a hand to my arm and gently pulling it off Brydgett’s wrist. His touch is light but firm, a reminder of just how well we work together.

"Please, stay. We can help you." His voice is soft, but there’s an urgency behind it.

Brydgett pauses, a flash of doubt crossing her face. She looks at both of us, then glances toward the door. It’s a battle, I can feel it—her pride fighting against her need for safety, for healing.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, she sighs, her shoulders slumping just a little. "Fine," she mutters. "But only until I’m healed, and I can take care of Judge myself."

Arrow smiles, that rare, easy grin of his. “Deal.”

And just like that, she’s ours—at least for now. We head upstairs together, all three alphas flanking her, a silent show of solidarity.

The moment we get to the top, Brydgett doesn’t hesitate. She turns to me. "I need to see Judge."

Arrow and I exchange a glance. We both know it’s important to her, even if we’re still trying to figure out the full extent of everything she’s been through.

“Come on,” I say, leading the way toward the back of the clubhouse where our mom and sister live. It’s quieter back here, less chaotic than the main part of the building.

When we walk in, I see Judge in the middle of a game of Smash Bros, his hands flying across the controller. He’s sitting on the couch next to Dillon, our annoying bratty teenage sister. Our mom sits on the other side of the couch, her blonde hair shining under the low lights as she crochets quietly in the corner.

“Hey, Mom,” Judge mumbles, barely glancing up, his focus glued to the screen.

“You came back.” Dillon’s voice rings out with a smile, the joy clear on her face when she sees Brydgett.

Brydgett looks back at her, her lips curving into a half-smile but not quite reaching her eyes. "Didn’t really have a choice."

I step further into the room, moving aside so Brydgett can take a seat. Our mom looks up, meeting her eyes, and immediately waves her over.

“Sit,” she says.

Brydgett moves to sit down, and I notice the way she hovers near the edge of the chair, like she’s ready to bolt at any moment. My mom, though, doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m Bettie,” my mom introduces herself, a gentle smile on her face as she nods toward the three of us. "Those knuckleheads' mom."

"Brydgett," she answers quietly, cautiously evaluating the situation.

“How are you feeling, love?” Mom asks, soft but knowing.

“Sore, but okay,” Brydgett responds. She winces slightly when she shifts in her seat, but she keeps it together. “Thanks for taking care of my son.”

“Anytime, honey,” Mom says, her gaze lingering for a moment on Judge, who’s now completely absorbed in the game. “He’s taken a fancy to Dillon here, and Dillon’s taken a fancy to you. Although, that might be because you gave her a car.”

Brydgett chuckles softly, almost like she’s surprised by her own reaction. “Yeah, I did do that, didn’t I?”

Dillon, with her youthful energy, pipes up immediately. “I’m not giving it back either.”

Brydgett laughs again, the sound a little more genuine this time. “Didn’t ask you to. I gave it to you fair and square. Although, something tells me a GTO isn’t your dream car.”

Dillon’s eyes light up. “Nope. Always wanted a pink Eclipse.”

Brydgett raises an eyebrow. “If I get you one, will you trade me back?”

“Seriously?” Dillon asks, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Seriously,” Brydgett confirms with a wink.

“Done,” Dillon says quickly, as if she’s been waiting for that offer.

Brydgett nods, a faint smile on her lips. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I can't help but smile, watching the interaction between them. Even in the midst of everything, Brydgett still has a sense of humor, a spark that refuses to go out.

“Tell me about yourself, honey,” Mom pushes, her eyes never leaving Brydgett’s face.

I know my mom is about to fire a hundred questions at Brydgett, but our omega can handle herself. I need to focus on getting this club on the same page as us when it comes to her.

“We’re calling church, so keep her safe, Mom,” I say, cutting into the conversation.

Mom doesn’t argue. She simply waves us off with a nonchalant gesture, her attention already back on Brydgett, who’s glaring at me.

We head back into the main part of the clubhouse, the atmosphere now louder, more chaotic. The brothers are here, drinking, laughing, shooting pool.

“Church. Now!” I shout, commanding attention.

Without a word of complaint, everyone starts moving, heading toward the meeting room like soldiers called to attention. No one dares to show dissatisfaction—not unless they want to risk us docking their dues.

I take my seat at the head table, Arrow and Acid on either side of me, watching as the brothers file in. I bang the gavel on the tabletop—hard enough to make the room fall silent.

“I called church to share some information,” I say, standing up and addressing the room. “The new woman you’re gonna see around here is Brydgett. She’s ours.” I motion to Arrow, Acid, and myself. “Our Ol’ Lady. She doesn’t know it yet, but she will be. She’s our Kismet, and we expect you to act accordingly. Do you understand?”

A chorus of "Yes, Prez," echoes through the room.

“Now,” I continue, “Acid is gonna send a picture of a man to all of you. His name is Earl. He is not to be anywhere near Brydgett or the kid. Not even welcome in our town. I want to know if you see him. Do not interact. Follow and report back to me. Heard?”

“Heard,” they reply in unison.

We move on to other business—drug shipments, dealers, the usual. But then Suave pipes up.

“Have we found anything out on the Alpha Slayer?”

The question hangs in the air like a weight. I hate lying to my brothers, but I can’t tell them the truth—not yet.

“We have a lead,” I say, keeping my tone calm. “We’re close.”

A round of nods passes through the room, and then I adjourn church.

I head straight to my room, my thoughts racing faster than I can process them. The moment I step under the hot water in the shower, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I scrub my skin like I can wash away the feel of the basement, the sickening truth of what my omega has been through.

No wonder she’s hesitant to have alphas around her. No wonder she ran.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ARROW

Yesterday, we watched as Brydgett told Acid to murder someone, and today I wake up in my room at the clubhouse to the smell of coffee and bacon. The sheets are tangled around my legs, and the mattress still holds the warmth from the cocoon I wrapped myself in. The faint sound of laughter drifts from down the hall, mingling with the hum of conversation.

I stretch, rubbing the sleep from my eyes before pushing myself up. Sunlight seeps through the cracks in the blackout curtains, casting a dull glow across the room. Grabbing a shirt from the chair, I tug it over my head and make my way toward the door, my bare feet padding against the hardwood floor.

The hallway’s lined with old club photos and worn patches, a history I know like the back of my hand. My fingers brush over a frame or two as I pass, but my focus is ahead—toward the smell of breakfast and whatever sarcastic remark Brydgett has locked and loaded for me this morning.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, I find her lounging at the table, one leg tucked under her, coffee in hand. She's wearing one of my old shirts, practically swallowed by it, with her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Keg’s at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping bacon like it’s a damn art form. A plate stacked with pancakes sits beside him, and the coffee pot looks half-drained already.

"Look who finally decided to join the land of the living," Brydgett drawls, her lips curling into a grin.

"Morning to you too," I say, grabbing a mug and pouring myself some coffee. It’s strong and bitter—just how I like it.

Keg turns around and smirks. "Hope you’re hungry. Judge already cleared half the pancakes."

"Kid’s got an appetite," I reply, taking a sip. The warmth spreads through me, a comfort I didn’t realize I needed. “Keg, how did you end up cooking breakfast?”

Brydgett snorts. "I started cooking, but then he came in and said something about no Ol’ Lady of the Prez, VP, and Enforcer should cook her own breakfast. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would ya? Last I checked, I’m no one's Ol’ Lady."

I shrug. "Just doing what’s right. You’ve been through enough. Let us take care of you."

Brydgett rolls her eyes, but there’s a softness in the way she sips her coffee. She won’t admit it, but she doesn’t hate the gesture.

"So, what’s the plan today?" I ask, settling into the chair across from her. The wood creaks beneath me, worn from years of use.

"Surviving." The corners of her mouth twitch like she’s fighting a smirk. "Maybe see if I can get through a meal without one of you guys hovering like I’m made of glass."

“Good luck with that," Keg chimes in. "Arrow’s got that mother hen routine down pat."

"It’s not a routine," I shoot back, though I don’t deny it. "It’s just making sure you’re good."

"I’m good," she says, holding my gaze. "But thanks."

The conversation shifts as Keg finishes up breakfast, piling plates high with pancakes, eggs, and crispy bacon. Judge wanders back through the kitchen, eyeing the fresh batch of pancakes like he’s considering round two.

Keg’s movements are a little too careful. His usual bravado dimmed as he makes a plate and sets it in front of me. I catch the way his gaze flickers toward her, like he’s trying to size her up—or maybe shake off whatever image of her is stuck in his head.

He didn’t see what we saw yesterday. He wasn’t there when she turned ice-cold, giving Acid the order like it was just another task to check off. But he cleaned up the aftermath. Scrubbed away the blood. Hauled out what was left. And that kind of thing sticks with you.

I get it.

The Alpha Slayer.

We all knew the stories, the rumors. But seeing what she’s capable of? Knowing she gave the word without a second thought? It hits differently. And now Keg’s looking at her like he knows something is up. He saw the aftermath, but he doesn’t know the half of it. Not that she’s the Alpha Slayer. Not that a man begged for his life, and she didn’t flinch. And I’m not sure telling him would make him sleep any easier.

Still, there’s no fear in Brydgett’s eyes. If she notices the tension, she doesn’t let it show. She just takes another sip, her gaze steady, like she’s daring us to say something.

We eat together, laughter weaving through the conversation. It’s easy. Normal. Almost like the chaos of yesterday never happened.

"We were thinking of making a supply run later. Get you and the kid some essentials."

"Don’t bother," she snaps, plopping a piece of bacon into her mouth. "I’ve got what I need."

I don’t argue. Not now, at least. Instead, I just eat. I’ll get what she needs whether she likes it or not. Hell, if she’s still wearing my clothes tomorrow, I’ll consider it a win.

A couple of days roll by in the same rhythm. Judge settles in like he’s been here forever, running around the clubhouse like it’s his personal amusement park. Brydgett still acts like every favor is a personal insult, but the sharpness behind her words softens bit by bit. She knows we aren't pushing.

Today, I swing by their old apartment while she's busy keeping Judge entertained. I gather up a few bags of clothes, stuffed animals, and whatever else looks like it belongs to the kid.

The door groans when I push it shut, and the metallic clank of the deadbolt echoes down the corridor. Maybe it’s the noise that draws her out, or maybe she’s just been waiting, watching. Either way, the door across the hall cracks open within seconds—just enough for a pair of sharp eyes to study me from the shadows.

"How’s she doing?" she demands without preamble.

I take a second to really look at her—lips pressed into a thin line, shoulders squared like she’s bracing for a fight. The dim hallway light casts deep shadows across her face, making her look older, wearier.

"How do you know she’s with us?" I ask.

Her lips curl slightly, but there’s no amusement in it. Just something knowing. Unshakable. Like she’s had this conversation before, just with different people in different places.

"Let’s just say I know the signs," she finally mutters. "I wasn’t born yesterday, boy."

The door doesn’t open any wider, but she doesn’t shut it either. It hangs there, a silent challenge, waiting to see what I do next.

I chuckle, trying to play it off. "You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about."

She doesn’t flinch. "I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve got that look. The one you wear when you think no one notices. But I’ve seen it before, believe me. You can’t fool me."

She steps back, crossing her arms, waiting for me to say something more. But I know she’s already got me pegged.

"She’s alright. Judge too. Safe." I give her a quick look.

"Good," she huffs, narrowing her eyes like she’s daring me to say otherwise.

The words hang heavy, but then she sticks her hand out like she’s been waiting for the right moment. “I’m Georgia, by the way.”

There’s a lot of edge in her tone, and I can feel the weight of her words, but it’s not the threat I’m worried about. It’s the way she’s looking at me, like she knows more than she should. More than I want her to know.

I take her hand with a slow shake. “Arrow.”

“Tell her I miss her and hope she comes home soon.”

I smirk, trying to brush it off, but I can feel the tension creeping up my spine. "How about I do you one better? Come see them yourself."

Back at the clubhouse, Brydgett’s shock is evident the second she sees Georgia trailing behind me. Her expression tightens, and her hands fly straight to her hips, like she’s bracing herself for some kind of storm. The words spill out of her mouth before she can think better of it.

“How the hell did you know about her?” Brydgett’s eyes flicker with that sharp, protective edge I know so well. She’s already ready to go to war if she has to. It’s almost funny to see her this worked up when she knows I’ve got her back.

I take my sweet time setting Judge’s bags down by the door, letting her stew in the tension for a moment. “Went by your apartment. She demanded an update. Figured I’d give her more than that.”

Georgia beams like she’s won a prize, already pulling Brydgett into a tight hug before she can protest. I watch as Brydgett flinches, her entire body tensing at the unexpected contact. There’s a visible wince on her face like she’s bracing for pain.

Georgia, ever the perceptive one, quickly releases her, stepping back just enough to give Brydgett space. But before Brydgett can gather herself, Georgia grabs at her shirt, pulling it up without warning to reveal the healing wound still wrapped in bandages.

“What the hell happened?” Georgia demands.

Brydgett flinches again but doesn’t pull away. “I got shot,” she mutters.

Georgia whirls around to me, eyes wide and full of accusation.

I immediately throw my hands up in surrender, the image of Georgia’s fury almost comical. “Not us. We saved her and brought her here,” I reply, trying to calm the storm brewing in her gaze.

Georgia doesn’t even seem to hear me, her attention snapping back to Brydgett, who’s standing a little too still, her posture a little too stiff. “Girl…” Georgia starts, but her voice softens when she sees Brydgett’s quiet determination to downplay it.

“I’m fine,” Brydgett says quickly. “Ike fixed me up. It’ll heal.”

Georgia watches her for a moment, her brow furrowed, before she nods slowly, seeming to accept Brydgett’s reassurance, even if she’s not entirely convinced. “Alright,” she mutters, though it’s clear the concern still lingers in her eyes. “But you’re gonna need to rest and take it easy.”

Brydgett just nods, though I can see the way her shoulders lower just a little, the weight of the situation slowly sinking in. I’m not sure if it’s relief or just exhaustion, but it’s there—the strain she’s been carrying around since we brought her in.

Georgia’s smile is warm, but Brydgett’s still eyeing me like I’ve done something wrong, like I’m some kind of idiot for bringing the “old broad” into her world.

“And that crazy homeless guy in the alley?” I add, arching a brow as I lean against the wall, watching their exchange. “Not as off-kilter as he seemed, huh? He was covering for you.”

Brydgett stiffens, the protective edge hardening again. I can almost feel the low growl forming in her chest. “He’s a friend,” she snaps. “Don’t you dare harm him.”

I chuckle, leaning back casually. “Wouldn’t dream of it, babe.” But the truth is, I get it. I don’t know what’s made Brydgett so damn protective of the guy, but there’s something there, something I’m not pushing her on. Not yet.

I’m still watching her, but I feel the shift in the room—Georgia’s laugh, light and easy, filling the space. It’s clear she’s not holding anything against me for showing up at her door.

Gears walks into the main part of the clubhouse and stands near the bar, watching us with narrowed eyes, his gaze flicking over to me. He’s not happy I brought Georgia here. I can see it in the way his jaw tenses, the way his arms cross as if trying to shield the clubhouse from something that doesn’t belong.

I don’t care. This was worth it. Worth seeing Brydgett smile in a way I haven’t seen in days. That’s what matters right now. That’s what I’m focusing on. Even if Gears doesn’t get it.

“You did good,” Acid murmurs as he sneaks up behind me. I didn’t even hear him coming—he’s good at that.

“I know,” I reply, though I can’t stop the little flicker of satisfaction that runs through me for pleasing my omega.

“We should talk to her about her heat,” Acid mutters, but there’s no hiding the concern that laces it. “None of us have gotten her blockers, have we?”

“Nope,” I whisper.

He nods. “She’ll need a nest. Someone to watch the kid. She’ll need help.”

I can’t shake the feeling of responsibility that’s suddenly weighing on me. It’s not just about protecting her anymore—it’s about making sure she has everything she needs to feel safe, to feel secure. That includes the kid.

I glance at Acid, who’s subtly adjusting himself, the unspoken understanding between us clear. “We’ll offer her a spot for a nest,” he suggests. “Tell her Dillon and Bettie can watch Judge while she rests, but we’ll offer toys so she doesn’t think we’re pushing. We’re not trying to force her into anything.”

I raise a brow, my lips curving into a small smile. “Good idea. Let’s just hope my knucklehead brother doesn’t get mouthy,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head slightly. I know how he is, how stubborn he can be. And the last thing we need is a scene when we’re trying to take care of Brydgett.

But for now, that’s something I can deal with later. Right now, it’s about doing what’s right, about giving her a chance to breathe, to feel a little less like a stranger in this world we’ve thrown her into.

And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

That evening, after we drop Georgia off and make sure she's safely home, the clubhouse settles into a comfortable, quiet rhythm. We order pizza. When the boxes finally arrive, steaming and filling the air with the smell of cheese and garlic, Judge dives in like it’s his last meal. His slices disappear faster than I can blink, crumbs falling all over the couch, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s too busy with the serious business of demolishing pizza.

I watch him for a moment, then glance at Brydgett. She’s sitting across the room, not quite hiding her smirk as she watches Judge’s pizza-fueled frenzy. Her lips twitch, like she’s fighting back a smile, but she’s determined to keep her cool. The sarcastic commentary rolls off her tongue like it’s a reflex, each jab sharp and playful.

“I see someone has been skipping meals,” she quips, eyeing Judge as he devours another slice. “You trying to eat the whole damn pie, kid?”

Judge pauses just long enough to shoot her a grin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m just making sure you didn’t order too much, Mom.”

Brydgett snorts, but I can see the way her eyes soften when she looks at him. For all her tough-girl act, she’s super protective of him. A damn good mom.

"Jurassic World?" Judge suggests, bouncing on the couch like a pinball, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"Sounds like a plan," I agree, leaning back on the couch, a lazy grin pulling at the corners of my mouth. The last thing I want right now is anything serious. We need something light, something to fill the silence and the space between us with something other than the heavyweight of all the things we haven’t talked about yet.

Brydgett doesn’t protest. She doesn't try to sabotage the moment like I expect her to. Instead, she gives a sharp nod, clearly deciding to let the night unfold without her usual fire. Maybe she’s realizing, just a little bit, that we’re not going anywhere. That no matter how hard she pushes us away, we’ll still be here.

She curls up on the couch with Judge, wrapping an arm around him, and I can’t help but notice how natural it looks. How natural she looks when she’s with him. Like this is where she’s supposed to be. Even if she won’t admit it. Even if she’s still fighting it.

Without a word, I grab a spot on the floor, leaning back against the couch. Acid follows suit, sitting next to me. We don’t ask questions. We don’t make demands. We’re just... here. Present. With no expectations. We’re just letting the moment be, letting the movie flicker in front of us as the warmth of the pizza and the familiarity of the space settles into our bones.

The sound of the movie fills the room, but it doesn’t need to be the focus. It’s the quiet, the togetherness that matters.

And even though Brydgett still won’t admit it, I can tell she feels it too.

The next night, the air feels different, lighter somehow. There’s a quiet calm hanging over the clubhouse, a welcome contrast to the chaos of the days before. The flickering lights above hum softly, and the smell of fresh pizza lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of leather and old wood.

I glance over at Judge, who’s practically bouncing on the couch, his eyes wide with anticipation. I swear, it’s like the kid’s been waiting for this moment all day.

He’s been itching for a sleepover with Dillon ever since the two of them hit it off. I can’t blame him—Dillon’s a good kid, and honestly, it’s nice seeing Judge with someone who just lets him be himself. No judgment, just the unfiltered energy of a kid who’s been through too much, trying to have a normal moment.

“Can I stay with Dillon and Bettie tonight?” Judge practically vibrates with excitement, his words tripping over each other as he stares at Brydgett like she holds the key to his world.

Brydgett's gaze softens slightly as she looks at him. I can see it—the affection she tries to hide with every sarcastic word, every pointed comment. For a moment, she almost seems ready to give in, but then the sharp edge of her personality kicks back in.

“Yeah, alright. But don’t think this means you’re forgetting about your bedtime,” she warns, raising an eyebrow at him, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Judge’s face breaks into a grin so wide I’m sure he’s about to burst. He doesn’t need to hear anything else. He’s already planning their night, mentally cataloging every snack and game he’s about to drag Dillon into. The energy in the room shifts, and for a moment, it feels almost like the weight of the world isn’t sitting on anyone’s shoulders. Judge runs off to find Dillon, his excitement contagious.

When he disappears down the hallway toward Dillon’s apartment, Brydgett flops back onto the bed with a sigh, reaching for the remote. She flicks on the TV, scanning through the channels with a disinterested flick of her wrist.

I stay where I am, leaning back in the chair I dragged in earlier. It's a bit uncomfortable, but it’s also comforting, a reminder that we’re settling into some sort of routine, even if she won't admit it.

When she lands on The Bachelorette, I can’t help but raise an eyebrow, my lips curling into a grin.

“The Bachelorette?” I tease, settling deeper into the chair, my legs stretched out in front of me. The show seems so out of place here—like a fleeting slice of normalcy in the middle of the chaos that’s always just beneath the surface.

“Don’t start,” she warns, but I can see the corner of her mouth twitch. She’s trying to hide it, but I know she’s amused. She’s not as tough as she tries to act.

I stay silent for a moment, watching her as the reality show drifts on in the background, the noise of the TV adding to the soft buzz that fills the room. For a second, I let the tension in my shoulders loosen. The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable, not like I’m used to. It’s peaceful. Relaxed. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no need for words. No need to fill the air with anything else. Just us, sitting together, sharing the quiet.

Her focus is on the TV, but every now and then, her eyes flick over to me. Just a glance, quick enough that I know she’s trying not to show that she notices I’m still here. That I’m not going anywhere.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

BRYDGETT

The crisp air buzzes with laughter and the lingering scent of trampoline park popcorn. Judge's small hand is warm in mine as we walk down the sidewalk, his giggles still tumbling out from our day of flips and jumps. I squeeze his fingers, savoring this perfect moment, when the low growl of an engine catches my ear. A black SUV screeches to a stop beside us, the tires biting into the pavement. My stomach drops. The doors fly open.

"Mom?" Judge's voice is small, confused.

Masked men spill out, their movements sharp and purposeful. My body reacts before my mind can catch up. I push Judge behind me, instinct locking me into place.

"Run, baby," I manage, but the words barely slip past my lips before one of them lunges.

I swing, my fist colliding with a chest, but he hardly flinches. Another grabs my arm. I twist, kicking wildly, my pulse hammering.

"Let go!" My voice is hoarse, edged with panic. Judge cries out, but I can't see him.

I claw at the masked man's face, nails scraping against the fabric. The stench of sweat and stale breath fills my nose. My feet slip against the sidewalk, my frantic breaths tearing through my chest.

"Judge!" I scream, twisting free for a split second. I glimpse him—his wide eyes, his trembling hands.

Then another set of arms grabs him.

"No!" The word rips from me. I surge forward, twisting out of their grip, but a body slams into mine, sending me sprawling. The pavement bites into my hands and knees. I scramble, nails scraping the ground, but they're faster. One of the brutes pins me down. My heart pounds so violently I can taste my fear.

Judge kicks and thrashes, his voice a frantic wail that shatters something inside me. The masked man hauls him toward the SUV. I fight, screaming his name, but my voice is swallowed by the chaos around me.

But it doesn't end there.

The passenger door swings open, and another man steps out. Unlike the others, his mask only covers the upper half of his face. A second later, the scent hits me—sharp, acrid, unmistakable. Earl. His cruel smirk is a contrast to the fabric of the mask. He strides toward me, and I try to crawl back, but the henchmen’s grip holds me firm."Thanks for the gift, omega," he sneers. The words drip with malice, each syllable a dagger to my chest.

I shake my head, tears blurring my vision. "No..."

He crouches, his face so close I can feel his rancid breath. Then his boot drives into my ribs. Pain explodes through me, sharp and unforgiving. I gasp, curling tighter against the cold ground.

Darkness swallows me whole.

I jerk awake with a scream, drenched in sweat. My chest heaves as my hands claw at the sheets, the phantom ache of Earl's kick lingering in my side. The room is dark, shadows twisting along the walls. I gasp for air, my throat raw.

Judge.

My trembling hands fly to my face, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. The nightmare clings to me; every image seared into my mind. My baby. Taken.

I reach out blindly in the dimness, fingers grasping for something solid and real to convince myself I’m awake. My body feels detached, weightless, like it’s suspended between layers of heat and cold. The sheets tangled around my legs are slick with sweat, holding me down. I struggle against them, against the tight panic coiling around my breath.

"No," I gasp, the word fractured, disbelieving. "No, no." My voice sounds distant, as if it belongs to someone else. I clamp my hands over my ears, but the echoes still hiss at me—Judge’s cries, my own helpless screams. And underneath it all, a sound that doesn’t belong. Metal on metal. The screech of impact. My breath catches. The dream is bleeding into memories of the crash, tangling them together until I can’t tell what’s real. The edges of the room flicker in and out, threatening to dissolve. My skin prickles with terror, muscles taut with the expectation of another onslaught. Everything seems both too close and too far, too loud and too quiet. I’m caught in between, uncertain whether I’m still dreaming, unsure whether I’ll ever wake.

The mattress dips beneath a sudden weight, and the scent of plums and apples wrap around me. Arrow. Warm, steady hands find me in the dark, pulling me close. I collapse into the solid warmth of his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing grounding me. His words rumble against my ear, low and certain. "Judge is safe," he purrs. "You’re both safe, Brydgett."

His words filter through the haze, but the panic still clings. I jerk in his hold, my hands pushing weakly against his chest. "No," I whisper, trembling. I can’t make sense of what’s real. The dream lingers like smoke, curling around my mind. Arrow doesn’t let go. His grip tightens, anchoring me to the here and now. "You’re at the clubhouse. Judge is with my mom and sister."

The sound of his voice is a lifeline. My ragged breathing slows, though the tremors beneath my skin remain. Arrow’s hand moves to the back of my head, fingers threading through my damp hair. "It’s okay," he repeats, the words a steady beat against the storm inside me.

I don’t know how long I stay like that, folded into him. My cheek presses against his chest, the warmth of him chasing away the lingering cold.

“He’s fine, Gidge. I promise." The nickname pulls at something deep in my chest, loosening the last of the nightmare’s grip. My eyes flutter open, the dimness sharpening into focus. A bed. A single chair. An empty dresser. Not the street with masked men. It was just a dream.

"I—" My voice breaks. The words scatter. My throat aches from the force of my screams, real or imagined. I don’t know which. Arrow shifts just enough to brush his lips against my forehead.

"You’re safe," he says again. "I’ve got you."

I shiver with the remnants of panic as I let myself touch his shoulder, half expecting the world to collapse around me as I do. When it doesn’t, I sink against him, eyes closed. I need him more than I’m willing to admit.

I press closer, barely allowing myself the solace of his touch. His apple scent fills my lungs, soothing my nerves. My breath, still ragged, comes slower as his hands trace my back and shoulders. They find their way to the pulse of tension at the base of my neck, easing it with quiet deliberation. I curl into him, the worst of the panic ebbing away, letting him hold me. My fingers clutch his shirt with the same desperation that I gripped the sheets only moments ago.

My hand creeps from his shoulder to his neck, a slow path as if each inch is uncertain— too much and not enough all at once. I feel the hum of his muscles against my fingertips, feel the easy way he breathes even as I grow less steady, more urgent. A whine escapes my lips, a sound of longing I barely recognize, a sound Arrow doesn’t seem to mind as he responds with his own ragged purr.

His fingers twine through my hair, gliding across my jawline. I let myself arch against him, let myself want it. The panic is still there, a nervous tremor under the surface, but the warmth of his body holds it in check.

His scent wraps around me—apple and plum, soft and ripe, grounded by that steady trace of sandalwood. It’s warm, familiar, too comforting for my own good.

I open my eyes, meeting his for the first time since I woke him with my nightmare. It’s all there, everything I don’t want to need, everything I try to convince myself I don’t feel. Arrow gives a half-smile, barely more than a breath.

His hands trace down my sides, skimming over my ribs, pulling a deep shiver from my skin. I dig my fingers into his back, the last remnants of my reluctance and disbelief melting away as his mouth finds mine. His lips brush mine softly at first, then deepen with intent, the taste of him lingering like a promise.

My perfume fills the room, strong and needy,and Arrow groans. Shit! I haven’t even thought about my blockers since I’ve been here. I had them at Ike’s, but I doubt they gave them to me when I was unconscious. I haven’t taken them since I was injured. Fuck! The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, but even as it does, I can’t find it in me to care. Not with Arrow’s touch pushing me deeper into ecstasy. I want this. I want him. His taste, like apples and plums, a sweetness I could get lost in, only amplifies the need, the connection that’s been absent for so long. It’s been years since I’ve felt this way, and aside from that night, the one that gave me Judge, I’ve never been with a man.

I don't stop him the way I thought I would. The way I should. I’ve pushed him away before, found reasons to keep the distance between us. Not this time. The past few days have torn down all the space between us, and I’m not ready—not willing—to build it back. His scent, rich and commanding, lingers in the air, tangling with mine.

Arrow’s touch is firm, steady, as he shifts me on the bed. He pulls at the hem of my t-shirt, peeling it over my head, tossing it aside. His gaze is dark, focused on me as he slips my sleep pants down my legs, leaving only my panties. There’s a hesitation, a beat where I feel exposed, but I lift my hips to help him slide them off, leaving me bare before him. I let him. The world narrows down to this. To now. To him. The bond hums faintly beneath my skin. My omega stirs, restless and yearning, answering the pull of his alpha.

He’s careful, as always, but there’s an undeniable urgency in his movements. His hands roam with purpose, but when they reach my side, where the wound still aches, his touch softens. He pauses, his gaze flickering down to the bandage. A tenderness passes through his eyes before he presses a soft, reverent kiss to the fabric, as if he’s trying to soothe me with just the touch of his lips. His kiss lingers there for a moment, and I shiver, heart fluttering, before he trails up my body, kissing his way along my ribs, over my shoulder, and finally to my lips once more.

We find a rhythm, slow and steady, as if we’re both savoring the moment. There’s no rush, just the soft glide of his hands across my skin, the gentle press of his body against mine. My pulse quickens, but I’m calm—a sense of peace settling over me as we move together. Arrow doesn’t falter, even when my fingers tremble, even when my body still shakes in places.

My fingers catch on his clothes, but I’m clumsy, too desperate to be gentle. He only chuckles, low and rough, his scent thickening in the air. His alpha. My omega. The words rise unbidden, and I shove them down, but the bond pulses stubbornly, refusing to be ignored. Arrow’s eyes darken, the golden hue sharpening with want. His control wavers, though he still moves with purpose. When he helps me free him of his clothes, I can’t stop the sharp intake of breath. He’s perfect.

His body is lean and strong, a tangle of muscle, grace and power. I let my fingers explore, tracing the lines and contours of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my touch, the way it moves and flexes and gives. Arrow watches me, his gaze intent and unflinching, absorbing every reaction. I’m wide open beneath his scrutiny, exposed in a way that should terrify me, but it doesn’t, because this is what I want, what I can’t bring myself to push away any longer. He catches my hand as it moves across his stomach, bringing it up to his lips, brushing a gentle kiss along each knuckle, like he’s savoring the moment, like this is something to be cherished.

"Arrow," I breathe, his name almost a plea. I don’t trust myself to say more, to admit the depth of it, how badly I’ve wanted him, how deeply he’s already gotten under my skin. He seems to sense the conflict, the turmoil churning inside me. His thumb strokes the underside of my wrist, soothing, coaxing. He shifts closer, the warmth of his body seeping into mine, banishing the last of the chill, the fear, the doubt.

My heart races as he explores my skin once more, trailing soft, reverent kisses from my collarbone to the swell of my breasts. Each brush of his lips sends sparks dancing along my spine, igniting a fire deep within me that I can’t control. I arch into him, desperate for more of his touch. A soft whimper escapes my lips when he captures my nipple between his teeth, sucking gently, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.

“God, you taste so sweet,” Arrow whispers against my skin, his breath hot and ragged, before he dives lower, his mouth trailing downwards like he can’t get enough of me.

His lips skim across the curve of my stomach, a shudder running through me as his hands slide down to my hips. He pauses, inhaling deeply, his nose brushing the sensitive skin there. The scent of me fills the air, heady and intoxicating, and I can’t help but squirm beneath his gaze. His eyes are dark, full of something wild and primal, as if I’m the only thing that matters.

The pressure between my legs tightens as his mouth moves lower still, my body betraying me with the slickness coating my thighs. A soft gasp slips from my mouth, the heat building between us becoming unbearable. Arrow’s hands tighten around my hips, holding me in place, as if he’s determined to take his time with me—his lips trailing across the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, teasing but never quite touching where I need him most. I can’t help but writhe beneath him, feeling the intense pull of desire coil tighter inside me.

He settles between my legs again, his body warm and solid against mine, and I gasp as his tongue flicks up and down on my clit, teasing me mercilessly. I arch my back, gripping the sheets as his talented tongue swirls around my sensitive nub.

His hands join the show, sliding up my inner thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He positions himself between my legs, spreading me open for his inspection. I'm on display for him, vulnerable and aching for more.

His mouth latches onto my swollen clit, sucking it gently at first before applying more pressure. My hips buck against him as he sucks harder, his tongue working in tandem with his lips to drive me wild. His fingers slide inside of me, curling inward to find that perfect spot that makes my toes curl. He knows me so well already, and it's both exhilarating and terrifying.

He's relentless in his pursuit of my pleasure, alternating between sucking and nibbling on my clit while his fingers work magic within me. The dual sensations are too much to bear, but I don't want it to stop. I'm a whirlwind of sensations, caught in the eye of a storm that Arrow has unleashed within me.

"Oh God, Arrow," I moan, hoarse with need. "More."

He growls in response, taking it as a challenge, and redoubles his efforts. His tongue plunges deeper inside of me now, probing every crevice as if he's mapping out the contours of my very soul. His fingers mirror his actions with the same intensity, stroking and caressing every sensitive part of me until I'm writhing beneath him.

My hips lift instinctively to meet him, and I find myself gripping his hair, desperate for more. He responds with a low growl, his hands tightening on my thighs as he presses deeper, his tongue swirling in a way that makes me whimper.

The pressure inside me finally becomes too much, and I explode, my body convulsing as waves of ecstasy crash over me. The release is all-consuming, leaving me breathless and trembling. Arrow laps at me with a purring satisfaction, savoring every drop, his tongue moving with slow, deliberate strokes as if to drink me dry. The sound of him purring against me makes my heart race, a primal connection that only deepens the intensity of everything we’ve shared. His hands hold me in place, making sure I feel every lingering, perfect sensation of release before he finally pulls back, his lips kissing up my trembling body.

“Please,” I manage to gasp out between ragged breaths. “I need… I need you.”

Without breaking our gaze, he positions his tip at my entrance once more. “Tell me no, Gidge. Tell me we’ve gone far enough.” His words are steady, but there’s an urgency in them that makes my heart race.

I shake my head fervently; there’s no way I can turn back now. “I can't. I won’t,” I whisper fiercely, the truth spilling from my lips like a promise. “Just don’t knot me.”

Understanding flashes across his face before he nods, and in one smooth motion, he surges forward. A whimper escapes me as he fills me completely; it’s a stretch that takes my breath away—a delicious ache eased by the slick between us, making every inch of him glide deeper. I kiss him deeply as he drives into me with slow precision; each thrust ignites a firestorm inside me that threatens to consume all rational thought.

“You’re so tight, omega,” he growls softly against my mouth. “Mine. All mine.”

“Yes,” I breathe.

I'm lost in the haze, every thrust igniting a fresh wave of pleasure that washes over me. Arrow is relentless yet controlled, his movements deliberate as he drives deeper, filling me to the brim. The rhythm builds, slow and steady, each push sending shockwaves through my body. I can feel his knot pulsing against my entrance, teasing me with its promise but never breaching, holding me on the edge of ecstasy.

"Come for me," he growls, sending a shiver down my spine. It’s not just a request; it feels like an order that I have no choice but to obey. My body responds instinctively, tightening around him as I fight against the mounting pressure within me.

Arrow's growl vibrates through me as he watches my response, his golden eyes darkening with primal desire. He leans down, capturing one of my nipples between his teeth, biting lightly enough to send sharp sparks of pleasure coursing through me. I whine at the sensation, my body arching into him like a moth drawn to flame.

“Please,” I gasp out, the word slipping from my lips like a prayer.

A feral smile crosses his face as he increases the pace, thrusting harder now while still maintaining that exquisite control. Each stroke sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through me until I’m trembling, teetering on the precipice of release.

“Come for me,” he growls again, more insistent this time, and I can feel myself unraveling beneath him. The heat pools in my core until it becomes unbearable, every nerve ending singing with anticipation and need.

He thrusts one final time inside me and I lose myself completely. A scream tears from my throat as waves of pleasure crash over me like a tidal wave; I tighten around him involuntarily, clenching harder as the world fades away into blissful nothingness. Arrow snarls in response and fills me with his hot seed.

The sensation is overwhelming; a rush of warmth spreads through me as he empties himself deep inside. My body quakes under the intensity of our connection—the finality of it wrapping around us.

He pulls out of me, and his eyes widen in shock before he looks at me, paling.

"What?" I ask, panic rising in my chest. "Did I do something wrong?"

His voice drops to a whisper, tinged with confusion and concern. “You have a kid, so I'm trying to make sense of this, but there's blood on my dick. Have you not done this before?”

I blush and look away, the weight of embarrassment crashing over me like a cold wave. “I’ve never been with anyone before. Only the night that gave me Judge. No one before and no one since.” The confession slips from my lips like a fragile secret, exposing the raw vulnerability I’d tried to shield.

His expression softens as he hurries to lie beside me, pulling me into his solid chest. He kisses my lips gently, as if afraid I might shatter under the weight of his affection. “You’re a treasure, Brydgett,” he murmurs against my mouth, sincerity radiating from him like warmth from a fire. “And we’re gonna treat you as such. No one will ever hurt you or Judge again.”

The gravity of his words settles around us, heavy yet comforting. I can feel the sincerity in every syllable, wrapping around my heart like an embrace. But beneath that comfort lies an undercurrent of fear—the ghosts of my past clawing at the edges of this newfound intimacy.

“Arrow,” I whisper, searching his gaze for understanding amidst the storm swirling within me. “What happens now?”

His brow furrows, and he brushes a strand of hair from my forehead with gentle fingers—so tender it feels almost sacred. “Now? We don’t have to rush into anything,” he states firmly but gently. “Trust takes time, especially after what you've been through.” There’s a softness in his tone that eases some of the tension still knotted in my stomach. “We figure this out together.”

Together.

Arrow tightens his grip around me.

“What if I’m not enough?” I finally ask the question that gnaws at me—an echo of self-doubt that has haunted me since Earl’s betrayal.

Arrow shifts slightly, tilting my chin up so our eyes meet once more. The intensity of his gaze sends shivers down my spine as he speaks with conviction. “You are more than enough, Brydgett.” His voice is steady and unwavering as he continues passionately, “You’re strong—stronger than anyone I’ve ever known—and you’ve fought your battles alone for far too long. You don’t have to do that anymore. You are my Kismet, fated to be mine and I protect what’s mine.”

For a moment, all the walls I've built around myself begin to crack under the weight of his belief in me. It’s terrifying but exhilarating all at once—this feeling of being seen for who I am beneath the scars and trauma.

“I want to trust you,” I whisper earnestly, meeting his gaze head-on now. “But it feels too dangerous to let go.”

“Then we’ll take it slow,” he promises without hesitation.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ACID

The air in my room feels suffocating, like it’s closing in around me. No matter how many times I try to shut my eyes and shake it off, the memory of last night claws at me. I heard her. Brydgett. And I know damn well it wasn’t me making her sound like that. Gears hasn’t come crawling back with his tail between his legs, so that only leaves one bastard—Arrow.

My jaw tightens. I can still smell her, the sweet, addictive scent of floral citrus lingering through the thin walls. If I can catch it from here, the others probably can too. That’s why we needed to claim her. Church made it official. Brydgett is our Ol’ Lady. But even that does little to quench the jealousy that curdles in my gut.

I shove the blankets aside and push up from the bed. The mattress creaks beneath me, but I barely notice. The clubhouse is quieter than usual, the distant hum of morning routines dulling the buzz of my irritation. I need caffeine. No coffee, though. I crave something that punches harder. Red Bull will do.

The kitchen is empty, the quiet lingering like an unwelcome guest. I pull open the fridge, the cool air washing over me as I grab a Red Bull—grapefruit and blossom flavor. The purple can sweats against my palm as the floral citrus substitute does little to settle my nerves. Just as I turn, the door swings open. Arrow and Brydgett step inside, their presence shattering the stillness.

They move together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Their alpha and omega in perfect sync. She’s laughing softly, her face still flushed. Arrow’s eyes crinkle as he watches her, like he’s soaking in every moment. They look like a couple. A pair of fated mates, bound and inseparable.

Jealousy flares, sharp and blistering, my alpha demanding I take what is mine. But I swallow it down. We’re brothers. A pack. She hasn’t chosen just him. Arrow was just the first lucky bastard to feel her from the inside. That doesn’t mean the rest of us won’t get our turn.

“Morning,” I mutter, taking another slow sip of my Red Bull; the sharp citrus lingers on my tongue, teasing me.

“Morning,” Brydgett answers, her voice light. Too light. Like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Arrow just smirks, the asshole. He pulls out a chair for her, then strides to the pantry. The casual domesticity of it gnaws at me. He grabs a variety of cereals, bowls, spoons, and a carton of milk, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He pours them both a cup of coffee, handing hers over like it’s a daily ritual. My jaw clenches. He’s feeding her? Providing for my omega?

“We need to talk,” I say, keeping my tone steady. I grab a bowl and spoon, my hands moving on their own as I sit down at the table, trying to ignore the tension building in my chest.

Brydgett arches a brow. “About what?” She chooses a box from the table, pouring a heap of cereal into her bowl. I watch as she drowns Cinnamon Toast Crunch in milk, the obnoxious crunch of her first bite ringing louder than it should. Like this isn’t killing me.

I pour myself some Lucky Charms, the sound of the cereal hitting the bowl unnervingly loud. The milk follows, settling with a quiet splash.

“Your extracurriculars,” I shoot back. “You dealt with Kenny. We needed answers from him. Hoping you’ve got something we don’t.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know much. But sure. After breakfast. I’ll shower, then we can talk. Where you wanna do this at?”

“My office,” Gears grumbles as he slumps into the kitchen. The bags under his eyes tell me he didn’t get much sleep, and I don’t have to guess why.

Arrow’s smirk widens. “Your office. Got it.” Then he turns to Brydgett, dropping his tone. “Need help in the shower, Gidge?”

Her cheeks flush, that beautiful shade of pink that makes my fingers twitch as her scent intensifies.

“Nope,” she says, flustered. “I think you helped enough last night. I’ll be okay.”

She gathers her bowl, retreating with as much dignity as she can muster. I watch her until she disappears down the hall, the swing of her hips taunting me. Then it’s just me and my brothers.

“Well, that was painful,” Gears mutters, running a hand down his face. “You heard it too?”

“Hard not to,” I grit out. “Thin walls.”

Arrow grins like the smug bastard he is. “You’ll get your turn. She’s ours now. No need to get all twisted up about it.”

My teeth grind. “Maybe. But until then, we’ve got other things to deal with.” I shove another spoonful of Lucky Charms into my mouth, the sugary crunch doing little to quell the simmering heat.

Today we get answers. And I’ll be damned if I’m not the one she looks at next.

Tension simmers as we sit, just the three of us, at the table, the remnants of breakfast scattered across it like our unspoken emotions. The Renegade MC crest hangs above us, a silent witness to the chaos brewing beneath its proud emblem.

“Did you fuck her?” Gears asks, his words sharp, like he’s trying hard not to lose it.

“Yes.” Arrow's grin widens, a mix of triumph and mischief dancing in the depths of his gaze.

“Fuck,” Gears hisses, his frustration palpable. “She was into it?”

“Did she sound into it?” Arrow bites back, undeterred by the scrutiny of his brother. The way he leans back in his chair speaks volumes—he's claiming this moment, relishing every second.

My heart races at the thought of Brydgett underneath Arrow.

“She told me no knotting, and I listened.” He shrugs.

My body betrays me as images flit through my mind—her skin against mine, soft gasps mingling with the rhythm of our bodies moving together. The thought of sinking my knot inside her makes my pulse quicken, an instinctual need clawing its way to the forefront.

“How was it?” I ask, desperate for details that will both satisfy and torment me.

“Amazing,” Arrow replies, unabashed. “So fucking tight and sexy. Tastes just like she smells—I could eat her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” His words drip with desire, leaving no room for doubt about how he felt in those intimate moments. “But go slow if she lets you in like that. I was her first.”

“But…” Gears starts, his brows furrowing as he processes what Arrow just revealed.

“Rape doesn’t count, so I was her first,” Arrow barks, venom lacing his tone as he defends Brydgett’s honor with ferocity.

“I’ll kill that fucker,” I growl under my breath, fury surging through me like gasoline igniting a flame, my alpha demanding justice. The idea of Earl’s hands on her makes my blood boil—he took so much from her. Arrow nods, the smugness gone from his features. “He’s not getting near her again,” he promises, his tone dark.

“Then we end him,” I say, a steely determination taking root. My alpha settles with a single, focused intent. I won't rest until Earl pays for every damn thing he's done.

The door swings open, shattering the moment as Judge and Dillon bound into the kitchen.

"Mom!" Judge calls out, his voice echoing off the walls.

"She’s in the shower," I reply, keeping my tone light despite the dark thoughts swirling in my mind. Judge nods, his face lighting up with anticipation.

“Tell her I’m in the playroom! Dillon said she’s gonna buy the new Call of Duty, so we’re gonna play!”

“Okay, little man,” I say, watching as they dash out of the kitchen. Their laughter fades down the hallway, replaced by an almost eerie silence that settles back over us.

I smell her before I see her—Brydgett. Fresh scent blocking soap and the now faint trace of her perfume fill the air, twisting something inside me. My gaze snaps to the doorway as she strides in, hair damp and curling at the ends, droplets clinging to the bare skin of her shoulders. The simple tank top she’s wearing clings to her curves, reminding me—and everyone else—just how fucking tempting she is.

“You’re still eating? Christ, I’m ready to get this show on the road,” she says.

"Come on, Gidge, I’ll escort you," Arrow offers, slipping an arm around hers. The move makes my teeth clench as my alpha surges forward, but Brydgett only rolls her eyes, though she doesn't pull away. She lets him lead her toward the door.

"You come inside of me, and all of a sudden you’re a gentleman," she quips, and Arrow's grin widens. He throws a smug wink in Gears' direction—and then at me.

Lucky fucking bastard.

With them already halfway out, I shove my chair back harder than necessary, the legs scraping against the floor. The table is still littered with the remnants of breakfast—half-eaten bowls of cereal, crumpled napkins, and sticky spills left for the club girls to clean up. None of it matters.

All I can think about is Brydgett. And the fact that she isn't mine. Not yet.

Gears rises from the table, his chair scraping the floor as he does, his heavy steps echoing as he walks toward the door. He doesn't spare a glance in my direction as he pushes past me, headed toward his office. The door to his office creaks open with a low groan. I lean against the doorframe as he enters and settles into the leather chair behind the mahogany desk. The room reeks of leather and frustration. The desk is scuffed from years of fists slamming down, and the air is thick with unspoken threats.

I lean against the wall, arms crossed, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at my lips. Brydgett and Arrow have already made their way into the room, slipping past without a sound. Our omega perches on the loveseat next to Arrow like she owns the place.

She’s an omega in every sense of the word—soft curves, delicate scent, and a dangerous edge that keeps every alpha on alert. But her eyes? Pure steel.

Gears doesn't waste time. "Brydgett, we need to know—do you have any idea what Kenny was up to? Was it his dealings with us? The drugs he was slinging on our turf?"

Her lips curl, but not in amusement. More like she’s daring us to underestimate her.

"No," she says simply. "I don't know anything about that."

Liar. Maybe. But she’s good at it. Too good. I lean forward, the weight of her scent pulling at something inside me. Sweet with a bite of defiance.

"Then why did you kill him?"

Brydgett doesn’t flinch. Her gaze flicks to mine, unwavering. That omega bravado she wears so effortlessly only fuels the hum beneath my skin.

"He got handsy and rough with me," she says, her tone disturbingly even. "And that’s not something I allow."

A statement. Not an excuse. Not even an ounce of regret.

"So I followed him," she continues, like she’s recounting a mundane errand. "Broke in. Straddled him in his sleep. Used Mr. Stabby to tap him awake. He thought I was there to fuck him. I had other plans."

“What’s Mr. Stabby?” I ask.

She smiles. “My favorite knife. It’s what I was grabbing from the bushes which led you to me.”

Mr. Stabby. Her favorite knife.

"Slit his throat," she finishes. "When you all showed up, I stripped down and played the damsel. You know the rest." She flashes a grin that shouldn’t be this damn charming. "By the way, I had Mr. Stabby in the car before the wreck. What happened to all my stuff?"

"It’s still in the car," Gears growls, clearly struggling to keep his composure. "We had it towed to our garage. You can grab whatever you want."

"Sweet," she hums, satisfied.

There’s a pause, the air buzzing. Gears’ jaw tightens, he is clearly fighting his instincts but his tone stays even.

"Kenny was dealing tar, and that’s not what we dabble in. He also broke our rule of selling to kids. We’re not saints, but we keep our streets clean. Kenny was double-dippin’. Getting shit from someone else. We need to know who."

Brydgett tilts her head. "I don’t know anything about that."

"One of our informants said there’s a new player in town. Might even be an outsider. He’s making moves on our turf, and we need to put a stop to it."

"Wish I could help, but no fucking clue," she replies with a smile. Infuriating. Gorgeous.

"Dammit!" Gears slams his fist on the desk. The impact rattles the room, but Brydgett doesn’t so much as blink.

"No need to get so worked up, boss man," she purrs, savoring his frustration. "But I might have an idea."

I narrow my eyes. "What?"

"Where did Kenny hang out?"

"The Rusty Nail. Downtown."

She scoffs. "Typical."

"What are you thinking?"

"I go down there," she says, shrugging like it’s obvious. "Act like I was sweet on him. See what I can find out. Someone there has to know something if that was his spot."

"No." Gears’ voice is sharp, the alpha authority bleeding through.

Brydgett tilts her head, that sly little smile curving her lips. "You’re not my boss. Not my president. And definitely not my alpha. You don’t get to bark at me."

I shouldn’t enjoy the way she says it. But fuck if it doesn’t send a bolt of heat straight through me.

"You wanted the Slayer as your ally, you got her."

"Brydgett," Gears warns, but she just leans back, daring him to challenge her.

"Gears," she mocks, like she’s tasting the name on her tongue. "You can’t change your mind now that you know we’re scent-matched. Kismet or not, you’ll never control me. Don’t even try. So… you coming with, or not?"

"We’ll be going with," I say, the words slipping free before I can think twice. There’s no way in hell we’re letting her walk into a place like The Rusty Nail alone.

"Perfect!" she claps, practically glowing with satisfaction. "I’ll meet you out front in twenty."

And just like that, she sashays out of the room. Gears drops his head into his hands with a groan.

"Of all the omegas we could be Kismet with, we get a goddamn serial killer. She’s never gonna let us have peace. I can feel it already."

I light a cigarette, inhaling deep. The smoke does nothing to smother the lingering scent of her. Sweet. Dangerous.

"I’m good with it." I smirk.

"Same," Arrow chimes in, already pushing off the wall. "Now, I’m gonna see if she needs any help getting dressed. Maybe she’ll let me play before we leave."

"Fucker," Gears mutters under his breath.

And yet, none of us stop him. Not when it comes to Brydgett. She may be a wildfire in disguise, all soft edges and quiet fury, but we all know we’re already caught in her pull. And none of us are getting out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

BRYDGETT

I zip up my jeans with gritted teeth, my wound pulls tight beneath the waistband like a moth struggling against a screen door. The pain is a dull reminder, a whisper of what Earl is capable of. The shirt I choose is a short-sleeved, flowy top that dips low, the fabric skimming my cleavage. There are no bruises—nothing visible, at least. I already know Gears won’t like it. Arrow will love it. Acid… I don’t know what he’ll think. I’m not sure I want to.

I glance in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back at me. That’s the problem, isn’t it? I look like myself, but I feel like someone else—someone I don’t trust. Someone who might actually believe she belongs to three alphas who are certain they belong to her. The thought is dangerous. I shove it down. Now isn’t the time for weakness. I have a job to do, and getting tangled up in my own instincts will only slow me down.

Since finding out I’m Kismet to Acid, Arrow, and Gears, I haven’t been able to untangle my body’s cravings from my mind’s doubts. Too good to be true. That’s what this is. My entire life has been a lesson in deception, in learning that nothing beautiful stays unbroken. I refuse to repeat old mistakes. I spent eight years proving to Judge that I’d protect him at all costs. I won’t let three men undo that even if fate has written it.

I slept with Arrow last night. Gears and Acid? I don’t know where they ended up, and I don’t care. Not right now. After our meeting, when I was trying to get dressed, Arrow offered me everything but the moon, and damn if he didn’t sound like he meant it. He leaned in close, voice low and teasing, hands lingering on my body. I had to shoo him from the room; his pout almost convinced me to let him stay. Almost.

Acid and Gears—I left them in the office this morning without a second glance, but their faces haunted me, their words curling around my thoughts like they saw straight through my defenses. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that at all.

They haven’t asked for more than I was willing to give.

Yet.

I rake my fingers through my hair, fluffing it in an attempt to hide the wildness. If it were just me, this might be easier. But it’s not. Judge is part of this equation. I can’t risk him. Not for comfort, not for the chance at something real. I know the cost of trusting too soon. The only thing I’ve ever wanted more than revenge is safety for Judge. And safety doesn’t come wrapped in promises from alphas who think fate is on their side.

My pulse quickens, too close to hope. And I’m not used to hope.

Then there are the blockers. Or, more accurately, the lack of them.

The clubhouse wasn’t a prison, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think I had any real options except to stay. They hadn’t given me anything to suppress my heat, and that told me everything I needed to know. They weren’t keeping me hidden. They were waiting.

Waiting for nature to take its course.

Waiting for me to come to them.

Waiting to see if I’d let myself believe in them.

Maybe that’s just me, though. Maybe that’s just the part of me that can’t trust a soul but myself.

I could have gone out and found blockers myself. Could have demanded they get me some. Hell, I should have. But something stopped me every time the thought crossed my mind.

Maybe they aren’t waiting on purpose.

Maybe they’re just that goddamn clueless.

I don’t even know what I believe anymore.

What I do know is that Kenny had information the Renegade needed. I took him from them, and now I owe them. An eye for an eye, after all…right? Plus, they need to have this off their plate so they’re ready when Earl hits again. He sent men for me once. He’ll send more. I won’t sit around waiting to find out when. The Rusty Nail was Kenny’s haunt, and if anyone there knows anything about him or has information, they’ll talk or they’ll bleed. Maybe both. I don’t care which.

I take one last look at my reflection, memorizing the stranger staring back at me. I don’t need her tonight. I need the version of myself who doesn’t flinch, who doesn’t question, who only moves forward.

I swing open the door harder than I mean to. Acid, Arrow, and Gears are waiting. Three alphas, looking like sex on wheels, watching me like they already know my mind. Their expressions are a mix of possessive and amused. It pisses me off more than it should.

“I’m set,” I say, forcing the words out like a challenge.

Gears’ jaw tightens, his gaze sweeping over my outfit, lingering on the exposed skin. “I don’t like this.”

I roll my eyes and tap him on the shoulder as I pass. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to deal with it.”

Outside, my wariness spikes when I don’t see a single car. Only bikes, lined up and ready. My stomach knots.

“Come on, Gidge,” Arrow drawls, heading toward his bike like he has all the time in the world. “You can ride with me.”

I arch a brow. “I’ve never been on one.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he says, grinning like he’s daring me to call him a liar.

“Can’t we just take a car?”

“No can do, babe.” Acid smirks. “We roll on two wheels. We’ve used too many cages already.”

I huff, crossing my arms. “You call cars cages?”

“You ain’t a bird, Brydgett,” Gears says.

Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve always been trapped, slamming against the walls of a life I never wanted.

I don’t have time for this. I shake my head and square my shoulders. “I can’t walk in with you three. The jig is up if I do. Drop me off a block away.”

I don’t wait for their response. I climb onto the back of Arrow’s bike before I can change my mind. He turns to me, securing the helmet over my head with careful hands. His fingers brush against my jaw, lingering just a second too long.

I hold his gaze for a moment. I want to lean into his wrist, breathe him in, but I stamp that instinct down quickly.

Then he swings onto the bike in front of me, his back solid and steady. The bike roars to life, the vibration going straight to my core. I wrap my arms around Arrow, feeling the warmth of his body through the leather. I hear him groan, the sound low and guttural. He hits the throttle, and we fly out of the compound and onto the open road toward downtown, the wind whipping past us. The city blurs as we make our way to the shady part of town, where you can find drugs on every corner, where the streets are darker, and the air feels thick with secrets.

We come to a stop a block from The Rusty Nail. I hop off the bike, handing Arrow the helmet and quickly fixing my hair. I give him a wink before sashaying away toward the bar.

A few sketchy characters loiter around, watching me as I pass. One woman eyes me up and down before calling out with a sultry voice. “Honey, I don’t discriminate—men or women. You got the money, I got the time.” She licks her lips.

I shake my head. “Sorry, sweetie. You’re not my type.”

With that, I pull the door open and step inside.

The inside of The Rusty Nail reeks of stale beer and desperation. This is the kind of place where criminals, druggies, and prostitutes mingle, their eyes glinting with all the wrong kinds of intentions. The dim, flickering lights do little to hide the grime that coats the walls. A jukebox hums in the corner, a sad, old country song playing on a loop, the only sound over the low murmur of hushed conversations and the clinking of glasses. A few men sit at the bar, their faces hard as stone, their eyes darting around the room as if constantly looking for trouble.

In the corner, a woman in a torn leather jacket leans against a wall, her makeup smeared like she’s been here too long. A man in a hoodie glances at me as I walk past, eyes lingering on me for a second too long. I ignore him. The stench of sweat, cigarettes, and cheap whiskey hangs in the air, drowning out the hope of scenting any individual and it makes my skin crawl. I'm here for business. I’m not here to make friends.

I walk further into the bar, heading straight for the back where the real deals go down. This is where information is sold, and if I’m lucky, I’ll find out exactly who knows something about Kenny, or who can give me the answers I need.

The bartender barely looks up as I approach, too used to people sliding in and out of his establishment. I order a whiskey and Diet Pepsi, nothing crazy—just enough to keep me sharp. He slides the drink across the counter, and I grab it without hesitation.

I lean against the bar, taking a sip as I scan the crowd. The room is a sea of lowlifes, some familiar, most not. Faces I’ve seen before in the dark corners of this town. But tonight, I’m here for something more than just the usual cheap thrills. I’m here for answers.

As I nurse my drink, a lanky man steps beside me, his presence immediately noticeable, not just for his height, but for the strong smell of pot that clings to him. He's either a beta or high as a kite. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “Hey, Sweet Thing. What are you doing here at a place like this alone?”

I turn to him with a soft, teasing smile. “I am.” I giggle. “I hear this is where to find information and a good time.”

He grins, clearly taking the bait. “Which one are you looking for, sexy?”

I take another sip of my drink and bite my bottom lip, holding his gaze. “Lucky for you, both.”

He shifts, clearly flustered, adjusting himself as if he’s trying to hide his excitement. I know I have him exactly where I want him.

“Sit with me and we’ll talk. Maybe I know something about what you’re searching for.”

I nod and follow him to a booth in the far corner, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. He sits down across from me, leaning forward, his body language eager. He reaches out, his hand brushing mine, and I feel the roughness of his calloused, bony thumb as he begins to speak. “So, what do you think you wanna know?”

I pull my hand back slightly, giving him just enough space to think he’s in control. “I’m looking for Kenny,” I say casually. “He used to give me my heroin.” I pause and dart my eyes around, making sure no one’s listening before I continue, “I’m not an addict, but I like to party, you know?”

He chuckles, nodding knowingly. “Oh, I know about girls like you, pretty. Kenny, though, he’s dead and gone.”

I widen my eyes dramatically, faking shock. “Oh no, what happened? No, wait, don’t tell me.” I cross my arms and pout, sticking out my bottom lip. “How am I gonna get my party supplies now? My girls will be so upset.”

He leans in, clearly enjoying the game. “Pretty lady, fear not. When one dealer goes down, another takes his place quickly. But sadly, Kenny's replacement ain't dealing tar.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How’s that helpful?” I ask, not bothering to hide the frustration in my tone.

His grin widens, showing the teeth of someone who’s done one too many hits of meth. “Lucky for you, I know who Kenny was getting his shit from, and he’s here. Let me just have you speak directly to him. He likes pretty girls.”

“Oh good.” I clap, feigning excitement. “I’ll pay whatever.”

He stands, a sneer spreading across his face. “I’ll make sure to tell him that.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

GEARS

We’ve got a plan.

Laid it out in Church this morning, straight and clean: hit The Rusty Nail tonight. Low profile. Just me, Arrow, and Acid. Our job? Track Kenny’s supplier. Brydgett’s our in.

Her plan, not mine.

She came up with this twisted little play; said she’d act like she was looking for Kenny, like she’d been sweet on him, like he was her dealer and now she’s hurting for a fix. Said it’d make her believable. Make people talk.

I told her no.

Told her it was too risky. But Brydgett’s got a will like iron and a mouth that could start wars. She didn’t listen. She never fucking listens. And between her doing this with us watching or doing it on her own without protection, the choice was obvious. So here we are. Playing along. Falling in line. Because that’s the only way to keep her in sight.

Some of the brothers wanted to come along; offered to hang back, run silent support. I told them no. Not because I don’t trust them. I do. But I can’t have them seeing what this omega does to me. Can’t have them watching her roll right over my decisions like I’m some love-drunk idiot with no spine. They’d get ideas. And I’d have to beat those ideas out of them.

And Brydgett? She’s still feeling her way around the edges of all this. Us. The club. The idea of belonging somewhere that doesn’t hurt. She sees too many unknown alphas crowding the room, she’s gonna go cold and sharp again. Slam those walls back up—triple-locked, rigged with explosives.

And our woman… yeah. She’s guarded better than Fort Knox during a government cover-up. You don’t push your way in. You earn it. Slow. Steady. One careful fucking step at a time.

The music's too loud in The Rusty Nail tonight, all bass and no rhythm. Arrow’s leaning against the wall to my left like he owns the place and Acid’s got that twitchy energy that tells me he’s two seconds from punching someone for breathing wrong. Me? I’m nursing a warm beer and watching her.

Brydgett.

Our omega.

Ours, even if she won’t say it yet. She’s across the room, working some creep in a cheap suede jacket who thinks he’s got a shot. He doesn’t. But he’s got info, and Brydge knows how to tease it out. Her laugh is sharp as she flutters her lashes at him while she talks.

"You seeing this?" I mutter to Acid, keeping my eyes on her as the guy touches her hand and she pulls it back, but not enough that I’m happy.

Arrow grunts. "Wish I wasn’t."

Acid shrugs. "She knows what she’s doing. She’s playing him."

Brydgett crosses her arms and pouts, sticking out her bottom lip. The motion has my cock twitching in my jeans. The woman doesn’t know the effect she has on us. She’s got a mouth like sin and eyes that dare the devil to try her.

But I don’t like the way the guy’s grinning. Too cocky. Too eager. Then—he’s gone. Just turns on his heel and disappears down a back hallway without a word. Brydge watches him go, lips pursed, one brow arched. For a second, I think she’s letting him walk. Then he comes back—less swagger this time, more business—and leans in to murmur something in her ear. She nods once, deliberate, finishes her drink, and follows him with a look over her shoulder that tightens something in my chest.

“She just go with him?” I ask, straightening.

“Yeah,” Arrow says, already moving.

We follow. Through the crowd, past the booths and beer-slick floors, slipping through the same narrow hall they took. There’s a door I don’t remember ever being here, but this also isn’t a place we come too often. Acid pushes it open, and we step into a different world.

Warehouse space, wide and loud, packed with bodies and heat. There’s a cage in the middle of the floor—raised slightly off the ground so the whole place has a view—eight feet high and thick with bloodstains. Two men inside are going at it, fists flying, no gloves. Around the perimeter, tables of high-rollers throw cash, drink cocktails from scantily clad servers, and shout for blood.

“What the fuck,” I breathe, more as a statement than a question.

“This is our town,” Arrow hisses.

Acid just stares, jaw tight. “This was a storage warehouse…That’s what we were told. Someone put a damn door in and now we have a fight club.”

I keep scanning until I find her.

There she is. Brydgett, striding like she owns the floor. She’s all hips and heat, even in her jeans and boots, and she’s heading straight for a table near the cage. A tall guy stands to greet her—mid-thirties, stocky, his alpha aura rolling off him. She doesn’t flinch. Just takes his hand, drops into the seat across from him like they’re equals.

I see him wave a server over. She says something, points at the guy. His smile twitches, pissed, but the server leaves and returns with a sealed bottle. Brydge pops it and takes a long pull.

She’s talking, laughing low, eyes sharp. I can’t hear her, but I know that look. It’s the same one she gave me right before she cracked her head against my nose.

Then the alpha’s smirk changes. Darkens. Brydgett leans back, nods once.

And she’s up, disappearing into the crowd.

Gone.

"Find her. Right the fuck now," I bark.

We split up, fanning through the crowd, searching every pocket of space. I shove through gamblers, ignore the half-naked girls asking if I want a drink. All I want is her. My omega.

She’s not in the bathrooms. Not near the bar. Not beside the cage.

Then the lights drop low.

A spotlight flares over the cage.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” A voice booms over the speakers. “A last-minute addition to tonight’s card. The reigning women's champ, Tiffany…versus the Renegade President’s Old Lady!”

I freeze. My heart drops to my boots.

What the fuck?

The crowd roars. I turn slowly, like my body’s in molasses.

She steps into the cage.

Brydgett. Wearing a black sports bra and tiny shorts that hug every wicked curve. A large white bandage covers the bullet wound at her side, stark against her skin. Her hair’s braided back. Her eyes locked on her opponent. She looks like sin.

I shove forward, elbowing past meatheads and drunks until I’m at the cage. I grip the chain link and bark, "Get your ass over here right now, Omega!"

She hears me. Smiles. Saunters over and squats so we’re eye-level.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I growl.

She sighs like I’m exhausting her. “Well, Gearsy, you three weren’t exactly stealthy following me. Nikola, that’s the alpha I was chatting with. He got a little pissy when he realized the Renegade MC was sniffing around. So now I have to fight if we want that info.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Her grin is all teeth. “It was this, or pick one of you to shoot. Arrow made me feel good, and I kinda like Acid’s deranged little heart. I could’ve picked you…” She taps the cage with a fingernail. “But your mom and sister like you too much. So here we are.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m resourceful.”

“You’re still healing,” I growl. “One hit to your side and you’re done.”

She flashes me that infuriating grin. “Aw, Gearsy, worried about little ol’ me? I’ll try not to bleed too much on your boots.”

I reach for the cage door, but two big, beefy alphas block the way, arms crossed and smug as hell.

“There’s only one way out of the cage,” one of them says. “Knock out or tap out.”

“Fucking hell,” I murmur as I step back, heat crawling up my spine. I feel my brothers at my sides, a silent wall of fury and frustration.

She leans in, eyes burning.

“Sit back, boys. Be good. Enjoy the show. We need this intel.”

Then she turns, bouncing on her toes as she heads toward the center of the ring. Her opponent—Tiffany—is already throwing punches in the air like this is all just foreplay.

“This is bad,” Acid mutters, but he’s smirking like he wants to see what she can do.

Arrow’s breathing through his nose, fists clenched. “If she gets hurt⁠—”

“She won’t,” I say, even though my gut twists. Brydgett is the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met. But this… this is chaos.

A fight. A goddamn fight.

In a ring we didn’t even know existed.

In a part of town we run.

With our omega bleeding for answers.

And still—I can’t look away.

The bell rings.

Tiffany comes out fast—cocky, bouncing on her toes like she thinks this’ll be quick. Brydgett stays low, steady, circling with that predator’s focus she wears so well.

They clash in the center. Fists fly. Tiffany lands the first jab—straight into Brydgett's side.

Brydge screams.

The sound slices through the roar of the crowd like a razor. Her body folds for half a second, pain etched across her face, and I see red.

But she doesn’t go down.

She snaps upright, eyes blazing.

Brydgett ducks the next swing, drives a hard elbow into Tiffany’s ribs, follows it with a spinning back kick that knocks her opponent into the cage wall. The crowd loses it.

Tiffany snarls and rushes again, fists wild. Brydge catches one wrist, pivots, wraps a leg behind Tiffany’s knee, and drops her. MMA-style. Clean. Brutal. Fast.

Before the other woman can recover, Brydge straddles her and throws a sharp right hook. Then another. Tiffany’s arms flail once—then fall.

Knocked. The fuck. Out.

The crowd explodes. The cage door swings open.

Brydgett stands, swaying slightly. She clutches her side, blood seeping through the edge of the bandage.

“Fuck, that hurts,” she mutters.

Arrow gets to her first, scooping her up like she weighs nothing. He carries her to an empty chair, easing her down as she winces.

I’m already on her. “You’re a goddamn wild card. You’re flighty. You’re reckless. You’re an idiot.”

She blinks at me, lashes still damp with sweat. “You done?”

“Not even close.”

She leans back, eyes flicking over my shoulder. “Put a pause on it. Nikola’s headed this way.”

I turn. The alpha from earlier steps up, eyes on me, then holds out a hand.

I take it. His grip’s firm. Measured. Like someone who just watched exactly what our omega can do—and respects it.

"Nikola," he introduces himself. “I just bought this club and the bar.”

Acid raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

Nikola smiles, unfazed. “Heard there’s room for more players in town.”

I step forward. "You heard wrong."

Nikola shrugs, an arrogant smile still in place. “A shame, then, since I already own both buildings. My business is thriving here. Would be a shame to shut it down. In fact, I have no plans to do so.”

Brydgett's voice cuts through the tension. “What do you want? What could the mafia possibly want in this small little town?”

Nikola raises an eyebrow. “How did you know I was mafia?”

“Your name is Nikola, that screams mafia, not to mention the suit, and your whole look is giving Italian mob boss vibes,” Brydgette interrupts.

Nikola laughs, deep and low. "As I said, I’ve been here a few times. I like the space back here. But up front? That’s another story. I like this town. There’s room to grow. Was I lied to?"

"You were," I answered, my tone cold. "We’re in charge here. We let the cartel do their thing if they stay out of our way. Lately, though? It’s been harder, and now you’re here. So tell me, Nikola. What do you really want?"

"We should discuss this in private," Nikola says, nodding toward the back. "Follow me."

He leads us and a few of his men to a door that opens into the alley behind the warehouse. The door clicks shut, and Nikola turns, his expression shifting from casual to something darker.

"The cartel took my sister. Trafficking. I want to find her—and I’ll burn them all to the ground in the process."

Acid lets out a huff. "You have the manpower for that?"

"I do."

"Then what? You come here, wage a war, and leave?"

Nikola shakes his head. "No. I want to stay here. Keep my business."

"What business?" I ask.

"Drugs, money, fighting..." Nikola waves a hand at the warehouse.

"We control the drug trade here," I snap. "Except for tar and crank. We don’t allow that. But someone’s distributing it, and that’s why we’re here. We want to know who and why."

"So, if I agree to keep my drugs out of here and clear out the trafficking ring, maybe we can have a truce," Nikola suggests. "I launder my money through the bar, host my fights and wagers, even get my party supplies from you."

"What do you want?" I ask, eyeing him warily.

"Coke, Smoke, LSD, Molly, Shrooms, and Angel Dust."

"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.”

“Brydgett!” Acid barks from somewhere to my right. “No one talks to the prez that way. Especially in front of company.”

I flash a wink at him. “He’s not my president. I keep reminding you all that.”

“Women don’t meddle in club business, babe,” Arrow adds, patronizing from where he stands.

I don’t even look at him. “Fuck that. I’m in whatever business I wanna be in. And if you three really think I’d even consider being your omega, then I sure as hell will be in all the business.”

“Omeg—” Gears starts.

“No.” The words cut sharp. “I’m in or I’m out. All the way. And you know why. Don’t push me.”

“A lovers’ quarrel.” Nikola chuckles against the knife. “Do go on.”

My grip tightens just enough. Just enough to remind him.

He knows it, too.

Nikola may be taller, stronger—but he also knows better. He could overpower me. Of course he could. But not without risk. Not without bleeding for it.

I lean in, close enough for only him to hear.

“Don’t think about trying to get away, Nikola. You’d probably pull it off—but I’d slit your throat before you got far. And this suit’s already got blood on the shirt, thanks to you. I'd rather not ruin the rest.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he spits between clenched teeth.

"Okay, Nikola. You put on your little show. Big boss man posturing, all the theatrics... cute. But you know damn well this is Renegade territory. They play nice with the cartel. You want the cartel gone? Then this—” I press the knife just enough to remind him it’s still there, “—isn’t how you treat guests at your housewarming.”

He swallows hard, rasping, "No. I suppose not."

In front of me, Gears shifts, probably pissed I got the jump on Nikola before he could. He's always so damn bossy. Overbearing. Loud. But right now? He's quiet. Lets me do what I do best. Finally.

"So you have the manpower to take down the cartel? To stop the trafficking? Because if not, this conversation is dead before it starts."

"Yes," Nikola groans.

"Gears? That okay with you? Nikola’s mafia takes down the cartel?"

Gears’ words come out hard. “Yeah. But we want in. They go down, we do it together.”

“Nikola?”

"Done."

"Cool." I let my lips twitch into a smirk. "Next: Gears has offered to supply your drugs minus two itty bitty icky ones. I think that was generous, considering. Do we agree to that?"

"Fine," Nikola grinds out. "No Spice. No Flakka."

"Or tar," I add sweetly. "Speaking of which... I fought your little ragamuffin in the cage. Played your game. Now. Who was Kenny dealing for? Because it wasn’t them. And the rat up front said if I wanted tar, I had to come to you. So?"

He goes still. Muscles tense under my blade—just a twitch, but it’s there. Not fear exactly. Not yet. But he’s listening now.

I press the blade harder. "Tsk, tsk. Not nice. Kenny met his maker, courtesy of the Alpha Slayer. Ring any bells? I'd hate for you to be next. Word on the street is that the Renegade's got the Slayer in their back pocket."

"Lies," he spits.

"Nope. Overheard the deal myself when they had me tied up in their basement. So. Who was supplying Kenny with his heroin?"

"I did." The words fall from his lips like cement. "But he was only supposed to sell it at the fights. He shorted me at the last big event. I was gonna go looking for him, but he ended up dead."

"Who do you get your supply from?"

"It gets shipped in. Out of state. I use a broker. Franko."

"Fuck!" Gears swears, running a hand through his hair. "He's a fucking asshole. Won't help us."

"We could try," Acid says, calmly.

Arrow smirks. "Last time we dealt with Franko, he held a gun to Gears' head."

"Fucking asshole," Gears mutters again.

My wheels are already turning. But I keep my face blank. I don’t want to show my hand. Not yet. These alphas of mine? They still have no idea who I really am. I'm not some lost little omega. I'm the damn Alpha Slayer. It's time I reminded them.

I lean in close to Nikola. "Nikola. If I take this knife away, you gonna be a good boy?"

"Yes."

"Good. You and the Renegade have deals to finalize. I'm gonna go have a drink. If I have to come back and clean up your mess, I'm gonna be pissed."

I pull the blade back and shift a step away, sliding it into its hiding spot. Nikola turns toward me, eyes raking over every inch.

"You're a crazy, sexy little thing. Are you sure you wanna be with these bikers? I could give you a life you'd only dream of."

The growls beside me are low, threatening. Acid. Arrow. Gears. My alphas. Even when they annoy the shit out of me. And I’m in denial.

I just smile and pat Nikola’s cheek. "Thanks, but no thanks. They're growing on me."

I hold out my hand. "Friends?"

He stares at me for a beat, then takes it. "Friends."

"Good. Come on, boys. I'll buy you a drink," I call out to Nikola’s men, jerking my chin toward the warehouse.

"Alessio, you stay with me," Nikola orders. "You’re my second. We’ll seal this deal together."

The big guy Gears had been fighting—Alessio, apparently—dusts himself off and gives a tight nod. The rest fall in line behind me without a word.

We all head into the warehouse. The alphas and Nikola peel off to the right, stepping into a side room and shutting the door behind them. Good. Let them make the deal I bartered, sealed, and made a go. I earned a damn drink.

The bar area is rough around the edges—industrial lighting, half-stocked shelves, but it'll do. I order a round. Nothing fancy. Whiskey. Beer. A shot or two. The kind of drinks that burn going down and hit fast.

We drink in silence, watching the next fight take shape in the cage.

I pull out my phone and scroll through old contacts until I find the number. My finger hovers for just a moment, but I don't let hesitation take over. I press call.

It rings twice.

"Brydgie. Long time no talk," Franko answers. "How you been?"

"Good. I need a favor."

"It’ll cost you."

I don’t want anyone overhearing this, so I step back into the hallway, my shoes tapping lightly on the worn floor. Passing through The Rusty Nail’s dimly lit interior, I slip past the bar and push through the front door. The cool night air hits me, and I step out onto the sidewalk, the same one where this whole mess started.

"Just listen. You might like it. I know how you love a good show. Plus, I hear you and the Renegade MC in Virginia have some unfinished business."

He laughs. "We go way back. Ol’ Gears and me."

"Good. Well. Gears, Acid, and Arrow? They're my Kismets."

He whistles. "No shit."

"Yep. They're trying to figure out who’s pushing heroin in their territory. Nikola says he gets it through you. So. Who are you getting it from?"

Franko goes quiet. "Brydge..."

"Franko..."

"New player. Showed up a year or so after you left. Don’t know his real name. Everyone calls him The Father."

I choke on a laugh. "Why?"

"Says he got into the business to find his daughter. PilIs are expensive. I don’t know. I only ever met with his second. Never him."

"Can you come here? Share all that?"

"Why? I just told you."

"Because I want to see the looks on the guys’ faces when they realize I know you."

He chuckles. "When?"

"ASAP." I rub my side, wincing slightly. It's fucking sore where that bitch got me. I'll have to make sure my stitches aren't popped.

"Done. Three days. I’ll ask around. Maybe I can figure out who The Father really is."

"Thanks, Franko."

"Anything for you, Brydge. Candy’s been asking about you, too."

"Bring her. It’s been too long."

I'm about to hang up when his voice stops me.

"Brydge. Last time I saw you, you were leaving town with a plus one."

My throat tightens. "And..."

"I wanna meet Lil' Brydge."

"His name's Judge. And I’ll think about it."

"Fine. See you in three days."

"See you then."

I hang up. My hand stills around the phone. That conversation stirred things I haven’t let myself feel in a long time.

I take a deep breath and step back inside the bar, heading straight back to the door to the warehouse, making sure no one’s the wiser about who I just called. The noise and bustle of the place wraps around me again, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and alcohol.

I move quickly through the space, heading straight to the locker room. I need to get out of the borrowed clothes before whoever I stole them from notices. I strip off the fight gear, slipping back into my jeans and shirt. When I glance at the bandage around my side, I see blood on it, but that’s to be expected after the hit I took. It stings, but I’ll have to change the bandage properly when I get back to the clubhouse.

The office door swings open right as I get back to the bar where I left Nikola’s men. My alphas step out. Gears looks pissed. Acid and Arrow are a little less tense. But all three of them zero in on me.

Arrow walks right up and loops an arm around my waist. "Come on, baby. Let’s go home."

"Okay," I say, softer than I mean to. Because suddenly, I just want out of here.

We head out. I get back on Arrow’s bike, and this time, instead of holding on, I stretch my arms out wide like I’m flying. Like in the damn Titanic.

Just for a moment, I let myself feel free.

Tomorrow, it's mommy and son day. Just me and Judge. No deals. No blades. No blood. Just my boy. Because ever since I woke up, it feels like he’s been with Dillon and Bettie—and yeah, I’m jealous. I miss him.

I miss us.

The world can burn down around me. But tomorrow? Tomorrow, I’m just his mom.

And no one gets between me and my boy.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

BRYDGETT

I tug the zipper up on my hoodie and pause in front of the mirror. It’s the only clean one I could find that doesn’t smell like black currant, patchouli, and sandalwood—that distinct blend of all three of the alphas. Not that I mind their scents—they're familiar, grounding even—but not when I’m trying to feel like my own person and not the omega on probation with three growly alphas.

I swipe on some lip balm, mostly for show. No one's gonna be kissing me today.

Well.

Maybe Judge.

I grin at my reflection, tug my hair into a messy ponytail, and call, "Judge! Let’s roll, baby!"

The sound of feet slapping against the old wooden floor makes me smile. He comes barreling around the corner with a sock halfway on and his hair still wet from his rushed shower.

"Can I bring my sketchpad for the ride there?" he pants.

"Sure. But only in the car."

"Cool," he says, and disappears to grab it anyway.

My phone buzzes. Acid. Just a single word: Outside.

I take a deep breath and grab my purse. I’m not sure how I feel about him being here. We argued half the night. Or maybe just… debated in that low, clipped tone alphas use when they’re trying not to scare you but still want you to know they’re serious business.

Whatever it was, I lost. He’s coming. He said Gears didn’t trust me not to throw myself into another dangerous barter situation, and Arrow muttered something about “omega instincts not being excuses for idiocy.” Fair.

Still. This was supposed to be a me and Judge day. Mommy and son. I clutch the strap of my purse a little tighter.

"Ready!" Judge yells, popping up beside me like a little kangaroo in his hoodie and Converse.

We step out into the morning light and there he is—Acid—leaning on the hood of a rebuilt Nova like he owns the world and just lets us live in it. Ink crawls down his forearms like flames. Aviators. Black tee stretched over a chest that should not be allowed in daylight.

I feel the flutter in my chest and immediately want to swat it away.

"Hey, kid," Acid says, ruffling Judge’s hair.

"Hi, Mr. Acid."

He chuckles. "Still with the ‘Mr.’ huh?"

"It’s respectful." Judge shrugs, hopping into the backseat.

I was on blockers for so long I sometimes forget I’m not immune to the whole… alpha thing anymore. But my skin buzzes when his fingers brush the gear shift, and my scent flares on instinct—too fast, too raw. I haven’t had a blocker since the wreck, and my body’s still relearning how to behave without them.

Down, girl.

On the drive, Judge babbles about the obstacle course and how he’s gonna conquer the foam pit “like a ninja.” I nod and smile, even while my mind’s half-focused on a to-do list I’m mentally building.

Dillon still wants that car in order to get my GTO back. Franko might have a connection—he used to always brag about his cousin who imports used cars. I tap a note into my phone so I don’t forget.

The trampoline park is louder than I expected. Screams of laughter, thumps of bodies hitting mats, music pulsing over the speakers. I fill out the waiver and tighten my ponytail before Judge tugs me toward the open play area.

“I’m gonna do the wall!” He grins.

“Go for it, baby.”

He stops halfway to the pit and turns. “Come with me?”

I smile, but it’s tight. “I can’t, honey. I’ve still got that cut, remember? If it reopens, we’ll get kicked out and your fun’s over.”

“Oh.” His face drops for a second, but then Acid steps in.

“I’ll go with you, little man. Think you can beat me?”

Judge’s whole face lights up. “Duh.”

I watch them disappear into the chaos and press a hand to my chest. Acid doesn’t move like an alpha with an agenda. He just…plays. Laughs. Grunts when he lands in the foam pit. Judge squeals when Acid pretends to get stuck and begs for help, like he’s sinking in lava.

I swoon a little, damn it. Right there next to the hand sanitizer station.

While they’re preoccupied, I grab a tray and order three hot dogs, fries, and the biggest blue raspberry slushies the place offers. I snag extra napkins—because Judge. And a tiny ketchup container. Because me.

“Food!” I call out from the table when I see them stumbling out of the pit, Judge looking winded and proud, Acid with foam clinging to his jeans.

They jog over and dig in.

“Mmmph,” Judge says around a bite of hot dog. “When do I get to go back to school?”

My hand stills. “I don’t know yet, baby.”

“I don’t wanna get behind. I like science class.”

Acid leans back in his chair. “We could have a prospect sit outside if you want him to go back.”

I hesitate. “I don’t trust that school. Not since…everything. He was supposed to transfer to the private one across town, but I was saving up for it.”

“I got some guys who could ask around,” he offers.

I nod. “I’ll call the principal this week. Maybe see what our options are.”

Judge finishes his last bite and takes off again. I let my gaze wander back to Acid, his eyes warm and a little amused.

“Thanks for coming,” I say.

“You don’t gotta thank me for hanging with my favorite omega and her kid.”

My stomach does a weird swoop.

“You’re such a flirt.” I laugh. “You know, when I saw you that night at Kenny’s, I called you Mr. Inked and Sexy.”

“You did, did you?” he says with a raised brow. “Don’t worry, you haven’t even seen all my ink yet.”

I choke on my slushie.

Heat blooms under my skin. I know he can smell it. Stupid scent blockers. I took them for years—long enough to make my body forget how to manage things naturally. I’m rusty now, out of practice.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Guess I’m out of practice.”

Acid growls low, and my breath catches. Not a warning growl. An interested one.

“Time to go before you have every alpha in this place going into a rut,” he says.

I flush and gather our trash. “I’ll get Judge.”

Judge comes bounding back and tugs on Acid’s hand. “Can we get ice cream?”

“We can get frozen yogurt,” I say, laughing. “But you’re paying me back in bedtime snuggles.”

“Deal.”

The frozen yogurt place is mostly empty, and we all pile toppings onto swirls of vanilla and cookies and cream. Judge goes overboard on gummy worms. Acid dares me to eat rainbow boba pearls with hot fudge. I do. It’s…questionable.

We play a couple of tabletop games—silly ones with dice and spinning wheels—before heading home. Judge sings in the backseat. I hum along.

The MC is quiet when we pull in. I stretch and tell Acid, “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

He nods and disappears to find Gears and Arrow. Probably to give a report or whatever the alpha version of tattling is.

Judge’s already tugging on his jammies when I get out of the bathroom. My hair is still damp, skin warm from the steam. I pad across the room and find him curled up under the covers.

“Moana 2?” I ask.

“Duh.”

We hit play and settle in. I pull him close, one arm wrapped around his small body.

“You know you can tell me anything, right, baby?”

“I know, Mom.”

“I haven’t spent as much time with you lately. I’m sorry.”

He turns, rests his head on my arm. “You’re getting to know your Kismets. I kinda like it here. Dillon’s so cool. She lets me draw with her and she’s really good at Legos. Bettie lets me cook with her. Yesterday, we made lasagna.”

I ruffle his hair. “Good. I’m glad you’re having fun. But if you ever feel left out, you tell me, okay? You’re my first. Always.”

“I know, Mom,” he groans dramatically.

I chuckle and refocus on the movie.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Who was that guy? The one who shot you?”

My heart stutters.

“No one.”

“He knew you. I heard him. He said something like ‘is he mine.’ Is that my dad?”

I’d hoped we had more time before this came up again.

I sigh. “No.”

“But—”

“Judge, drop it.”

“I wanna know, Mom.”

I close my eyes. “Fine. Yes. He helped create you. But he’s not a good man. He gave me you, and that’s the only good thing he ever did.”

“He hurt you? Like, alphas aren’t supposed to hurt omegas, right?”

“Yeah, baby. He did.”

“I hate him.”

“Me too, Judge. Me too.”

He falls asleep not long after, little breaths deep and even against my side. I brush a kiss to the top of his head and whisper, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, baby boy.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

ACID

Judge’s laugh is still stuck in my head. That wild, unfiltered belly laugh that only a kid can pull off. It echoes in my skull like it’s still bouncing off trampoline walls.

I hadn’t planned to enjoy myself. Hell, I thought I’d be playing babysitter and watching Brydgett avoid eye contact the whole time. But then Judge challenged me to the foam pit like it was life or death, and his eyes lit up when I pretended to sink like I was getting eaten alive.

I’d dive headfirst into a vat of lava for that kid.

And his mom?

Fuck.

I dared her to eat hot fudge and rainbow boba. She did it. I’d do worse if it meant getting that smirk again—the one where she thinks she’s tougher than me, smarter than me, better than me. She probably is.

She was glowing after. I kept my distance. I’m not Arrow. I’m not gonna lay hands on an omega who hasn’t invited it. Especially not her. Not after that basement scene. That still burns in my chest like motor oil in my lungs.

Gears pushed it. I backed him, because I always back my brother. But maybe this time, I should’ve told him to stand down.

I should’ve protected her.

The office door creaks as I push it in. Arrow’s leaning against the desk and Gears is seated in his chair, arms crossed, jaw tight. Stallion’s posted up near the window, flipping a knife between his fingers like he’s bored, but his eyes track me the second I enter.

Gears glances up as I step in.He glances up when I walk in. “How was it?”

I grab the back of the chair across from him but don’t sit. Just lean. “It was good. Real good. Judge ran himself half-dead, and Brydgett… she actually laughed. Like, really laughed. The kid is quite the showman in the foam pit and obstacle course.”

Arrow looks at me. “She okay?”

“Yeah. She’s in the shower last I saw. Her and the kid were gearing up for a movie night sleepover.”

Gears snorts. “She let you take him into the foam pit?”

“Not just let me. The kid challenged me. Had me sinking in ‘lava’ while he tried to rescue me.”

Arrow raises a brow. “You playing volcano monster now?”

I shrug. “Judge’s rules. I just fell in line.”

Gears snorts, shakes his head like I’ve personally disappointed the alpha species. “You’re getting soft.”

“Try saying that to my face after you’ve done three pit dives in denim.”

“Rest of the brothers are getting twitchy,” he mutters, changing the subject fast.

Arrow grunts. “Thinking a party. Beer. Girls. Let ‘em blow off steam before they start picking fights with each other.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Sounds like the smart kind of dumb.”

Arrow shifts, flicks a glance my way. “You think Gidge would come?”

A low chuckle escapes before I can stop it. “You worried about her? I don’t think she needs our protection. That omega’s a category five hurricane with mascara on.”

“She scares the shit outta me,” Arrow mutters.

“Good,” I say. “Means you’ve still got a lick of survival instinct.”

Gears blows out a breath and scrubs a hand down his face. “Still can’t believe we’re in bed with the fucking Morozov mafia.”

I arch a brow. “You think Nikola takes us to dinner next or shoots us in the face?”

“Neither,” Gears says. “He respects her. That’s the crazy part. She walks in with demands and he listens. The guy runs a black market arms ring and smuggles diamonds in piano benches, and he listens to a goddamn omega.”

“She’s not just an omega,” I say quietly. “And you know it.”

Gears nods. “Still. She can’t pull that shit at the party. If she’s gonna be an Ol’ Lady—mine, yours, whoever’s—she can’t mouth off to us like she does. Respect matters in public. Sass is fine. Disrespect isn’t.”

Arrow grimaces. “She’s not the ‘yes, dear’ type.”

“No shit,” I mutter.

Prez changes gears. “Nikola’s meeting is on for next week. He’s setting the plan for the cartel. We’re observers. Support, not planners. That way, if shit goes sideways, we’ve got plausible deniability.”

“Good.” I drag a hand down my beard. “What about Franko? He knows something about where Kenny was getting his supply.”

“I’d rather mousetrap my dick than deal with him again,” Gears huffs.

Arrow snorts. “Want me to call him?”

“I’ll think about it. But when things start rolling—cartel or whoever the hell’s next—we send the kids and the women out. No debate.”

“Agreed,” I say, immediately.

Arrow nods. “What about Brydgett? You wanna be the one to tell her she’s gotta run and hide?”

I raise a brow. “You volunteering?”

He lifts both hands. “Hell no.”

“Didn’t think so.” I smile—just a little. “She’d kill the messenger, and then circle back for whoever gave the order.”

“Still,” Gears mutters, “we gotta figure it out. She and Judge are targets whether she wants to admit it or not.”

“And Earl’s still out there,” I add. “Lying low. Waiting. He’s not done. You think he forgot about them? Not a chance.”

“I’ll call Ike,” Arrow offers. “See if there’s been any sightings since the wreck. He hears shit before we do.”

We split after that. Arrow goes to find the brothers to start planning for the party. Gears heads off to Bettie, probably to break the news that shit might hit the fan again. And me?

I go find a clean shirt and a hot shower.

Water rushes over me, steam fogging the mirror. But none of it clears my head.

All I see is her.

Laughing at the boba.

Clutching her kid like the world’s gonna take him.

Calling me Mr. Inked and Sexy like it didn’t nearly undo me on the spot.

I want her.

Not just in my bed.

I want her in every damn corner of my life.

And that’s a problem.

Because wanting something that dangerous? That fierce?

It never ends well.

GEARS

The room smells like motor oil, burnt coffee, and tension. Church is packed, every patched brother in their seat, boots planted, waiting for answers. I’ve got the gavel in one hand, my other wrapped around the edge of the table hard enough to splinter it.

“We’ve got news,” I say, voice steady. “The Morozov mafia’s made their way into town. Don’s name is Nikola.”

A few groans. A whistle. Suave mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘Mafia? Great. Just what we needed.’

“They’re not here to start shit,” I continue. “They’re here to burn the cartel to the ground. Nikola’s sister was taken—trafficked. He wants blood. We agreed to help. Support only. We're not the trigger men in this one, just the helping hand. That way if it goes sideways, we’re not the ones standing on the pile of bodies.”

Arrow leans against the wall behind me, arms crossed. Acid’s at my right, flipping his damn lighter open and closed like a metronome. The sound fills the silences between my words.

“We also agreed to supply their party favors—coke, smoke, Molly, shrooms, angel dust. But nothing off the deep end. No tar. No Flakka. No Spice. That was non-negotiable.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Stallion pipes up, deadpan. “So basically, we’re still the moral drug dealers just supplying the less moral mafia.”

A few chuckles roll through the room. Arky throws a peanut at him and misses. Suave, lounging near the door with a toothpick in his mouth, doesn’t even flinch when it bounces off the wall behind him.

“Laugh it up,” I say, “but here’s where it gets fun.”

Keg leans in. “Oh, do tell, Prez.”

“Turns out Nikola was the one giving Kenny the tar.”

That wipes the smiles.

“But,” I go on, “Nikola wasn’t cooking it. He was getting it from a broker.” I pause for effect. “Franko.”

Groans, curses, someone slaps the table. Acid’s jaw clenches so tight I hear it pop. Nitro straight up says, “That shit stain?”

Everyone knows Franko. Knows he’s a loose cannon in denim with a handshake that means jack shit. Used to run low-level logistics before he started playing middleman for whoever had enough cash and no conscience.

We’re not coming down on him—yet.” I tell them. “But I’m gonna get ahold of him. If he’s moving tar, then he knows where it’s coming from. Let’s hope he wants to play ball.”

Nitro raises a hand. “And the mafia is just cool with all this?”

“For now,” I say. “But we’re watching. And Brydgett—our omega—she’s the reason we even got this deal. Walked in, stared down the Don, and walked out with an alliance.”

That gets a few low whistles and murmured “goddamns.” Stallion nods slowly like he's impressed, and Keg grins into his beer like he’s just realized we might all be a little outmatched.

“Any questions?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Suave says. “If she starts running the club, do we still gotta vote?”

I’m headed to Ma’s apartment, chewing on the inside of my cheek like it’s got answers. I need her to know what’s coming. If Nikola turns on us, if the cartel decides we’re useful enough to bleed—this place won’t be safe. Not for women. Not for kids. Not for Ma.

I knock once and let myself in.

She’s at the stove, red apron on, hair twisted up in a messy knot, humming something off-key. The smell of garlic and onions hits me square in the face like a damn hug.

She turns and beams. “There’s my boy.”

“Don’t start, Mom.”

“Oh hush. You still like it when I call you that.” She sets the spoon down and waves me toward her, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. “What’s got that wrinkle between your eyebrows deeper than usual?”

“The Morozov mafia moved into town. Don’s name is Nikola.”

She stills. One heartbeat. Two. Then goes back to stirring whatever’s in the pot.

I keep going. “Brydgett bartered us a deal with them. Walked in like she had a death wish and came out with an alliance. Now we’re aiding Nikola in taking down the cartel.”

She sets the spoon down real slow. Turns to face me, eyes sharp as ever.

“You’re working with the mafia?”

I nod. “Not as partners. Just backup. Nikola’s the one making moves. We’re just support. That way, if it all goes sideways, we’ve got room to breathe. Plausible deniability.”

There’s a long pause. Then she hums low in her throat.

“Smart,” she says finally. “Your daddy would be proud. You’re playing the long game now.”

My throat tightens at that, but I don’t say anything.

She crosses her arms. “And how’s your omega?”

I groan. “Don’t start with that, either.”

“Oh, I’m starting.” She grins. “What’s the look for?”

“She’s infuriating. Doesn’t listen for shit. Reckless like she’s got nine damn lives and already used up eight.” I rub the back of my neck. “Woman drives me goddamn crazy.”

Smack.

Her palm cracks the side of my head, and I flinch, scowling.

“Ma, what the hell was that for?”

“For being an idiot.”

I blink. “How?”

“You’re the president of a motorcycle club, you deal in drugs and god knows what else, and you expected your Kismet to be what, exactly? A doe-eyed little flower who brings you muffins and says ‘yes, sir’?”

I open my mouth. Close it.

She jabs a finger at my chest. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a roll-over-and-take-it omega. That girl? She’ll keep your ass in line. All three of you. She can stand with you, not behind you. That’s what you need.”

“You don’t know everything,” I mutter, but it’s weak.

She leans back against the counter, raising an eyebrow. “Then tell me.”

I glance at the window, like maybe someone’s listening. I lean in anyway, voice low.

“She’s the Alpha Slayer.”

Her eyes go wide.

For a second, I think she’s gonna faint. Or throw a pan. Maybe both.

Then—she laughs. A full-on belly laugh that shakes the damn rafters.

I scowl. “What the hell is so funny?”

She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “She’s perfect. Especially for Titus. That man needs a woman who might stab him just to keep him humble.”

“I’m serious, Mom.”

“So am I.” She softens, smile turning gentle. “It almost makes me feel at ease, knowing she could protect you boys just as much as you protect her.”

“Thanks.” I mean it.

She walks over, kisses my cheek like I’m still ten years old and just got a B+ in math. “Anytime, baby.”

I start to leave, and she smacks my arm lightly. “You’re having dinner with me soon. All of you. Including Brydgett. And the boy.”

I blink. “We’re throwing a party this weekend. Saturday, most likely.”

She waves a hand. “Perfect. Then Sunday night dinner it is. I’ll make Stromboli.”

I grunt. “We’ll be there.”

And I mean that too.

Even if Brydgett glares at the tablecloth. Even if Acid pretends to hate small talk.

We’ll be there. Because that’s what family does.

Even the fucked-up kind.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ARROW

I don’t usually sleep in, but today I lingered too long, tangled up in thoughts of her. Her scent still on me, days later. Like that bed branded me. Like she did.

Brydgett.

Gidge.

Our omega.

I close my eyes, and I see her everywhere. In that cage, bloodied knuckles and wild eyes, moving like she was born to destroy. I see her with a knife pressed to Nikola’s throat, steady and sure, daring anyone to stop her. She’s chaos in motion. A fucking tornado wrapped in a sinful, sexy package.

And she’s mine.

I’ve barely scratched the surface of her. Just the tip of the blade, the edge of what makes her tick. But I’m obsessed already. She’s in my blood, behind my eyes, carved into every damn thought I’ve had since I laid eyes on her.

A low rumble builds in my chest. Feels good, knowing I’ve started to figure her out. Like my instincts knew she was mine before I did.

I make her coffee just the way I’ve seen her take it. Half a sugar, splash of creamer, hot but not scalding. I’ve been paying attention. Little things. Like how she scratches the back of her neck when she’s thinking too hard. Or how she checks the locks twice when she tucks Judge in, like muscle memory. Like a habit from a life that didn’t give her many chances to feel safe.

I don’t knock. Don’t have to. She’s curled up under the blanket, one bare shoulder peeking out like a tease. Her hair’s a mess. I love it.

“Morning, Gidge,” I say, holding the coffee out like an offering.

She blinks at me. Not startled, just… watchful. She’s always watching, like she’s waiting for the world to swing on her. Then she sees the coffee, and her face relaxes just a bit.

“You remembered,” she says, voice scratchy from sleep. She takes the mug with both hands.

“Course I did.” I lower myself onto the bed beside her. “Kid’s in the kitchen with Acid. Eating Toaster Strudels like it’s a damn buffet.”

She snorts into her cup, shakes her head. “He’s always up early. Always been that way.”

I nod. “We like him. Little guy fits right in.”

I reach over and tug her close. She doesn’t flinch—something I don’t take lightly. I tilt her chin, eyes meeting hers. I lean down and kiss her, slow. Not pushing. Not rough. But the second her lips part for me, something changes. Her scent goes a little sweeter, like a warm orange peel just torn open, the kind that leaves oil on your fingers. Like she’s saying yes without saying anything at all. It wraps around me. Makes something deep in my chest rumble. My alpha side likes it way too much.

She kisses me back, and when she whines low in her throat, I chuckle against her lips. My cock twitches, but I ignore it. Barely.

“We’re having a party Saturday night,” I murmur, brushing her hair behind her ear. “We want you to come.”

She sips her coffee like she’s thinking, even though I can see the smirk tugging at her lips. “I’m here already, so I guess I can make an appearance.”

“You know much about club parties, Gidge?”

She leans back, eyes narrowing a little. “I know there’s tons of booze, drugs, and a man’s known to fuck a club whore or two.”

I nod, no sense lying. “Yeah. That’s about right.”

Her brows pull together. “Where are the club whores? Or the other members? I haven’t seen much of anyone but you three.”

I grin. “They’ve been keeping their distance. Gears told ‘em you were our Kismet. Our Ol’ Lady.”

She glares. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s just so they keep their damn paws off you. I don’t need you murdering our members. We just had a brother go nomad after he found his omega and had a rough time of it. You’ve seen Keg. Bat and Nitro were at Kenny’s house with us, but you’ll meet the rest officially at the party.”

She sets her cup down, but I see the tension in her fingers. “So the whores will be at the party?”

“Yeah. We only have two right now. Stacy and Aubrey. We had a third—Logan—but he found someone and bounced.”

“Logan was a male?” She’s surprised.

“Yeah. Male whores are harder to come by, but we’ve made it work.”

Her mouth presses into a line. “You haven’t been fucking them, have you? Acid or Gears?”

I laugh low. “You jealous, Gidge?”

“Nope. Just don’t want that influence around my son.”

I hide my smirk, though it tries like hell to break through. “Whatever you say, babe. But no. None of us have touched a female since we found you. That day at Kenny’s... you in that bed... with the corpse.”

She flinches.

“Did you fuck them before?” she asks, quieter now.

“Nope. We’re not blushing virgins or anything. But we’ve been waiting. For you. And when we had to blow off steam... we didn’t do it with anyone connected to the club.”

Her nostrils flare—just the slightest shift. She's scenting for lies. I let her. I got nothing to hide.

“So, what time does this party start?”

“Nine. Mom already offered to keep Judge. Dillon will be there too.”

She exhales, some of the steel leaving her spine. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“Welcome.” I pull back before I lose my goddamn mind. “Come to the kitchen when you’re ready. I saved you bacon and eggs.”

“I will.” She smiles.

I stand, my hand lingering on her thigh longer than it should, not quite ready to let go.

She takes another sip of coffee, eyes flicking toward the window. “I should call the school. See what I can do for Judge. And I need to check in with Ike... make sure things are still clean on his end.”

I nod, brushing my thumb over her knee. “Alright. Let me know what he says. And if you need anything...I got you.”

Her gaze meets mine. There’s that quiet strength again.

Again, I kiss her, soft and slow. She leans into it, and I swear she melts. One second longer and I’ll be dragging the blankets back down.

I force myself to walk out before I give in to the pull of her all over again.

She keeps letting me in—little by little—and if she’s not careful, she’s gonna end up with an alpha in her bed full time.

The second I shut her door behind me, I drag a hand down my face and take a breath. Deep. Slow. Useless.

She wrecks me.

It takes everything I’ve got not to turn around and climb right back into that bed.

Instead, I head down the hall. The scent of Toaster Strudel hits before I even turn the corner. Sugar, fake cherry, and whatever suspicious-ass icing packet came with it.

Judge is perched on one of the chairs, swinging his feet. Acid’s across from him at the stove, tattooed arms crossed as he watches the kid eat like he’s running intel.

The door opens and in walks Bat, grease on his knuckles and a smirk on his face. Keg’s right behind him, carrying some kind of toolbox and a bottle of Gatorade.

“Morning, little man,” Bat says, ruffling Judge’s hair as he passes. “You saving any of that for me?”

Judge grins around a mouthful of strudel. “Nope.”

Keg chuckles and bumps Acid’s shoulder with a fist. “He’s one of us already, huh?”

Acid just shrugs, but there’s the faintest twitch of a smile on his face. “Smart kid knows not to share.”

“You know,” I say, tapping the back of Judge’s chair as I pass on my way to the coffee pot, “you keep feeding him sugar like that, he’s gonna start climbing the damn walls.”

Acid doesn’t look away from the kid. “Kid was already up and had one in the toaster before I even hit the hallway. Can’t blame me for speed.”

Judge just shrugs, mouth full. “They’re good. And the icing’s the best part.”

I smirk and pour myself a cup. “You hear that, Acid? You’ve been replaced by a six-pack of frozen pastries.”

“He’ll learn.” Acid finally cracks a smile, short and sharp. “The icing’s a lie. Like peace treaties and brake warranties. Brydgett coming down soon?” he asks, side-eyeing me like he already knows the answer.

“She’s drinking her coffee,” I say, sipping mine like it doesn’t taste like absolute shit compared to the one I brought her. “Said she’s calling the school about Judge. Checking in with Ike.”

Judge shifts in his seat at the mention of school, pretending not to listen but clearly catching every word.

Acid leans back, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “She mentioned school yesterday... but she’s not talking about keeping him local. Wants him in that fancy private school across town. Said she was saving for it.” He pauses, eyes flicking toward the hallway like he can still see her. “I could see it in her eyes, Arrow. She wants to get back to work. Back to her life. She don’t like being dependent on anyone—especially when it comes to the boy. She’s fighting her nature every damn day, trying not to rely on us like an omega’s wired to.”

I tense up. The words hit hard, like rocks in my stomach.

Judge must pick up on the tension. Without a word, he slides off his chair and heads down the hall, the soft patter of his footsteps the only sound as he disappears.

“I thought you had a good time yesterday,” I snap, a little harsher than I mean to. “So what’s with the change of attitude?”

Acid shrugs, lazy and unconcerned. But I know him. That tick in his jaw says he’s thinking about it more than he’s saying. “I don’t know. She’s just... here, but not. In, but not. She’s driving me crazy. I ain’t never wanted someone so bad who doesn’t wanna be wanted.”

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. “She’s rough around the edges, Acid. Just go slow.”

“Rough around the edges,” he scoffs, then snorts. “Brother, the omega is like hugging a barbed wire-wrapped teddy bear.”

Despite myself, I laugh—just a short bark of sound. Yeah. He’s not wrong.

“She’s not running,” I mutter. “She’s just... checking the locks. Making sure the fire escape still works.”

He glances at me. “But what if she bolts again?”

I meet his eyes, steady. “We chase.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

BRYDGETT

I hang up the phone and drop it beside me onto the bed like it personally offended me. Coffee’s still warm between my hands, bitter and sweet, but it does jack shit to calm the buzz crawling beneath my skin.

The school was no help. Bunch of clipboard-carrying cowards hiding behind policies that don’t protect shit. I sip, inhale, exhale slowly through my nose. Don’t growl. Don’t throw the mug.

I grab the phone and hit call on Ike.

“Brydge,” he answers on the second ring.

“You heard or seen anything? Earl?”

“No. Been a damn ghost town.” A chair creaks in the background. Probably his favorite ugly-ass kitchen stool he refuses to replace. “Couple guys at the gym asked about Eric, though.”

My spine goes rigid. “What’d you tell them?”

“That he met a girl and ran off to chase her. Which ain’t a total lie.”

My laugh is dry. “He chased something, alright.”

“How are things there?”

“Fine.”

“And your Kismets?”

I roll my eyes so hard I swear I see stars. “Annoying. Protective. Assholes.”

“So everything you need and what you wanted.”

“Not funny, Ike.”

He chuckles, like I’m nineteen again and bitching about my first black eye.

“I don’t know how to be an omega in a pack,” I mutter. “I don’t do frilly and easy and ‘let me cook you dinner and rub your back, Alpha.’ That shit’s not me.”

“Maybe they don’t want that, kid,” he says. “They run an MC, not a goddamn bake sale. Maybe you’re perfect just how you are.”

My eyes drop to the coffee cup, thumb brushing the edge. “They’re… growing on me.”

“Oh?”

“Judge likes them. I got closer with Arrow.”

He hums. “The soft one.”

“He’s not soft,” I snap. “He just… understands more.”

“Defensive of not-your-alphas, huh?”

“Fuck off, Ike.”

His laugh is loud. “Love ya, kid. I want you to come visit when it’s safe, you hear me? A proper visit. Not no running shit.”

“Yes, sir.”

We hang up. I stare at my phone a beat longer before I toss it back on the bed and head to the bathroom. Time to get dressed.

The hall is quiet when I step out, coffee in one hand, boots laced, hair pulled back in a messy knot that says I don’t give a shit. Even though I totally do.

I head toward the kitchen. The second I walk in, my senses sharpen. The space is thick with alpha: Arrow’s grounding plum and sandalwood mix with Acid’s sharp-citrus signature—lemon and bergamot, spiked with that sour black currant edge that always makes the back of my tongue ache.

They’re mid-conversation until they spot me.

“Hey,” I say, not bothering with a smile. “Where’s Judge?”

Arrow tilts his head. “He was just in here. Ate a Toaster Strudel and dipped.”

Acid shrugs. “Didn’t say where he was goin’. Just vanished.”

My brow twitches. “What’s up with that kid thinking he’s a damn ninja lately?”

“Wonder where he gets it,” Acid says under his breath with a smirk.

I roll my eyes and sip. “I called the school.”

Both of them pause, attention zeroing in.

“I just need to talk to him about it,” I finish quietly.

I lean in, press a kiss to Arrow’s cheek. “Thanks again for the coffee.”

He smiles, eyes soft. His scent increases just slightly—sweetened plum warming with the contact. It’s subtle. Easy to miss. But I don’t.

I snatch a warm Toaster Strudel from Acid’s hand. He glares, but it’s fake.

I take a dramatic bite and grin around the flaky crust. “Thanks, Acid.”

He grunts. I pat his cheek, and his scent flickers. The bergamot goes smoky, like charred leaves.

“Catch you two later. Gonna go find my kid.”

He’s probably with Bettie and Dillon. Something about the way Dillon talks to him like he’s older than eight makes him feel big and capable. Not coddled. Just… seen.

Bettie’s place smells like peppermint and yesterday’s toast. I knock once, don’t wait. She’s already at the kitchen table, flipping through one of those glossy magazines with outdated hairstyles and bullshit horoscopes. Coffee steams in front of her. She glances up, no surprise in her eyes.

“Hey, Brydgett. What’s up?”

“Looking for Judge.” I lean against the doorway. “I woke up and he was gone. I called his old school… need to talk to him about it.”

She sets the magazine down. “Everything okay?”

I drop into the chair across from her. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.” I cross my arms. “He wants to go back to school. But the public school’s useless. They’ve got this whole 'only approved pickup people' policy, but then added they don’t have enough eyes to watch everyone at dismissal. Yet they refuse to let him wait inside the office for me. I can’t send him back, not like that.”

She watches me. I keep going.

“I called the private school across town. They’d keep him with a security guard. They have access codes and check-ins. But I need twenty percent down to even get the ball rolling. I don’t have that.” I exhale like I’ve been holding the words in all morning. “So I’m gonna have to go back to work.”

“Take a breath, babe,” Bettie says, lifting her mug. “I thought you were about to pass out.”

I laugh. It sounds fake. “Sorry. I’m just so damn frustrated. I want him in school. He wants to be in school. But I’m not gonna risk his safety for it.”

She leans back in her chair, studying me. “Have you talked to my boys about it?”

I blink. “Why would I?”

She smiles, slow and sly. “Because they’re your mates. Your alphas.”

“Judge is mine!” I practically growl, the words flying out before I can stop them.

I suck in a deep breath, forcing my tone to soften. “Sorry. I’m just… protective.”

“As you should be. But maybe you should put a little more faith in my boys. They’re good men, Brydgett. Rough around the edges, sure. But so are you. They’re not perfect, but they’re perfect for you, if you’d let yourself see it. They’d love that boy like their own.”

I scoff, eyes flicking to the table. “How do you know that?”

“I raised them.”

“That doesn’t mean they’d be okay with someone else’s kid.”

She grabs my hand. “Let me tell you a story.”

I let her.

“Back before they were Gears, Arrow, and Acid… they were Raiden, Orion, and Titus. Raiden and Orion were born in the club. My old man was president, which is how Raiden got it now, and Orion his VP. But Titus? He came at eight years old. His parents were addicts. His dad OD’d and his mom brought him here when she decided being a club whore was easier than rehab.”

I stare at the table while she talks, tracing the edge of a coffee ring with my thumb. The story shouldn’t matter—it’s not my business, not my life—but it hits something deep and sore in me.

“He hung with my boys. Played, ate, laughed. And when he was fifteen and his mom stole from the club and got kicked out, my old man made sure Titus didn’t leave with her. We kept him. Raised him. Loved him. That boy became my third son. No blood, but no one questions it. You see them now, and they’re brothers. Thick as thieves. If the club burned tomorrow, they’d still ride together.”

I stare at her. My throat feels full. That kind of loyalty, that kind of staying power… I’ve only had that with Ike. No one else.

“So yeah, honey,” she says softly, “I think I know they’d love that boy like their own.”

“I didn’t know,” I whisper.

“Most don’t.” She lets go of my hand and sips her coffee again like she didn’t just dig under my ribs and plant something there.

I wipe at my eye quickly. “I also didn’t know their legal names.”

She laughs. “Don’t you dare tell them I told you.”

“I won’t. I’ll just… pretend I figured it out. I’m crafty like that.”

“Savvy gal.” She nods with a smirk. “Now, go find your boy.”

I nod, moving for the door again, heart pounding with a cocktail of guilt, hope, and caffeine.

Where the fuck is he?

GEARS

The iron bar in my hands digs into my palms, slick with sweat. It’s not heavy enough to do damage, just enough to get that burn going. The kind that makes everything else fade out. Makes me focus.

The Bluetooth speaker in the corner is on its last leg—crackling through some half-dead metal playlist Acid queued up last week. It skips, cuts out, comes back in. Annoying as hell, but it’s noise, and noise is better than silence.

I rack the bar and reach for the dumbbells when the door creaks open.

A sigh comes first. Long. Dramatic.

Then little footsteps.

I glance over just in time to see Judge storm into the room and throw himself down on the bench like someone just told him summer break got canceled.

“You alright, little man?” I ask, wiping my hands on a rag.

“No. I’m bored,” he groans. “I wanna go back to school and Mom is being weird about it. I’m gonna have to redo third grade if I don’t go back soon.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I doubt that. She said she was calling today to talk to them. I’m sure they’ll get your work together and we’ll send Keg or Bat to pick it up.”

He kicks his feet, telling me that answer doesn’t satisfy him. “I don’t wanna just do work. I wanna go back. And not sit around all day. No offense, but you guys are kinda boring.”

I smirk. “None taken.”

“Your mom’s just trying to make sure it’s safe,” I tell him, setting the dumbbell down.

“I can protect myself,” he says, like he means it.

I almost laugh—but I hold it in. He’s eight. Could be an omega, for all we know. Or not. But with a mom like Brydgett, labels probably don’t mean shit. She’s raised him to be a little fighter, and it shows.

“She teach you how to defend yourself?”

He shrugs. “No. But I’ve seen fights. I’d be okay.”

“Okay, tough guy. But what if it’s a grown adult? What if someone comes up behind you and tries to snatch you?”

He lifts his head and looks right at me. “You mean like you guys did?”

That hits me in the gut harder than the weights.

“Yeah,” I say. “Like that.”

He looks away. Shoulders tense. “No,” he mumbles.

I pause. Let it sit. Then⁠—

“Wanna learn?”

His head snaps back up. “Yes.”

“Good. Come on.” I motion toward the mat we keep in the corner for sparring.

The mat’s already worn to hell from me and Arrow throwing each other around like feral dogs, but it works. Judge steps up like he’s about to take on the damn world, shoulders squared like he's not eight with a Minecraft Band-Aid still on his elbow.

“Alright,” I say, crouching down to his level, “first thing you need to learn—how to get out of a rear grab. It’s how most adults’ll come at a kid. Quick. From behind. Arms pinned.”

He watches me. Serious. Focused.

I move slowly, showing him how it’ll feel—one arm tight across his chest, locking down his arms.

“If this happens, you don’t pull away. You’re smaller, they’re stronger. Don’t fight stupid. You go down. Drop your weight. Get low. Hit ‘em hard in the ribs with your elbow—fast and mean.”

I feel his little heartbeat under my arm. It’s fast. Nervous energy, not fear.

I step back. “Try it.”

He nods and sets up. Face scrunched with effort. I reach for him again, and he stiffens instead of dropping.

“Nope,” I say. “You froze. Again.”

We go over it. Again and again.

I adjust his stance, tap his elbow where it should hit. “Here. Use this like a weapon. No half-assed jabs.”

“I’m not half-assing!” he shouts, cheeks red.

“Then prove it.”

This time when I grab him, his elbow slams into my side harder. Still not enough to knock the wind outta me, but enough to get my attention.

“Better. Again.”

He starts sweating, breathing heavily, but I don’t let him quit. We go until his hair’s stuck to his forehead and his shirt’s clinging to his back.

“One more,” I say. “No warning this time. Close your eyes. You won’t know when someone’s gonna grab you in the real world.”

He shuts his eyes tight, arms loose at his sides, trying to be ready.

I wait. Let him get bored. Let his body relax. Then I move.

Fast.

I grab him from behind, hard and sudden. He jerks and lets out a startled noise, elbow flying back.

It catches me in the ribs—dead-on. I grunt, impressed, about to tell him he nailed it⁠—

And then everything shifts.

A flash of scent hits before anything else.

Jasmine, bright and bitter. Orange sliced clean through copper. Not perfume. Not pretty. Primal.

A growl rips through the air, and then I’m fucked.

A petite but strong arm wraps around my neck, while a knife slides cold and deadly along my ribs. Her body’s pressed up behind mine, all fury and instinct.

“Let him the fuck go, asshole,” Brydgett snarls into my ear.

My heart lodges in my throat. I raise my arms, palms open.

Fuck.

“I’m letting go,” I mutter.

Judge stumbles out of my grip and spins around, eyes wide as dinner plates.

Brydgett doesn’t loosen right away. Her scent’s everywhere—pouring off her like a wave crashing into mine. I can’t even smell myself under it. She’s drowning me in it—jasmine and blood-metal copper, sharp and wild and protective in a way that makes my alpha instincts bristle and submit at the same time.

“Brydgett,” I rasp. “It was a drill. He wanted to learn.”

She holds another heartbeat.

“You stay the fuck away from my son,” she rasps like she’s not sure of anything right now.

“Mom!” Judge yells. “He was showing me how to defend myself!”

Everything stops.

Just like that, her arm falls away from my throat.

I step forward, hands still up, dragging in a shaky breath as I cough once to clear my airway. My scent starts crawling back up, mango curling sweet and sharp, uncertain but steady.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t look at me.

Just stares at her kid.

And gods—there it is. The shame. It creeps across her face like she’s trying to fight it off and failing. She blinks fast, like she’s shaking off fog. Her jaw flexes. Shoulders square up like she’s bracing to get hit.

I don’t say anything. Neither does Judge.

She finally looks at me—really looks. And it’s not fire anymore.

It’s sorry.

“You didn’t think to tell me?” she asks, but the bite’s gone.

“Didn’t think I needed to. We weren’t doing anything wrong,” I say, still rubbing my throat, the skin hot where her arm had pressed tight.

Her eyes flick to Judge again. She swallows hard.

“You alright?” I ask him, shifting my stance like I’m not still a little rattled.

He nods, chest rising and falling fast. “I think I got you.”

“You did,” I say, and try to smile a little. “And your mom nearly took me out, so… you both win.”

I glance at Brydgett again. Her eyes meet mine. No threat. No heat. Just tension, like she doesn’t know where to aim it now. Like maybe she wants to aim it at herself.

Her scent’s still all over the room—jasmine and orange, vibrant and hot, with that sharp edge of copper cutting through it. But there’s something else now too.

And for a second, we’re just standing there.

“I should have been told,” she mutters, looking away.

I tilt my head. “Told what? What exactly did you think I was doing to your son? My Kismet’s son—may I remind you—even if you haven’t accepted that part yet.”

She flinches.

“I—I thought…” Her voice breaks up and she waves it off like it doesn’t matter. “It doesn’t matter. He’s my kid. My whole heart. And it’s my bad, alright?”

“No,” I growl. “Not alright. I want to know what the hell you think I was doing to him.”

“I thought you were hurting him!” she explodes. “Trying to hurt him—fuck, I don’t know! I saw you from behind and I saw red. I panicked. I reacted. I fucked up.”

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 I thought I 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.

Of course, 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 metallic click repeating like background noise.

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

He takes a slow drag, exhales like he owns the air. “So could you. But I’m still here.”

Slick. Immediately.

I roll my eyes. “Ha ha.”

“So tell me,” he says, a little too amused, “did you stab Gears? Did he like it?”

“It’s not funny,” I snap. “And how do you even know I⁠—”

“You were talking out loud, babe.”

Shit.

“Well, I didn’t,” I mutter. “I held the knife to his side… but I let him go.”

Now I just look like an unhinged psychopath.

“Did he deserve it?”

I pause.

“Yes… no… fuck—I don’t know. He was teaching Judge some self-defense moves, and I walked in and just—went on high alert. It was instinct.”

Acid shrugs, like it's nothing. “You’re his mom. You should be ready to go to war for him anytime.”

“What do you know about it?” I snap.

“I know I had shit parents. Super shit mom. Would’ve killed to have her stand up for me—even once.”

I blink. That hits somewhere deep and ugly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” I lie.

“Doesn’t matter. Bettie’s my mom. Always has been.”

He flicks ash onto the floor. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Gears’ll be fine.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t feel fine. I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“Maybe I can help.”

I snort. “You?”

He nods once. “You are, after all, in my domain.” He motions around to the basement like it’s his twisted throne room.

“How?”

He pushes off the wall, walks over, and drops into a chair. That chair. The one they had me tied to.

“There’s rope, handcuffs, whatever you want in that cabinet over there,” he says, jerking his chin toward it. “Pick your poison. Tie me to the chair.”

My brow furrows. “What the fuck?”

“You’re pissed off. Upset. Ready to kill something. You need to work it out. You and me, we’re the same. Now, go grab something and tie me up.” He flicks his cigarette off to the side somewhere.

I hesitate. He’s the one who hit me down here. The one who tested me, tried to break me, but I proved I wasn’t weak. And I forgave him. Sorta. Even if he doesn’t know it.

And the worst part? The idea doesn’t sound bad.

I walk over to the cabinet. Grab a set of cuffs and a coil of rope. My hands shake, just a little. From what? I’m not even sure.

I come back and kneel. Wrap the rope tight around his ankles, binding them to the legs of the chair. Loop it. Knot it good and hard. The chair doesn’t have armrests, so I pull his arms behind his back and cuff his wrists. Just to be safe.

He doesn’t flinch.

“Now what?” I ask.

“Hit me,” he says.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, Acid.”

He lifts his chin. “I hit you. Hit me back. Eye for an eye. Come on, Alpha Slayer. Fucking hit me. Or are you too pussy?”

My blood spikes. I see red—again.

I rear back and slam my fist into his jaw. His head jerks, but he laughs.

“Good girl.”

My perfume floods the air before I can stop it, twisted with frustration, fire, want.

He groans low in his throat, hips shifting. “Again.”

I hit him again, harder. Right across the bridge of his nose. Something cracks, and blood drips from one nostril. My scent kicks up again before I even realize it—too much jasmine, too much heat. Too much me.

He licks his upper lip, collecting it slowly. Fucking enjoying it.

And then I see it.

The bulge in his jeans. Hard. Pressing against the zipper like it’s trying to escape. His scent hits me, that deeper, darker black currant. It’s thick. He’s turned on. Like, really turned on. And it slams into me so fast I don’t even have time to brace for it.

“Like what you see, baby?” He grins, blood on his teeth.

“Fuck you,” I hiss.

“Come over here and you can.” He jerks his wrists in the cuffs. “Take what you want, Brydgett. I’m strapped to this chair. You wanna hate-fuck me? Do it. You wanna feel good? Use me.”

“It’s not right. You’re restrained.”

He rolls his eyes. “I'm giving you fucking consent, woman. Take your fucking clothes off and get off. Fucking is like fighting. Believe me. Now, you hit me, I liked it, but you're still worked up.”

He lowers his voice.

“Shut off that pretty little mind of yours… and come ride my dick like a good little omega.”

ACID

She looks like she might run.

Eyes wild and unsure, hands twitching like she doesn’t know if she wants to touch me or stab me. Honestly, it could go either way. I don’t move. I just wait.

If she bails, fine. I’ll sit here cuffed to this chair like a dumbass until someone finds me. Probably Gears. He’ll never let me live it down. Arrow might pretend to be cool about it, but he’ll be dying inside.

But I don’t think she’s gonna run. She needs this too bad. She's wound so tight it’s a miracle she hasn’t gone off already. That’s why I said it. That’s why I’m here. Not to be a dick. Not to fuck around.

She needs control.

She needs to take something back.

“So what’s it gonna be, Omega?” I ask, keeping my voice low. My scent’s already thick in the air—lemon, black currant, bergamot. I can feel the wet spot in my boxers. It’s sticky and cold now. Kinda uncomfortable. But worth it.

She hesitates.

“While you’re restrained in the chair?” she asks.

“Yup.”

“You don’t wanna touch me?”

I laugh once, short. “I want to touch you so fucking bad. But you need this more than I do. You nearly sliced Gears open—but you held back—like a good little slayer. That energy's still sitting inside you like a bomb. You need to let it out. You need to be the one in charge. So come on, Gidge. Get naked.”

She shivers at the nickname. Her scent shifts and every inhale tastes like fresh-squeezed OJ. Gods. I could live off it.

“I like when Arrow calls me that,” she says, quietly. “I like it even more when the Enforcer of the Renegade says it.”

Fuck. I bite back a groan.

“Trust me, omega.”

“I don’t⁠—”

“You don’t need to,” I say fast. “You don’t need to think. Just do what feels right. Your instincts are already screaming at you. Let ‘em talk.”

She moves.

She pulls her shirt over her head and throws it. It lands on the floor and she doesn’t even look at it. Her bra’s black satin and tight across her chest and my mouth goes dry. I shift in the chair, but with my wrists cuffed behind me, it just pulls at my shoulders, all tight and aching now.

She unbuttons her jeans next, slides them down, slow. Black thong. White ankle socks. Fuck me sideways, I almost come from that alone.

She steps between my knees and stands there like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Maybe she does.

“You like what you see?” she asks, all breathy and dangerous.

“My dick’s already leaking, and you haven’t even touched me,” I mutter. “That’s what you do to me, omega.”

She straddles my lap. Doesn’t sit, yet. Just close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off her. The scent of her slick curls into the air—bright orange and soft jasmine, sweet and heady and completely fucking wrecking me. I want to lick it right off her thighs, but I can’t move. Can’t touch. Just have to sit here and take it.

Then she takes her bra off, and my head falls back against the chair. She’s perfect. All curves and skin and power.

“Fuck, Brydgett,” I breathe. “You could kill me right now, and I’d thank you for it.”

She lowers herself slowly until her pussy is pressed right against the bulge in my jeans. Her heat. Her scent. Her weight.

It’s too much.

My hips jerk without thinking. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back off.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” she says, voice low.

“No?” I rasp, licking my lips. “Then what are you gonna do, little Omega?”

She just grinds on me.

Slow. Intentional.

And I swear to God⁠—

If she does that again, I’m gonna come in my fucking jeans like some desperate teenage alpha.

She rolls her hips again, and I swear I forget how to breathe. Her slick soaks through my jeans. Every move she makes drags against my cock like she knows I’m seconds from losing it.

She leans forward and I realize—fuck, she’s at the perfect height. Her tits are right in my face. Full. Bouncing with every shift of her hips. I don’t even think. I lean in and catch a nipple in my mouth, sucking it deep and rough. Her skin tastes like heat and sweat and something sweet—like her.

She gasps, loud. Her body twitches. I wrap my tongue around her and drag it slow before I bite, just enough to make her whine.

But it turns into a moan.

“More,” she breathes, barely there.

Yeah. Fuck yeah.

I shift just enough in the chair to turn my head, dragging my mouth across her chest. I take the other breast, biting at the soft swell first, kissing and mouthing every inch I can get at. I leave marks—I want them there. I want her to see them after. Want her to remember.

She’s panting now. Still grinding. Still dripping.

And I’m losing my fucking mind.

Then she stands up, backing away from me with a shit-eating grin on her face.

Dangerous. Fucking stunning.

“Omega…” I warn, already wrecked.

She doesn’t say anything. Just hooks her fingers in the sides of her thong and slides it down her legs real slow. Her legs are long, strong, and when she kicks that little scrap of fabric away, she’s standing there in nothing but those stupid white ankle socks.

And it takes every ounce of control I have over my alpha to not snap these cuffs and take her like I want to.

Her pussy’s soaked. Slick dripping down her thighs. Glinting under the shitty basement light like it’s calling my name. If this chair had arms, I’d have her stand on them and sit right on my face. Swear to God I’d never come up for air.

But this chair sucks.

Still, I’ll take what I can get.

She walks back to me all hips, not even a hint of nerves left. Just confidence. Pure omega instinct. She looks like a sexy little psycho who might kill me or fuck me into a coma. Honestly, I’m good with either.

She leans down and pops the button on my jeans. No hesitation. Like I’m just hers to unwrap. I lift my hips the best I can with my wrists cuffed and my ankles tied. She gets my jeans and boxers low enough and my cock springs out, already hard, already leaking.

She raises her brows a little. “What do we have here?”

Then she wraps her fingers around my shaft. Her thumb brushes over both my piercings—one through the slit, one underneath—and fuck, it’s like a bolt of lightning straight through me.

“Shit,” I hiss, barely able to hold still.

She grins like she’s proud of herself. Then drops to her knees in front of me. I’ve never seen anything hotter. She strokes me slow, eyes locked on my cock like it’s a puzzle she’s gonna figure out.

Then she licks me.

Slow.

From the base to the tip, tongue dragging the whole way, and I can’t even breathe. She swirls her tongue over the head, right where my piercings are, and my vision actually blurs.

“You taste sweet but tart,” she says against me. “Like candy. The kind I wanna eat every day.”

“Fuck,” I groan, dropping my head back against the chair. “You can suck my cock every day, baby. Just say the word.”

And then she does it.

She takes me in. Mouth hot and wet and perfect.

And I’m gone.

Totally fucking gone.

She bobs up and down on my cock, slow and steady at first, like she’s teasing us both. My hips twitch, but I can’t thrust—not like this. Can’t even weave my fingers through her hair to help guide her movements. All I can do is groan and take it.

Her slick fills the room, thick and sweet. I can taste it in the air like honey dripping off the walls. My own scent rises to meet it; bergamot, lemon, black currant, twisting around her orange and jasmine until the whole room feels drunk on us.

“Gidge,” I rasp. “Not made of steel, babe. Fuck me.”

She lifts her head, eyes glinting.

“What do you say?” she asks, popping off my dick.

“Please.”

Her mouth curves into a smug little smile. “Good Alpha.”

Then she stands just long enough to straddle me again, one hand wrapping around my cock as she lines herself up. I groan the second she touches me. I feel the slick on my tip.

Warm. Wet. Heaven.

She sinks down, slowly. My head knocks back, breath catching.

She stops when just the head is inside, looking at me, serious now.

“This is only my second time,” she says.

“You’re a professional,” I joke, trying to breathe through the tight heat gripping me already.

She smiles and sinks the rest of the way down until her ass is flush with my thighs and my knot presses against her entrance. My whole body jerks. She moves up, then back down.

Confident. Hot as sin.

I moan like a fucking rookie. She feels like warm silk. Like she was made for me. Her hands land on my shoulders and she picks up the pace. Bouncing harder. Her tits move with her, and I can’t look anywhere else.

“Fuck, Acid.”

“That’s right, Gidge. Take what you need.”

She rides me faster now, hips slapping against my thighs, her slick making everything so fucking wet and loud and real.

“Your piercing hits me just right.”

I groan. “Good. I’ll get ten more if you never stop making those noises.”

She whines, head tilting back, and I swear I feel her start to flutter around me. She’s close. Real close.

“I’m close,” she whispers, confirming what I knew.

“Touch yourself,” I grit, the words rough like they’re being dragged straight from my throat.

“What?”

“Use your fingers. Play with your clit, omega. You know what you like.”

She doesn’t argue. Her hand slides down between us, fingers moving in quick little circles. Her whole body trembles.

“Fuck,” she gasps, bouncing harder.

“That’s it, Gidge. Fuck. Ride me, baby.”

She throws her head back, crying out again and again, her body getting tighter and tighter around me.

I hold off as long as I can. I don’t want to come until she does. It’s torture. I’m shaking with the effort.

Then she slams down one more time and screams.

Her cunt clamps down on me, strangling my cock as my knot swells and pops inside her. She whimpers, moaning through her orgasm as I finally let go, roaring as I come deep, rope after rope of cum pumping into her.

I’ve never knotted anyone before. Didn’t think it would be like this. Didn’t know it would feel so… right.

She’s still panting when she starts to panic. Her eyes go wide. She tries to move, to stand—but she can’t. She lets out a sharp noise and I see the fear flash behind her eyes.

“Shhh,” I say fast. The panic in her voice cuts right through me. I jerk at the cuffs, twisting my wrists hard—once, then again. The metal digs into my skin, but I don’t care. I grit my teeth and yank hard. The cuffs give with a sharp snap, sending a jolt through my arms. I’m free.

I grab her and pull her tight against me, wrapping my arms around her. “Shhh. It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“I’ve never been knotted… not since that night,” she chokes out. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want⁠—”

Her chest is heaving. She’s spiraling.

“Brydgett!” I bark.

She snaps her head toward me. Her face is pale as a ghost.

“You didn’t mean to. I know. You were in the zone. It just happened. You’re okay. Does it hurt?”

“No,” she says. “It feels good. Fuck—I’m horny again already.”

I chuckle, soft. “That’s normal. You’ll be able to get up as soon as it deflates. We’re okay. We’re okay, right? Shit—this is my fault. I’m sorry.”

“No,” she snaps. “I was in control. I just got carried away. I’m good. We’re good. It just… took me back for a second. But this—this is different. So different.”

We sit like that—me still inside her, knot keeping us locked—while I whisper against her ear.

“You’re perfect. You’re safe. You’re amazing.”

When it finally goes down, she stands, a little wobbly but solid. She dresses fast. I shake out my hands, roll my shoulders, and she unties my ankles.

I stand and scoop her into my arms before she can say anything, pressing her back against the cold wall and kissing the fuck out of her.

“You’re mine, Gidge,” I murmur, breathless against her lips. “No matter where you go. No matter what you do. You’re mine. I’ll protect you always. Even if it means shooting the other two.”

She giggles, forehead resting against mine. “Being yours and Arrow’s is growing on me.”

“And Gears?”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s an asshole. But yeah… him too.”

“Good,” I growl, kissing her again. “We’re not perfect, babe—but you’re ours now. And we don’t let go.”

She kisses me back, softer this time. Then sets her feet on the floor.

“Sleep in my bed tonight?” she asks.

“Done,” I say. “I’ll never leave.”

She rolls her eyes and heads upstairs, hips swaying like she doesn’t know what she just did to me.

I’m left in the basement, pants half down, cock still twitching, surrounded by the thick scent of sex and omega heat.

My killing room smells like her now.

Well, fuck.

I can’t have my victims enjoying themselves before they die.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

BRYDGETT

The scent of Acid and sweat clings to my skin like a secret I shouldn't have told. Acid’s knot is still a phantom ache deep inside me—stretching, pulsing, a brand I let happen. No, I chose to let happen.

Goddammit.

I hurry through the basement door, ignoring the slick between my thighs, sticky with heat and shame and something dangerously close to satisfaction. The basement smells like sex and mildew. I glance over my shoulder at Acid, still by the wall where he kissed the hell out of me, head leaned back, chest rising slow like he’s finally fucking relaxed for once in his life.

I should feel powerful. That was my game. My rules. But instead…

I press my palm to my abdomen. It’s not pain—it’s memory. The last knot I ever took was Earl’s. Almost ten years ago. My first heat. My last one thanks to blockers.

Until now. I’m not a moron. I’m playing a dangerous game right now with no blockers. My heat could hit at any time.

“Fuck,” I whisper, swallowing hard.

Arrow doesn’t even know yet.

I made him promise—swear he wouldn’t knot me. And now? I go and suction Acid’s knot into me like I’m a goddamn Dyson.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I mutter to the empty hall as I walk into the main part of the clubhouse. I move fast, like if I keep going, the guilt won’t catch up.

But it’s there. Every step, every breath.

How did I end up like this? Not just having sex with one alpha, but two. Two MC leaders with god complexes and possessive streaks a mile wide. Two men who’d raze the world if I told them to. Or if someone else touched me. And don’t even get me started on the third.

I need to talk to someone who gets it. Someone who won't look at me like I’m broken or stupid or about to shatter.

Georgia.

Voices ripple through the room—Arrow's low growl, front and center. He’s deep in conversation with Keg, Bat, and a few unfamiliar faces clustered near the pool table.

I pause just long enough to breathe.

“Brydgett!” Arrow’s voice booms across the room, and when I look over, he’s got this big-ass grin like he just won the damn lottery. “Come meet some of the other brothers!”

I pause for a second. My legs feel wobbly, like maybe they remember I just got absolutely wrecked in the basement. But I square my shoulders and walk over, pretending I’m not still full of Acid’s knot. Gross. Hot. Whatever. Not the time.

Arrow slings an arm around my back, all proud. “This is Nitro, Suave, Arky, and Stallion.”

They all grunt out something like hello, manly and rough, like they’ve practiced sounding intimidating. Except Suave.

He’s got this long, dark hair that falls just past his shoulders, and a face that’s so annoyingly perfect it looks edited. Like sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, full lips—the whole broody poster-boy deal. And his eyes? Light and kinda intense, like he’s about to read me poetry or steal my soul. Maybe both.

Then the scents hit me.. Everything all at once. Strong, heavy, crashing into each other like they’re fighting to be noticed.

Nitro smells like smoke and grease. It’s rough and loud and makes my back go straight without thinking. Definitely alpha.

Arky’s scent is warmer. Kinda like old leather and trees. It feels steadier, like he doesn’t have to try so hard. Still alpha, just... calmer.

Stallion’s got this sharp, spicy thing going on. Clove, maybe? And something else I can’t name. And honestly, a little scary. Like the kind of scent that says don’t mess with me.

Then there’s Suave. And for a second, I totally mess it up. He smells sweet. Warm and golden, like sugar and something soft, like maybe amber? My brain says omega—because duh—but no. He’s alpha too. Just… smoother. Too smooth. Dangerous in a whole other kind of way.

He grabs my hand all smooth and shit, like we’re on some Jane Austen set.

“My lady,” he says, and straight-up kisses the top of my hand.

Arrow lets out a low growl and smacks him upside the head. “Lips off my omega. This is Brydgett. Our Kismet. Our Ol’ Lady.”

“Arrow,” I warn.

“She hasn’t quite accepted the label,” he amends, arm tightening around my waist, “but we’re Kismet. So hands off.”

“Sorry, Arrow.” Suave smirks, no real apology in it.

“Nice to meet you boys. You coming back for the party this weekend?” I ask, giving them a polite smile.

“Sure am,” Nitro says, adjusting his cut. “We’ve been staying off-site with Stallion for a while. But his beta’s pregnant, and the mood swings were getting lethal. So we hit the road.”

“Congrats,” I tell Stallion, who looks like a golden-haired demigod.

“Thanks. Pretty sure our omega’s the one who knocked her up. He’s proud as hell and she’s cranky as sin. Rowdy brothers in the house weren’t cutting it.”

“Well, I’m about to hit the road,” I say, backing up. “But it was nice meeting you all. Maybe we’ll shoot darts or something at the party.”

“Cool. See you then,” Arky says with a lazy nod.

I turn, almost to the door when Arrow’s hand wraps around my arm.

“Gidge,” he says, soft but firm. “You can’t just go off alone. Where are you going?”

I look at him right in the eyes. They’re all dark and cloudy, like one of those storms you can feel in your bones before it even hits. He’s worried, and trying not to show it. All protective and bossy, like usual. It makes me wanna scream and kiss him at the same time.

“I need to talk to Georgia. Alone.”

“Let me take you,” he says instantly. “I’ll wait outside. Please.”

I sigh. “Fine. But you stay outside.”

“Deal.”

“Let’s go, Driving Miss Daisy.”

He grins. “You okay?”

I straddle the back of his bike, hands gripping the seat.

“Yeah,” I say. “Just need a gal to talk to, okay? Leave it.”

His silence stretches. Then⁠—

“This got anything to do with the plum and sandalwood rolling off you in waves?”

I twist and glare. “Leave it.”

He raises his hands like he’s backing away from a bomb. “Alright. But I’m not above knocking some sense into Acid.”

“Don’t. I can handle my damn self. I just need to talk to Georgia. She’s been like… a mom to me. So let’s go.”

He revs the bike, and we shoot out of the compound gates.

The wind bites my cheeks, cool and sharp, but I welcome it. The road cuts through town, the world blurring at the edges—neon signs, the flash of streetlights, a kid skateboarding on the sidewalk. Everything feels more real on a Harley. Alive. Exposed. Like if I scream, the whole town would hear it.

But I don’t scream.

I hold it in like I always do.

We pull up in front of my old apartment and Arrow cuts the engine. I swing my leg over and hop off. I give him a look—real sharp, real clear. Don’t follow me.

Arrow nods once.

I run upstairs two at a time, knock three times fast, and wait.

Georgia opens the door, a smile covering her whole face. “Come in, girl.”

I step past her, already breathing easier. The scent of cookies hits me. Comfort. Home.

Then I stop dead in my tracks.

Sitting at the kitchen table, legs all crossed and fancy, sipping from this tiny floral teacup, is Marcus.

He looks up, one brow raised.

“Well, don’t you look cozy?” I cross my arms, staring at him.

Marcus sets his cup down real slow, like he’s giving me a chance to stop him. “I should go.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Stay. Maybe you can give me the male or alpha perspective.”

Georgia doesn’t miss a beat. She motions to the table, then grabs a mug from the cabinet, filling it with coffee and adds just enough cream and sugar to make it taste like heaven. Hands it to me without asking; she always remembers how I like it.

“Alright, honey,” she says, sitting next to me, all calm. “Spill it. What’s going on? And did those three really let you come over here alone?”

“No.” I sigh and take a sip. The coffee hits just right. “Arrow is downstairs. He’s waiting for me like some overgrown guard dog. They don’t let me go anywhere alone. Not that I’ve tried very hard, so I guess ‘let’ is a strong word.”

Marcus stands and walks to the window, parting the blinds to peek down at the street. “What happened, Brydgett? Last I knew, you were hiding in my tent from those assholes, and now one of them rode you over here on the back of his bike. Where’s Judge?”

He turns around and looks right at me, eyes sharp.

“Lot’s happened,” I say, blowing on the coffee and not meeting his stare. “In a nutshell? I left here, but a ghost from my past tracked me down. He ran me and Judge out of town, then off the road. Then he shot me.”

Marcus goes still, his scent getting stronger but in a bitter type of way.

“As I was about to meet the big man downstairs,” I say flatly. “Gears, Acid, and Arrow showed up. President, Enforcer, and VP of the Renegade. They scared him off, called Ike, patched me up, and brought me back to the clubhouse for protection. Judge is there now. He’s safe. Believe me.”

Marcus lets out a long, low whistle. “Damn.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“So, what brings you here now?” Georgia asks, voice gentle.

“Well… you know they’re my Kismets.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “But you also know I worked hard so nobody knew I was an omega. Only you two knew. Marcus only knew because I was sick once and he had to go get my blockers.”

Marcus shrugs like it was nothing, but he’s listening close.

“Anyway… being around them twenty-four seven has me rethinking everything. About alphas. Or at least… these alphas.”

“That’s not a bad thing, honey.” Georgia leans forward. “They’re fated to you. And from what I’ve seen, they’d burn the whole damn world down for you. Even if it meant setting themselves on fire in the process.”

“They would.”

“Then what’s the issue?” Marcus asks.

I stare into my coffee. “I don’t know how to be an omega. I knotted one of them today… and then I panicked and came here.”

Marcus lets out a short laugh. “Brydgett, I don’t think that’s how it works. You can’t knot an alpha.”

“You can,” I growl, “when you’re bouncing on his dick while he’s cuffed to a chair.”

His eyes go wide and whip toward Georgia, who’s got a hand over her mouth trying not to laugh.

“Sorry, Georgia.”

She snorts. “Don’t be sorry, Brydgett. I’m no blushing old woman. I know my way around an alpha knot.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing and fail.

Marcus is grinning now, too. “Okay, but explain. Specifically, why the hell your alpha was handcuffed to a chair while you were having sex with him.”

I sigh. “I was mad. Or not mad, more like worked up. There wasn’t anyone to hurt and Acid suggested sex. He told me to cuff him and take what I needed. So I did. I got caught up in the moment and took his knot.”

“And?” Marcus pushes.

“And I panicked. Full-blown meltdown. Hyperventilating. He broke the cuffs, held me until I calmed down.”

Marcus watches me for a second, then says, “So, what’s the problem?”

I lick my lips. “The problem is… I haven’t been knotted since I was raped. The night Judge was made. And it sent me into a spiral. And now? I’m freaking out because I should still be scared or upset… but I’m not. I’m kinda just like… that was nice. Let’s do it again.”

Silence.

Then Marcus speaks. “One, I had no idea about your past. Or Judge. I figured it was a one-night stand, alpha was a dick. I’m sorry. If I ever see this guy, I’ll kill him myself.”

I look down, nod once.

“Two, it sounds like you’re finally opening yourself up. To your Kismets. To the bond. You say you don’t know how to be an omega, but you are being one. You took a knot. You’re thinking about your reaction. You think you’re too damaged, but you’re not. You’re Brydgett. You’re a badass woman and a mom.”

He leans in, grinning.

“You couldn’t handle some bakery-owning, kiss-me-on-the-forehead-and-make-me-waffles alpha. You need an alpha—or three who can handle the same kind of crazy you carry.”

I flip him off. “Well, fuck you too.”

He just laughs.

Georgia takes my hand, her thumb brushing across my knuckles. I glance at her.

“Honey, Marcus is right. You can’t erase what happened. And you’ll never forget. But you can forgive.”

“I’ll never⁠—”

“Not him. Not the alpha who hurt you.” Her voice is soft, but there’s steel under it. “Forgive yourself. Forgive life. You’re healing, and it scares you. You thought this was all behind you, that you’d never meet alphas worth a damn. But you did. And now you’re panicking because you’re not sure if you’re handling it the ‘right way.’ But there’s no such thing, Brydge. There’s only forward. However that looks.”

She smirks.

“And right now, it looks like three rugged, sexy biker men.”

“Georgia,” I snort.

She shrugs. “I got eyes. You have some fine-ass alphas. They got another omega or beta up at that clubhouse for Marcus here? Ever since you let him take over your apartment, he’s been over here having afternoon tea with me.”

“I ain’t lonely, Georgia. I just like your company.”

“Sure you do.” She rolls her eyes. “At least you’re not in that tent anymore.”

“I like my tent. It’s where I’m most comfortable.”

“Only ‘cause you got shit from your time in the service to work through. You could stand to take your own advice. Stop living in the past and grab your future.”

“This is about Brydgett, not me.”

She ignores him and looks at me again. “Stop worrying about how you’re handling things, Brydge. You’re doing it right. Let yourself be happy. Let Judge be happy.”

“What if I fuck it up?”

“Then you say sorry and move on.”

I shift in my seat. “…I did hold Gears at knife point today.”

Georgia flicks my arm. “Brydgett! No slaying your Alphas!”

“I thought he was hurting Judge!”

“Was he?”

“…No.”

“Did you apologize?”

“Yeah… kinda.”

“That’s about the Brydgett-est thing you’ve said all day,” Marcus says, and I glare at him.

“Fuck off,” I mutter, flipping him off.

He just grins.

“Well then,” Georgia says, “leave it be. If you said sorry, move on. Those three know who you are. They know what they signed up for. They can take it or leave it.”

I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat.

“Thanks, Georgia.”

“Anytime, honey.”

“Thanks to you too, Marcus.”

“No problem, Brydge.”

I pause. “There’s a party Saturday at the clubhouse. Wanna come?”

Marcus shrugs. “I’ll think about it.”

I down the last of my coffee, hug them both, and head into the hall. Before I go back to Arrow, I pause and pull out my phone.

Me: Can you be here Saturday? There’s a party.

Franko: The Renegade does throw a good banger.

Me: Good. One more thing.

Franko: Christ, woman. What now?

Me: Bring me a pink Mitsubishi Eclipse Spyder. Good condition. Sexy.

Franko: What the fuck you want that for?

Me: I owe a teenager a car. And you owe me still, so I think a car will call it even.

Franko: I’ll see what I can do.

I smile and tuck my phone back into my jeans, then head downstairs.

Arrow’s leaning against his bike like he hasn’t moved, arms crossed, eyes watching me like I’m the only thing worth looking at.

“Everything good, Gidge?”

“I think so.”

“You sure?”

“If it’s not, it will be.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

I grin. “Wanna buy me cheese fries?”

“Done.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

BRYDGETT

It’s the day of the party, and while I should be picking out the perfect outfit to meet the brothers and flex who I am—or who I will be, I guess—I’m not. I’m crabby as hell. Woke up this way. Now I’m on a mission: Operation Soft Shit and Good Smells.

I feel like I’m on autopilot. Like a grade-A clinger. But I can’t stop myself. I’ve piled every single blanket I own on my bed and found some extra sheets in the laundry room. Hung them around like some makeshift hillbilly canopy. It’s a mess, but it’s my mess.

Now I’m creeping toward Gears’ room. It’s locked, but that’s cute. I grab a gift card from my little card wallet, slide it into the doorjamb, pop the lock, and slip inside. He’s not here—perfect.

First, I snatch the quilt folded neatly at the foot of his bed. Then I spot his hamper. Jackpot. I dig through it, pulling out a couple of his t-shirts like a feral raccoon on a mission. Happy with my haul, I sneak down the hall to Arrow’s room.

His door’s wide open, like he expected me. I snatch a pillow that’s got the faint shadow of his head on it and a small blanket tossed over the recliner facing the TV. Arms full of alpha-scented gold, I dart back to my room like a damn lunatic and start arranging my treasures in the perfect way.

Last stop: Acid.

He’s in his room when I get there. I knock. He opens the door with that crooked smile.

“Come in, Gidge.”

“Hey.” I keep it casual, eyes scanning his space like a magpie looking for shiny things.

Boom. There on the floor—the shirt he wore in the basement when I knotted him. And a pair of boxers. Game on.

“What’s up, babe? You’ve never visited my room before.”

He turns to the mirror, picks up a comb, and runs it through his hair, slicking it back into that perfect vintage style that drives me absolutely feral. Cool. Casual. Like he doesn’t know he’s ruining me.

“Oh, umm... just trying to figure out what to wear tonight.” I dip down and grab the boxers, shoving them into my bra like a teenager stuffing her training bra.

“I mean, the whores usually wear barely anything ‘cause, well, they’re there to fuck the brothers. Other guests wear whatever—dresses, skirts, jeans. Whatever you want, Gidge.”

“Okay. That was not helpful but... also kind of helpful.”

I sit on his bed, hook the shirt with my foot, and drag it closer until I can snatch it up. He turns and sprays his cologne on like I’m not being a complete creep.

“Wear whatever you want. You’ll be stunning. And, well... you’re off-limits, anyway.”

I roll my eyes. “How could I forget?”

As I walk past him, he grabs my arm and kisses me. I whimper, and my scent floods the room. My skin feels wrong under my shirt, like every inch of me is too aware. My scent’s spiking, I know it is, and the way Acid’s nostrils flare when he kisses me? Yeah. He knows too. I’m radiating pheromones like a goddamn beacon.

My brain tries to hold on to reality, but all I can picture is his sexy, tattooed, naked body and the way he felt under me.

Nope. Abort mission.

I bolt back to my room and finish building the comfiest, coziest, most scent-drenched omega fort ever made. Acid. Arrow. Gears.

Their combined scent hits me like a wave and I can’t fight it. Don’t even try. I’m wrapped up in their shirts like some scent-addicted freak, buried in all these blankets like it’ll hold me together. It’s not even sundown and I’m already a mess.

That’s when it hits me.

Two things, actually.

One—my heat is coming. I’m nesting. Fuck. Me.

And two—this terrifying, overwhelming truth that slams into my chest like a freight train.

I want them.

Not just the sex. Not just the protection. I want them. I want to be their omega. In their pack. I don’t know when it happened or how, but it’s there, loud and brutal and clawing at my insides.

Goddamn it.

They want me to be their omega. But what does that even mean, for someone like me? I’m no docile breeder. I’ve killed with my own hands. I don’t know how to kneel without thinking about the weight of a blade in my boot. But god help me, I want to belong to them, anyway.

I close my eyes, trying to find one single reason why I shouldn’t give in. Why I shouldn’t belong to them.

I can’t find one.

Shit.

I need to talk to them. About everything. About my heat. About this. Might as well call a pack therapy session at this point.

But first—the party.

The club needs it... or so Arrow said over cheese fries. Who am I to come in and fuck that up? Besides, just because I’m falling for my alphas doesn’t mean I’m not still me. And there’s no way I’m missing the looks on their faces when Franko shows up.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I stand. Time to get ready.

I skip the shower—I want to keep smelling like them. I curl my hair, pin the sides back so it’s not in my face, then pull on leather pants, a black tank, and a ridiculous white fur coat that’s been begging to be worn for weeks.

Looking in the mirror while doing my makeup, I almost look like a mafia omega instead of a biker babe. But fuck it—the coat slaps.

Boots on, lips glossed, I head out of my room.

I need a cocktail.

And the night hasn’t even started.

I can hear the music thumping through the walls before I even reach the doors. Sleep Token blares through the speakers, haunting and erotic, a perfect soundtrack for chaos.

I step into the room, and it’s packed. Bikers everywhere. Shooting pool. At the bar. Throwing darts. One of the—I'm assuming—whores is on her knees in front of Arky, her thonged pussy on full display under the joke of a skirt she’s wearing, as she deep-throats him right there in the open.

The smell. All of it. Sweat, smoke, leather, booze—it’s everywhere. And under that? Sex. No mistaking it. It’s thick and gross and kinda dizzying. My brain can barely keep up with all the different scents crashing into each other.

Arky’s buzzed head is tipped back over the chair, jaw slack, eyes shut as she sucks him off like they’re the only two people in the damn room.

Huh. Right here? In front of everyone?

Interesting. Not for me. But hey, no judgment.

She’s on her knees like she was born to kneel, and he’s barely even paying attention. I should be disgusted. Instead, I wonder—would Acid let me fall to my knees in front of him? Would he growl and grip my hair, or would he just watch me with that smug knowing smirk, like I’m exactly where I belong?

Then I feel it—them—before I see them. My alphas.

I turn my head, and there they are. Standing together at the far end of the bar, eyes locked on me like a wolf pack on the hunt. I give them a little finger wave.

The second they catch my scent, it’s like something clicks. I feel it, like this invisible string just yanked tight between us. Acid’s nose flares like he caught a whiff of something he wants to bite into. Arrow’s jaw locks up, and Gears shifts like he’s gotta plant his feet so he doesn’t move.

I make my way to the bar. Bat’s behind it, all goofy grin and lanky limbs. He flashes that crooked smile like he’s never had a bad day in his life. He’s got on a black tee that clings to his wiry body and leather pants that look half-forgotten, barely zipped. I’m pretty sure he just ran water through his hair and called it a day. All golden retriever energy and zero shame.

“What can I get ya, Brydgett?”

“I’ll take a Titos and water.”

“No problem.” He grabs a tall glass, fills it with ice, pours the vodka heavy, then tops it with bottled water. Perfect.

He slides it across the bar and I grab the little squirt bottle I left earlier in the week—my prep work—and drop two quick squirts of Crystal Light into the cup. Stir.

No hangover and I’m hydrating? I’m a fucking genius.

I head over to my alphas. Arrow pulls me in and kisses my cheek. Acid follows with a kiss to my lips. Gears just gives a nod.

“Brydgett.”

“Gears.” I smile.

“You look good, Omega.”

“Thank you.”

“You seemed wound up earlier, Gidge. You alright?” Acid asks.

“Yeah, I’m good. But tomorrow I need to talk to you three.”

“We can do that. Mom wants us all to come to dinner tomorrow. Judge too. We’ll chat before it. That work?” Gears says.

“Sounds good.” I take a sip of my drink. “So this is a Renegade party, huh?”

“Yeah. Music, liquor, good times.”

“Saw Arky’s having a real good time.” I smirk.

“He’s missed Aubrey more than he lets on. Swear he’s gonna break every damn rule and make an old lady outta a whore.”

“If he likes her and can live with what she did when they met, so be it.” I shrug.

“Oh yeah?” Gears raises a brow. “That how you feel?”

“Yeah. He knew she was a club whore when they met. She’s sucking his cock at a party right now, so he knows what he’s getting into.”

“True.” Arrow nods.

“You three know what I am—what I do—and you still want me to be your omega, don’t you?” My voice is quieter now. My stomach flips. What if they don’t say what I want? What I need?

“Hell yeah, I do,” Acid growls, licking his lips.

“All in, Gidge.” Arrow winks.

“Still dealing with your crazy ass, ain’t I?” Gears smirks.

I blow him a kiss and flip him off. “Can’t help it if I’m a little prickly.”

“It’s not the thorns on your stem, babe. It’s the fucking recklessness—and how you never clue a guy in. You love to keep us on our toes.”

“You love it,” I tease, thinking about the surprise I’ve got for them tonight.

Gears just chuckles and shakes his head.

“Well, I’m gonna go mingle. Get to know these brothers of yours. See if I can hustle one or two of them in darts.”

“Enjoy,” Arrow purrs as I strut off toward Nitro and Suave, who are mid-game.

Let the party begin.

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.

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.”

CHAPTER FORTY

ACID

The whole damn clubhouse feels like it’s holding its breath. All eyes locked on that dartboard, on the three standing in front of it. Brydgett, Suave, and Nitro.

Last round. Last dart.

Nitro's sitting at twenty-eight. Suave's clinging to forty-one. Gidge? Our girl is sitting pretty at sixty. She just needs to hit the triple twenty—that tiny red bastard in the middle ring—to wipe the floor with these fools.

I lean back against the bar, arms folded, heart beating like a damn war drum in my ears. She's all laser focus, tongue peeking out between her teeth like she doesn't even notice the whole damn club watching. She throws. Smooth as sin. The dart sails through the air and—thunk—buries dead center in that triple twenty.

Sixty points.

Game.

The whole place explodes—brothers whooping, stomping boots against the floor, smacking tables. Nitro cusses. Suave groans like he just got stabbed.

Nitro goes next, and it’s too damn high—clips the twenty-four. Suave follows, but he flinches on the throw and hits the fifty-seven, way too low.

Gidge, smug little shit, finger-guns the crowd, spins on her heel and throws her arms around both of ‘em. "Next time, fellas," she says, all sugar and bite. "Now pay up."

They grumble but reach for their wallets like good losers. Hand over a crisp hundred each. She tucks the bills into her bra like a goddamn hustler, and I can't stop laughing. I shake my head.

"Well, boys," I say, pushing off the bar, "guess it's time for me to tell our omega what I did. Pray for me. If she looks like she's gonna stab me, just make sure she don't hit anything critical. Like my heart or dick. I need those."

The brothers laugh, but I ain't joking. Gidge is a whole storm wrapped in a tiny body. You cross her wrong; you feel it.

I grab her hand, twirl her around into me, her laugh bubble-light against my chest. She's beaming up at me like she just found a new game to win. Her scent wraps around me, thicker now, sweet and sharp and pure omega, making my skin itch with the need to pull her closer.

"Quite the dart shark, baby," I murmur.

She shrugs, a little shy. "Played a lot between training sessions at the gym."

Before I can say more, Gears slides up behind her, bold as hell, sandwiching her between us. His mouth dips low by her ear. A low rumble slips out of me before I can stop it, instinct clawing up, wanting everyone to see she’s ours.

"What about this, omega?" he murmurs, his voice a rough scrape that makes my damn spine stiffen. "You like being between your alphas?"

Gidge shivers, just the tiniest bit, as his hands trail slowly down her arms and stop at her wrists. She nods, so small it’s barely there.

"Rumor has it," he says, "your heat’s coming fast. Was someone a naughty little omega, stealing things for her nest today?"

"Yes," she breathes.

"Why didn’t you tell us?" I ask, voice lower now.

She blinks up at us, lashes fluttering. "’Cause... I haven't had a heat since… that night. I've been on suppressants and blockers. I didn’t know…"

My hands fist at my sides.

"You didn’t think we’d want to ride your heat out with you?" Gears growls low, nipping at her ear. "You're ours, Brydgett," he rumbles. "We've given you time. We’ve given you space. But you’re our Kismet. We’ll be there for your heat. Fuck you slow or fast—whichever way you need."

She lets out a sound, small and broken and needy.

"Is that what you want, baby?" I say, feeling Arrow move up beside me now. "You want your alphas to fuck you through your heat?"

She nods.

"Words, Gidge," Arrow demands.

"Yes," she pants. "I want that."

"We’ll have Mom take care of Judge," Arrow says, all business now. "He’ll be fine. But no omega of ours is suffering her heat in the clubhouse with all these fucking vultures around. You’re a biker queen, baby. You deserve better."

She peers up at me, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

"Don’t worry, Gidge," I promise, thumb stroking her jaw. "You’ll see. We’ll show you tomorrow."

"Okay," she whispers, trust so raw it damn near kills me.

I steel myself. This is it.

"Gidge," I say, rubbing the back of my neck, nervous as a schoolboy. "I did something. And you’re probably gonna be real mad. But I want you to remember—I just want what’s best for you. For you and that boy."

She narrows her eyes. "What did you do, Acid?"

I take a deep breath. "I’d even go as far to say… I love you, Brydgett."

She sucks in a breath so fast it whistles through her teeth. She doesn’t say it back—I don't expect her to. Probably never heard those words from anyone but Judge or Ike.

"I called that school you wanted to send Judge to," I say, rushing to get it out before I lose my nerve. "Paid the tuition. For the rest of this year. And next. He can start whenever you're ready."

Her eyes go huge. Her lip quivers. Pissed. Trying to keep it together.

"He's my fucking kid, Titus," she hisses.

I wince. Yeah. Knew that was coming.

"Gidge, you wanted him to go there. It's safer. He wants to go."

"You had no right," she whispers, voice cracking.

"He's the son of my omega," I growl. "If I got any say—he's our son. I wanna give him our last name. Adopt him, if you'll let me. But even if you ain't ready for that yet, let me help."

Tears pool in her big green eyes. Breaks my goddamn heart.

"You mean that?" she breathes.

"Mean what?" I ask, voice thick.

"You wanna adopt him? Give him your last name?"

Before I can answer, Arrow steps in, solid as a wall.

"You’re our omega, Brydgett," he says. "That makes him our son, whether we made him or not."

"We’re gonna keep him safe," Gears adds, voice low and sure. "Same way we’ll keep you safe. Promise, Gidge."

"Okay," she breathes.

She stands on her tiptoes, and I lean down, catching her mouth with mine. When we break apart, she giggles, breathless.

"We'll talk about you knowing my legal name later, baby," I growl, pretending to be mad.

"Deal," she says, grinning wickedly, the fire back in her eyes.

Yeah. Ours. All ours.

Mayhem comes busting through the door, looking winded and mad as hell.

"Prez, there's a group pulling in. I tried to stop them, but they drove right through the barricades. Three vehicles. Four bodies—three male, one female."

"Well, do you know who the fuck they are?" Gears barks.

"No, sir. I asked what they wanted, and they said they had business with the Renegade Queen."

"Fucking hell," Arrow growls.

"Boys!" I cut the music and shout, "Arm up! Let's go!"

Every brother grabs a gun from somewhere—the room, their waistbands, wherever—and heads for the door. All of them ready to tear whoever dared come for our omega apart.

Brydgett's smiling ear to ear, skipping right after Gears.

She’s reckless with it, her scent getting sweeter, heavier; making every alpha in the room twitch and glance her way. Too close to heat. Too fucking tempting.

"Mayhem, how the hell did you get here before they did if they drove past you?" I ask, hoping to God he ain't a rat.

"They gave me a five-minute head start after they smashed the barricades. Said they wanted to see your faces when you saw who it was."

"Who the hell?" I mutter.

Gears whirls around, nose to chest with Gidge.

"Stay here, woman. I don't need you out there in danger until we know what's what."

She pats his shoulder, darts around him.

"I believe they said they're here for the Renegade Queen, and that's me, is it not?"

She's out the door, and we're hot on her heels.

A black F150 screeches to a halt twenty feet away, followed by a hot pink Eclipse Spyder and a silver sage Suburban.

First one outta the Suburban is Franko. Thick-built bastard, wearing a red plaid shirt under a black leather cut. His hair is buzzed short on the sides, dark and neat, with a sharp little goatee. Same cocky fucking smirk he always wore, like he owns every patch of dirt he walks on. Chin up, arms loose, like he is not worried about a goddamn thing. I know Franko—and I still don’t like the way he is smiling, like he is about two seconds from selling us something and robbing us blind while we thank him for it.

A man from the truck and a male and female from the Eclipse follow.

"What a welcome! Gears, my man, you know how to throw a fucking party!" Franko calls out, grinning wide like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

"The fuck are you doing here, Franko?" Gears snaps.

"Came to see an old friend," he says, all smiles.

"You ain't got no friends here," Gears spits.

"That ain't true. I'm looking at one of my oldest friends right now."

"Who?" Arrow voices.

"You gonna stand there all night looking at me or come give me a hug?" Franko opens his arms wide.

Gidge steps forward, runs straight at him, jumps into his arms.

My whole damn body locks up. Gears goes stiff beside me, a low rumble vibrating his chest. Arrow tenses, jaw flexing hard enough I hear it pop. Every alpha instinct I got screams to yank her outta his arms—to remind every son of a bitch here who she belongs to.

Only thing stopping me is the way Gidge smiles, like she's not scared. Still don't mean I ain't two seconds from gutting him.

Then she squeals and hugs the blonde woman from the Eclipse. She’s all long legs and curves. Tight black tank, ripped jeans, hair a mess of honey waves. She’s already smirking like she knows she's the hottest thing in the lot.

"Omega?" Gears snaps. "What the fuck is going on?"

"I invited a few friends to the party," Gidge says, all nonchalant.

"How the fuck do you know this asshole?" I ask. My vision goes red for a second.

I take a step forward without thinkin', ready to tear that fucker apart for putting his hands on what's mine. Gears catches my arm, fingers digging in like iron.

"Easy," he growls under his breath, voice tight.

Arrow’s right there too, blocking me from making a scene, but his eyes are just as dark, just as full of murder. Doesn't matter that Gidge is laughing—doesn’t matter that she ain’t scared.

She’s ours.

And no motherfucker gets to touch her but us.

"Me and Franko go way back. He's from my hometown. I worked for him for a while when I was homeless. Candy here gave me my first ultrasound. Then I hit the road and came here."

"And he's here now, why?" Gears asks.

"One, they brought your sister's new car. She said she'd give me my car back if she got a pink Eclipse, so voila! Two, Franko has information you want. Nikola said Franko got his shit from The Father and I asked him to dig up what we need."

"I've about had it up to here with your fucking secrets, Omega," Gears growls, throwing a hand up to mark the height of her bullshit.

Gidge just laughs.

"Gotta keep you on your toes. Plus, can't let you get too complacent, can I?"

"Well, come in then, asshole. But you try to shoot me again, I'll fucking kill you," Gears growls.

Franko laughs deep and loud. "I'd like to see you try."

We all head inside straight to Gears' office, but not before telling Franko's two men and our brothers they can resume the party.

Us? Gidge, Franko, Candy?

We got business to handle.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

BRYDGETT

The door clicks shut behind us, sealing me, my alphas, Franko, and Candy inside Gears' office. It's a little too quiet for a second, and I hate it. Hate the way everyone's looking at Franko like they might tear him apart if he so much as breathes wrong.

I don't blame 'em.

But still. Franko's here because I asked him to be.

I launch myself at him again, wrapping my arms around his neck. He smells like leather and gunpowder and bad decisions, and for once, it’s a comfort instead of a threat.

"Thanks for coming," I tell him. "And for bringing the car."

He squeezes me tighter for a second. "Anytime, girl," he says. Then pulls back, cocking his head like he’s sizing me up. "But I’m gonna wanna see the boy before I head out."

I nod, biting my lip. "Yeah. After this."

Gears shifts behind me, restless. Acid crosses his arms. Arrow looks like he's two seconds away from dragging Franko outside and letting all the brothers have a turn.

I square my shoulders. "Alright. What did you find out about the manufacturer? About The Father?"

Franko's easy smile fades. He scratches the back of his neck, glancing at Candy, then at me. "You’re not gonna like it."

"Spit it out, Franko." My voice comes out sharp, and even Acid lifts his brows a little, like he's surprised at how hard I hit those words.

Franko opens his mouth⁠—

And someone starts banging on the office door like the whole damn clubhouse is on fire.

Arrow growls low and stomps over, throwing it open like he’s about to break someone's jaw.

It’s Arky.

"Someone else is here," he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Says Brydgett invited him. Muscular dude. Kinda scary. But, uh…he looks spooked."

I blink. My stomach flips.

I know who it is before I even move.

I clap my hands together once, sharp enough to make Franko flinch, and head for the door without waiting for permission.

Behind me, I hear Arrow muttering, "Who the fuck now?"

When I step into the hallway, I see him.

Broad as a damn truck, every inch of him—muscle and ink—like he walked out of some soldier-of-fortune ad. He’s wearing a camo jacket and his hair’s a mess, short and wild, that messy strawberry-blond that looks too soft for a guy built like a fucking tank.

Marcus.

My heart squeezes, weird and tight.

He’s standing just inside the front door, hands shoved deep into his pockets, big body tense like he’s ready to bolt or fight or both. His eyes find mine and the fear there—it ain’t for himself.

It’s for me.

I don’t think. I just move. I cross the room in a few quick steps and throw my arms around Marcus’ big, solid body.

"Thanks for coming," I whisper against his chest. He smells like cinnamon buns.

He hesitates, just for a second, then hugs me back, big hands spanning almost the whole width of my back. "Almost didn’t," he mutters, voice low enough only I can hear. "But I decided I needed to check out these alphas you're shacked up with."

Behind me, Gears lets out a growl low enough to vibrate the walls.

Arrow grunts, not even trying to hide it.

Acid curses under his breath.

I pull back from Marcus, rolling my eyes, and spin to face my growly, pissed-off alphas.

"What is the problem now?" I snap.

Gears crosses his arms over his chest, scowling like he’s about to hand out death sentences. "You need to stop hugging other alphas, Omega," he says. "Or you're going over my knee."

I laugh—a real, belly-deep. “I’d love to see you try.”

Turning back to Marcus, I wave a hand at the room. "Everybody, this is Marcus. Marcus, meet Gears, Arrow, and Acid."

They give him hard nods, the kind that says we’ll gut you if you touch her wrong, but Marcus just lifts his chin, calm as ever.

"Marcus lived in the alley behind my old apartment," I tell them. "He pitched a tent back there the first winter I lived there. Been friends ever since." I shrug. "He lives in my old place now. I invited him the other day when I went to see Georgia. She didn’t wanna come?" I ask, looking back at my friend.

Marcus chuckles under his breath. "Georgia didn't wanna come," he says. "Said it was past her bedtime. But told me to tell you to send pics if any old single men show up."

I snort, covering my mouth.

"Come on," I say, grabbing Marcus’ arm and tugging. "Let's all go get a drink."

Gears catches my wrist before I get far, pulling me back against his chest. "We were having a conversation, Omega," he reminds me.

I twist around in his arms, grinning up at him. "Franko’s gonna be here all weekend. It can wait. I wanna have a good time. Everyone’s here now.”

Gears huffs—not happy about it, but not shutting me down either. "Fine," he says finally. "Franko, you and your guests can stay in the empty rooms. Pick whichever ones you want."

Franko salutes him lazily, like he owns the place. "My man."

Gears looks at Marcus next. "You need a room?"

Marcus shakes his head. "No. I’ll head back to my place after."

"Suit yourself," Gears says.

We all head toward the bar.

Marcus and I end up shooting pool against Franko and Candy. Turns out, Marcus is damn good. Better than me by a long shot, but he lets me take the winning shot, anyway.

When the game’s over, Arrow slips up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, making me shiver.

"I texted my sister to come down and see the car," he murmurs, lips brushing my skin. "Since tomorrow we’re planning to show you your surprise. Then have dinner."

"Good call," I tell him, leaning back into him a little. "I hope Judge is sleeping, though. It's late for him."

Arrow’s chest rumbles against my back, and he presses his face into my neck, breathing deep like he’s trying to cover me in his scent. The move makes my whole body relax without me even thinking about it.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" he asks.

I nod without even thinking. "I want all three of you to stay with me."

Arrow’s chest rumbles against my back. "I’ll make it happen," he promises.

And in that moment, wrapped up in the people who chose me, who fought for me, I finally—finally—start to believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m not so alone after all.

The back door swings open and Dillon stomps in.

The brothers spot her and immediately start ruffling her hair and fist-bumping her like she’s one of them. She scowls, swatting their hands away, muttering under her breath about how they’re messing up her hair.

She stomps over to the pool table where I’m leaning against Arrow.

"Who's this?" Dillon asks, hitching her chin toward Marcus, her eyes sharp.

"This is my friend Marcus," I say, smiling. "Marcus, this is the guys’ little sister, Dillon."

Marcus straightens a little, looking awkward as hell, but still sticks his hand out toward Dillon.

She doesn't even hesitate. She steps right up, bold as anything, and shakes his hand firm like she’s not staring at him like he's a goddamn snack. Dillon looks him up and down slowly—like she's sizing up a brand-new Ken doll—and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

My girl might still be young, but she’s got good taste.

Marcus shifts again, almost like something’s got under his skin. His nostrils flare, just once, like he’s catching a scent he wasn’t expecting. His jaw tightens, and he looks away fast. Poor bastard. Probably his PTSD acting up around new people.

I hook my arm through Dillon’s and steer her toward the door.

"Remember when we talked about my GTO?" I ask her. "And you said you weren’t giving it back?"

"Yeah," she says, side-eyeing me, suspicious.

"Well, you mentioned wanting a pink Eclipse."

Her eyes widen. "You didn’t," she squeals, voice already going giddy.

"I did," I grin.

We step outside, and when Dillon sees the pink car, she absolutely loses her shit.

"Holy fuck! Holy fuck!" she screams, jumping up and down, her hands flailing in the air.

I laugh so hard my sides hurt as she launches herself at me, hugging me so hard I almost fall over. Her scent wraps around me—bubblegum and fresh air—and my omega instincts soak it up like a sponge. Pack. Family. Mine.

"Best sister-in-law ever!" she shouts.

My stomach flips. My eyes go wide.

Sister-in-law.

When I bond with the guys…

She’ll be my little sister, too.

Bettie will be like my mom.

I’ll have a family again.

A real one.

For the first time since I was little.

Holy shit.

"Brydgett, so, for real! This is mine?" Dillon says, practically vibrating.

"Yes, Dillon," I laugh. "It’s yours. But I want my GTO back."

"Done." She grins, immediately sliding into the driver’s seat and honking the horn like a maniac.

"Thank you so much!" she yells.

"You’re welcome, Dillon."

She pulls out her phone, already babbling about calling her friends and showing off. I shake my head, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.

"I’m gonna head back in," I tell her, stepping back toward the door. "You have fun."

"I will!" she calls after me.

I head back inside, ready for another drink and a night full of fun with the people who are starting to feel like my real family.

Finally.

I go straight for the bar and Keg grins wide when he spots me, already wiping down the counter like he’s seen it all tonight.

"Another?" he asks, grabbing a clean glass.

"Yeah," I say, sliding onto a stool. "Might as well keep it rollin'."

He chuckles as he pours. "You sure know how to keep a party going, Brydgett."

I flash him a smile, feeling loose and warm. "Planned it earlier this week."

Keg snorts, shaking his head as he sets my drink down in front of me. "You're driving those three alphas of yours insane," he says low. "You keep touching other alphas, they're bound to fuck someone up."

I wince, hard.

Shit.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.

Shit, shit, shit.

Here I am, hugging Franko, hanging on Marcus, not even thinking, and just a few hours ago I about tore that whore’s throat out for touching Arrow.

God, what am I doing?

Guilt slams into me heavy and fast. I ain't usually so touchy, not with anyone. But maybe with my heat creeping closer, the drinks I've had, and this weird bubble of safety here... I let my guard down. My fight-or-flight instinct is dulled tonight.

And now I’m gonna fuck this all up before it even really starts.

"Thanks, Keg," I mutter, grabbing my drink and gulping half of it down fast enough it burns.

I need to go apologize. At least explain.

I scan the room, my eyes landing on Gears and Acid in the far corner, talking serious with Nitro. I’ll wait. I don’t wanna interrupt club business. I frown.

Where’s Arrow?

I don't see him anywhere.

The dance floor's packed, the pool table’s busy, but he’s not here. Just as I’m about to head for the hallway to look for him, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight. That icy, bone-deep feeling only two things in this life have ever given me—the feeling something’s wrong.

Judge.

My heart seizes. Something’s not right. I can feel it. Mother’s instinct, serial killer instinct, whatever you wanna call it. It's loud and clear.

I slam my drink down half-full and don't think, just move. Straight for the back door. I can't even explain why I go outside instead of through the clubhouse to Bettie’s place.

It’s just a pull. A gut-deep yank I trust without question. I shove the door open, stepping into the night air.

And there⁠—

Across the lot⁠—

I see Dillon. She’s standing by the passenger side of her new car, the pink Eclipse, half-shielding Judge behind her. But they’re not alone.

My blood runs cold. My heart kicks into overdrive, pounding so loud it’s all I can hear.

His voice cuts through the night, low and sharp, sending a shiver right down my spine.

"Hello, Omega."

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

BRYDGETT

It’s real.

My boots crunch on gravel, and my heart's hammering so loud I barely hear the door slam behind me. The air's thick with oil, hot engines... and something else. Something rotten. Like sickness and blood and bad memories.

I see better the closer I get.

Dillon’s got herself half in front of Judge, arms spread wide, chin up like she’s daring them to move.

Three men. Big. Mean-looking.

And one in front, standing cocky as hell like he owns the goddamn world.

Earl.

My gut twists hard enough I wanna throw up.

Old scent memories slam into me: grass and cooking oil—memories I’ve tried to keep buried deep where they couldn't rot me from the inside out.

"What do you want?" I snap, my voice sharp as broken glass. "Why won't you just leave me the fuck alone? I'm not some young omega anymore. I'm grown. I want nothing to do with you, Earl."

He smirks. That same sick, slimy grin.

"You're mine, Brydgett," he says, all casual. "Picked you out special. Waited for your first heat."

My skin crawls. Not with fear. With rage.

"You're fucking sick," I hiss.

He laughs, all low and dirty. "I wanted kids. And a sexy little omega to give them to me. You already proved you can. Now it's time to come home. Both of you." He jerks his chin at one of his guys. "Take the boy. Kill the girl unless you want a turn first."

One of the men steps forward, licking his lips.

"No!" I scream, voice cracking. Omega instincts roar up in me like wildfire: protectprotectprotect.

"He's not yours!" I yell, body shaking from the force of it. "I left after you raped me and traded my body for rent! He belongs to someone else!"

Earl’s eyes gleam maliciously in the dark.

"Who?" he demands. "Give me a name."

I rack my brain, fast. Need someone he can’t touch.

"Ike," I blurt. "Ike. He found me. Took me in at the gym. Let me stay if I... if I slept with him."

Earl wrinkles his nose, like I’m the dirty one.

"The fighter washout?" he sneers.

"Yeah," I lie right to his face. "It was his weekend with his son. That’s why we were out there. That’s when you found us, ran us off the road, shot me."

He stares hard, like he’s trying to peel my skin off with his eyes. Finally, he shrugs.

"Fine. Kill them both," he says to his men. "We’ll make another." He breathes deep through his nose, nostrils flaring. "You smell just like you did that night. Your heat’s coming, omega. Gonna be real fun breaking you in again."

Bile climbs up my throat.

I choke it down.

My scent spikes—fear, sharp and sour—but I force it back, clamp it down with every shred of will I have left. I can’t let him smell it.

I square up, heart hammering so loud I can’t hear straight. Every omega instinct in me screaming to protect Judge. Protect Dillon.

"Leave them," I say. "I’ll come with you. No fight."

Earl tilts his head, grinning all slow. "And if I don't?"

I step closer, slow like I’m moving through barbed wire. Hands raised. Keeping my voice flat.

"I’ll kill a few of your men. Maybe you too. And the brothers inside?" I jerk my chin toward the clubhouse. "They’ll hear. They’ll come runnin'. You won't make it out alive."

He laughs, the sound slithering over my skin.

“How did you get past the guard, anyway?” I ask, wondering about Mayhem and hoping he’s okay. I don’t think I’d handle it if he was killed to get to me.

"Ivan knocked out the guard," he says. "He'll wake up… eventually."

My heart’s pounding harder. There’s still a chance if I play this right.

"What's it gonna be, Earl?" I grind out.

He grins wider. "Come over here. Then I'll let 'em go."

I breathe out slowly.

No choice.

Not if I want Dillon and Judge alive.

I flick a glance toward the clubhouse, hope burning a hole in my chest. God, I wish somebody could hear us. But the fucking bass is too loud, thudding like a war drum.

Nobody’s gonna hear a damn thing. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. If this place had outside only smoking, maybe somebody would have come out for a light. Maybe I could have planned for that.

Maybe someone would have seen. Maybe. I suck in a breath. Gotta move.

Gotta save my kid.

I step forward. Each step feels like dragging cement blocks. The second I'm close enough, Earl lunges, grabbing me roughly, yanking me hard into his chest. His stink, booze, rot and filth, wraps around me and I gotta fight not to gag.

Judge's voice cuts through the dark. "Mom!"

I twist, trying to smile through the panic. "Shh, baby," I say, voice shaking. "It’s okay. I’ll be okay."

Earl laughs, low and mean. "She won’t," he says, loud enough for Judge to hear. "But that’s her problem. Tell your daddy I'll be coming for him next."

"Fuck you!" Judge spits back, fire in every word.

Pride punches me square in the chest.

My boy. My fierce, brave boy.

Earl chuckles. "Little firecracker," he says. "You sure he ain’t mine?"

"I'm sure," I snarl.

He squeezes me tighter, ribs groaning. "You lie to me, Brydgett, and I'll come back for him. Burn this fucking place down."

"I'm not lying," I bite out.

He grins and nods at his guys. "Let 'em go. Girl, you keep that boy still. Count to one hundred before you move. We got a rifle on you. You twitch before then, you die. Got it?"

Dillon sneers like she's ready to murder him herself. "Got it."

"Good girl," Earl says mock-sweet.

I thrash, fighting to break loose.

Maybe if I can claw him.

Maybe if I can⁠—

Something hard slams into the back of my skull.

Pain rips through me, bright and sharp.

The world tilts sideways; the ground rushing up to meet me.

The last thing I hear before everything goes black is Judge screaming for me and Dillon cussing loud enough to wake the dead.

And then⁠—

Nothing.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

ARROW

I hang up the phone, shoving it deep into my pocket. My jaw's tight enough to crack.

Judge snuck out.

Mom sounded half-panicked, even though she was trying not to be. Said she thinks he went to find Dillon. Told me to tell Gidge so she can handle it how she wants.

Yeah.

Good fucking luck with that. She's gonna lose her goddamn mind. Question is, which version of her we’re gonna get. The soft one who spoils that boy rotten? Or the Gidge who'd burn the world down without flinching?

I make a slow sweep of the room, searching. Don’t see her at the bar. Don’t see her by the tables either.

A prickle starts at the back of my neck. It feels wrong. Off. The same way it did that night on the side of the road when Earl had her pinned down and bleeding. That creeping chill in the gut, like the air shifted and just ain’t right anymore.

I move faster now. Instinct kicking in, dread clawing up my spine.

I head over to where Gears and Acid are standing, talking low with Nitro. Catch the tail end of it. "—might need to pull rank if Peter don’t keep his shit together," Nitro says. "He’s sniffing around my sister. Told him once, told him twice."

Gears grunts, arms folded. "If she’s hanging around here, it’s on you to keep her from making bad decisions."

"Peter ain't allowed at parties yet anyway," Acid adds, voice flat. "Ain’t earned the right."

I roll my shoulders, feeling the weight of it all pressing down.

Prospects. Problems. Lockdown.

Same old shit.

But my mind ain’t really on it. Not tonight.

I scan the crowd again, that tight feeling back in my chest.

"Where’s Gidge?" I ask, keeping my voice even.

All three of them go still. Something cold settles over the group. We all feel it now.

Gears shakes his head slowly. "She was just at the bar. Maybe with Franko? Maybe scheming again."

I glance over at the pool tables. Franko’s there. Candy. Suave. All accounted for.

But Marcus? He’s gone too. The bad feeling explodes wide open in my gut.

"I don't like that she’s missin', and that homeless fucker is too," I say, voice dropping lower. "He might be her buddy, but we don't know him. Covered for her before. Could be covering now."

"I don’t trust him," Acid mutters, mouth curling in a sneer.

"Let’s go find our omega," Gears says, already pushing off the wall.

But we don't even get the chance.

The back door slams open hard enough to shake the goddamn floor. Dillon comes sprinting in, hair flying, face white as a ghost. Judge is right behind her, crying.

My blood goes cold. Every instinct I got snaps to full fucking alert. Acid is already moving toward them. Gears spins, shoving toward the sound system and slamming the music off. The party crashes into silence, every brother turning to stare.

"What happened?" Acid barks.

"They took her," Dillon gasps out, hands shaking.

"Who?" I snap, but deep down I already know.

"Brydgett," she chokes.

My heart stops. Not metaphorically. I swear to God it just straight up quits in my chest for half a second before it slams back to life.

"What happened?" I growl, voice raw and mean.

Dillon’s shaking so bad she can barely breathe, but Gears crouches down in front of her, voice low but sharp like a blade.

"Tell us everything," he says.

She nods fast, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

"I was outside," she pants. "Checking out my new car."

I nod once, jaw grinding.

She swallows hard. "I was video calling my friends, showing it off. Then Judge snuck out. I told him his ass was grass when Brydgett found out, but... I let him look at the car with me."

She twists her fingers together, knuckles going white. Her scent shifts; anxious, the pang of worry rising up.

"Then these guys... they just showed up. Outta nowhere. Three of them. Big. Mean looking."

My fists clench without me even thinking about it.

"And then Brydgett came out," Dillon whispers. "She saw us. She knew something was wrong. I saw it on her face."

Of course she did. Our omega ain't stupid. She’s a killer born and bred.

"And?" Acid prompts, voice rough.

Dillon swallows again, looking at all three of us like she’s afraid of what she's about to say.

"They... they surrounded us. Said they wanted her. Called her 'Omega.' Said she had to come with 'em."

The word hits me like a punch to the ribs.

Omega. Our omega. Ours.

Every part of me twists inside.

"And she went," Dillon says, voice cracking. "She... she told them she'd go if they let us go." She looks down, ashamed. "She tried to fight. But one of 'em hit her. I think they knocked her out."

Silence falls heavy over us. I see Gears' hands flexing slowly, like he's already choking the life out of someone in his mind. Acid’s breathing so hard it sounds like a damn freight train.

Me?

I'm standing so still I feel like I'm about to come apart at the seams. I can't even process the rage. It's too big. Too much. They touched her. Took her. Laid hands on our omega. No fucking way they're walking away from this.

"Which way did they go?" Gears asks, voice pure fucking murder.

Dillon points toward the tree line behind the clubhouse, her hand trembling.

"They went that way. They walked down the drive. Also said they took Mayhem out. I know he’s alive, but the leader said he’d wake up with one hell of a headache.”

I nod, filing it away, but I'm already scenting the air. Already feeling for her. Her scent's faint. Coppery. Scared. But it's there. It's fucking there. I meet Gears’ eyes. He jerks his chin once—go.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Franko jerking his head toward me, trying to get my attention, mouthing something. But I ignore him.

Not now. We don’t have time for more of his shit.

Our omega is missing.

I don't think about Nitro’s sister. I don't think about the prospects. I don't even think about the party—'cause it ain't a party no more. The music’s dead. The laughter’s dead. Every brother in the room’s got murder in his eyes, waiting for orders. Waiting for us.

Gears turns slowly, eyes sweeping the room. His voice is low, but it hits like a war drum. “You heard Dillon. My sister—Brydgett—has been taken.”

A stillness falls. Like the whole club is holding its breath.

Then Gears straightens, jaw locked. “Half of you take the front gate,” he barks. “Check on Mayhem while you’re out there. I want eyes everywhere—back roads, highway exits, rooftops if you can get to 'em.”

Mayhem. Shit. If they hurt him⁠—

"The rest of you, with us," Gears snaps. "We’re taking the back."

Boots stomp. Guns click. It’s like watching a damn army come to life.

And me?

I only think about her.

Brydgett.

Ours.

And what I’m gonna do to the fuckers who touched what’s mine.

I jerk my chin toward Dillon, who's still standing there clutching Judge like she ain't sure if she should run or fight.

"You take him to Mom," I tell her, voice flat. "Have her check him over. Tell her everything. Tell her to start the phone tree. We’re going on lockdown. Pack your shit and help Judge get his together."

Dillon's mouth opens like she’s gonna argue, but before she can, Judge shoves away from her, fists balled up at his sides.

"I'm not leaving without my mom," he snaps.

I crouch in front of him, grabbing his shoulders tight. "Yeah, you are, little man," I say, staring straight into his wet, furious eyes. "And you will. We'll make sure she comes home safe. You gotta trust us, yeah?"

His chin trembles, but he jerks a nod, tears shining. Then his voice breaks. "It was my dad," he says. "Or... or the alpha who hurt her. Please. Please don't let that bastard hurt my mom."

My throat feels like it’s closing. Like I can't breathe around it.

"We won't, kid," Acid says from somewhere behind me.

Judge swipes at his face with his sleeve. "He... he wanted to take me too. But Mom told him I was Ike’s. She lied to protect me."

His hands are shaking now, rage and fear fighting for space in his little body.

"And he told 'em... he told 'em to take me," Judge says, voice wobbling, "and kill Dillon."

"Or rape me," Dillon grinds out, jaw clenched so tight I can hear her teeth creak.

My blood runs cold. Gears whirls around so fast the air cracks behind him, his face pure death.

"What?" he snaps, voice like a shotgun blast.

Dillon doesn't flinch. Just nods once, sharp. "The guy… I think Brydgett called him Earl. He told his men to take Judge. Kill me. Unless they wanted me first," she says, each word like glass scraping her throat. "One of 'em volunteered. But Brydgett... she said no."

Everything inside me coils tight. Hot. Savage.

"Fucking brave," Acid mutters, shaking his head.

"Fucking heroic," Gears growls.

I push up slowly, blood pounding behind my eyes.

"Fucking bold omega," I say, low and fierce, my fists clenching hard enough my knuckles pop.

She's ours. She fought for them. She fought for us.

And whoever touched her…Whoever dared lay a fucking hand on her... Isn't gonna see another goddamn sunrise.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

ACID

We tear the backlot of the clubhouse apart. High and low. Check every goddamn inch. Even search the strip of woods that kisses up against the fence.

Nothing. No sign of her. Gidge is gone.

My heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s gonna punch straight through my ribs.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I mutter, shoving a broken pallet out of my way. A useless piece of shit obstacle when what I need to find is her. We need a plan. A goddamn miracle. Some kinda clue. Some hint on where he would've taken her. I’d like to tell myself we need to look at every angle.

That we don’t know for sure.

But we do. We know exactly who it is.

Earl.

Judge and Dillon told us. Told us everything.

The bastard who hurt her years ago—he's back. And he took her.

I clench my fists so tight my knuckles crack. I'll rip him apart. Tear him limb from fucking limb. Paint the ground with what's left of him.

“Back to the clubhouse!” Gears shouts, voice cutting through the night air. “We need a fucking clue or lead.”

I need to find her.

Gears is right. Can’t find shit when you’re running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

“I can help with that,” Franko says, stepping forward, a little breathless. “I think.”

We all turn to him.

"I had information for you. That’s why Brydge called me here. That—and 'cause she always loved a dramatic flair," Franko adds, with a small, humorless smile.

“We’ve noticed," Gears grumbles under his breath.

"Brydge ending our meeting wasn't wise," Franko continues, "but I also didn’t think Earl would be so ballsy as to snatch her at a party loaded with MC brothers.”

"How do you know who took her?" I snap, stepping closer. The alpha in me doesn't trust him.

“And what, you were just gonna wait for the right moment while we were flipping this place upside down?” I add, teeth gritted.

Franko shakes his head. “I tried. Right after the music stopped—I was trying to get your attention, but it was chaos. Everyone was shouting, moving, panicking. Then Judge dropped Earl’s name, and you all scattered.” He shrugs one shoulder, tight. “I figured you'd want to hear it without twenty people breathing down our necks.”

Gears doesn’t back off. “So you let us waste time while you stood there holding secrets?”

“I didn’t realize how bad it really was until your sister said it—until it hit me that she was actually gone,” Franko snaps, then reins it back in. “I thought maybe she stormed off. But once I knew for sure, I tried. I did. And I got something. Something important.”

“Spit it out then,” Gears barks.

"In private," Franko says, glancing around. "I don’t trust anyone here but you three."

Fine. I jerk my chin toward Gears’ office. We head inside, slamming the door shut behind us.

“Talk,” Gears growls, arms folded across his chest.

Franko nods. “It’s Earl. No question.”

"How the fuck do you know that?" I demand.

Franko hesitates. Then he says, real quiet like he’s about to confess to murder, "Because Earl and The Father are the same person."

The room goes still. So still I swear I can hear the blood screaming in my ears.

"No fucking way," I say, shaking my head. "He was her foster parent. Not a goddamn drug kingpin."

Franko shrugs, way too casual for what he just dropped on us. "He was a middle-class working man. Tina too. But they got mixed up with a guy named Phil Lango. Built a business together. Then Phil mysteriously dies, and Earl takes over. Wasn’t long after Brydge left."

He pauses, looking between us.

"He’s been poking around the underworld for years. Putting out feelers. Asking about his ‘missing daughter,’" Franko sneers. "Never asked me directly, but I got friends. Word travels. A buddy of mine down in Mexico, he’s got cartel ties—he told me Earl sent around a photo once. Brydgett's photo. Asking if anyone had seen her."

I close my eyes for a second, breathing through the rage. She’s been hiding all this time. Surviving.

"This is good news," Gears says, a wicked smile curling his mouth. "One bullet. Two birds. The Father and Earl are the same prick. He’s been flooding our streets with tar, and he’s the son of a bitch who hurt our omega. We take him out, and we clean house."

"It can’t be that easy," I whisper, staring at the floor. My head's spinning. Gidge’s foster dad... her rapist... and a major drug lord. The world’s too small.

We keep talking, the plan forming fast. The women and kids—we're sending them out. Bettie’s taking Judge with her. No arguments. We’re locking down the clubhouse until this is finished. Franko agrees to stay and help. Arrow suggests calling Nikola.

I nod. Gears nods.

Franko raises an eyebrow. "The head of the Morozov Mafia?"

"One and the same," I tell him, my voice flat.

Franko whistles low. "How the fuck did you get mixed up with him? He’s new blood to these parts."

I smirk, but there’s no humor in it. "Went looking for who was pushing tar in our turf. Ended up in Nikola’s underground fight club. Gidge volunteered to fight. Won her match." I snort. "Then Nikola tried to double-cross us."

Franko’s eyes go wide.

"Gidge pulled a knife on Nikola," Gears explains with a groan, already digging his phone out of his pocket. "Now they’re damn near friends. Got us an alliance out of it."

“That’s the short version," I mutter.

Gears holds the phone to his ear. His whole body’s tight, tense like a bowstring about to snap.

"Nikola," he says when the line picks up. "It’s Gears. You seen Brydgett? Our omega?"

A pause.

"She was taken tonight. By The Father. Turns out he’s her old foster dad. And the piece of shit who raped her."

Another pause.

"Yeah. Keep us in the loop. Thanks."

He hangs up, his mouth a hard line.

"Nikola’s just as surprised as we were. He’s sending some of his men to patrol the streets. I’m sending him a picture of Earl."

"We should do the same," I say, my hands balling into fists again. "Get the brothers out there. Blanket the streets."

"We will," Gears says, voice rough. "But first, I’m sending Bat and Keg to find that Marcus fella." He looks between me and Arrow. "He’s missing too, if you didn’t notice. I want his ass found and questioned."

I nod once.

They won’t get away with this.

Not while I’m still breathing.

I shove through Gears’ office door so hard it slams against the walls. I don’t even care.

We gotta find her. Gotta move. Gotta do something.

I storm down the hall toward the main room, Arrow and Gears right behind me, Franko trailing after like a goddamn shadow. I don’t even realize I'm up on a chair until the whole room’s staring at me. "Listen up!" I yell, my voice cracking at the end like some idiot teenager, but I don't care.

Gidge is missing. Gone.

"As you know, Brydgett's missing," I say, my hands fisting at my sides. "Taken right out of this goddamn party. You all saw her here tonight. You all know who she is. She ain't just any omega. She’s ours."

Murmurs. Curses under breath. One of the prospects swallows so hard I can hear it.

"And we know who took her," I grind out. "Name’s Earl. Same motherfucker behind the tar creeping into our streets. Same bastard who took Gidge into his home when she was a kid and raped her. Don’t you dare feel bad for her or when she comes back, she’ll gut you herself, and I think we know she’s capable of it.”

A vicious growl rips through the room. A chain reaction. Rage swelling. Alphas bristlin’. Even the betas look ready to snap teeth.

"He's dirty. He's dangerous. And he’s got a head start. But we ain't letting him get far."

I pause, sweeping my eyes across the crowd. I need them to be steady. Need them sharp.

"You ain't gonna go running wild and blind. We do this smart. Gears and Arrow are running point. Bat and Keg—you’re finding Marcus, that fella who showed up here late as hell. If he knows something, we’ll beat it out of him."

Bat nods, face already dark with fury. Keg cracks his knuckles like he’s looking forward to it.

"The rest of you—fan out. Hit the streets. Gas stations. Motels. Truck stops. Earl’s gonna need somewhere low-key to lay low if he’s smart. You see somethin'—you call it in. You don’t act alone. You call."

I pause, breathing hard. The alpha in me is roaring. Wants to tear something apart. But that won’t get her back.

"You smell anything... you hear anything..." I snarl. "You feel anything off—trust your gut. Gidge is out there waiting for us. Hurting. Scared."

The words taste like acid in my mouth.

I can't fucking stand the thought of her scared.

"And if you find Earl?” I smile slow and mean. "You hold him. You break whatever you gotta break. But you don't kill him."

I look at Gears. He nods.

"That pleasure’s ours."

The room rumbles with approval. The brothers are ready. Hungry for blood.

"Go!" I bark.

They scatter like a controlled explosion. Organized chaos. Exactly what we need. I hop down off the chair, turning to Arrow and Gears.

"Bat and Keg got Marcus. Nikola’s got his boys watching the streets. We got the brothers combing the city. What’s next?"

Gears runs a hand through his hair, looking grim.

"Next," he says, "we figure out where Earl would take her. Somewhere he feels safe. Somewhere she wouldn’t dare scream."

My gut twists. Fury licks up my spine.

I will find her. No matter what it costs.

She’s my omega.

And no one steals from us and fucking lives.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

BRYDGETT

My head fucking pounds. I groan, trying to blink the blurry edges of the world into focus. It's not dark like before. Not like when the guys took me that first time. This is different.

Dim yellow light buzzes somewhere above me from a single flickering bulb. I tilt my head back and look around, everything moving slow and sticky like syrup. I'm in some abandoned warehouse or factory. I can tell by the way the crates are spilled across the floor, machines left to rot. Rust everywhere. Dust so thick it coats everything like snow. The place smells like metal and mildew.

Where am I?

How long have I been here? How long have I been gone?

Panic scratches under my skin. My arms ache. I try to move, and that's when I realize…I’m chained. My arms pulled up above my head, wrists cuffed tight and raw to a rafter beam. My toes barely skim the ground.

The sockets of my shoulders scream, a deep, grinding pain from hanging limp for who knows how long. My arms are on fire. Every little shift feels like something might tear.

I still got my leather pants and shirt on. No shoes, though. My coat's missing too. Probably ripped off when they dragged me in here. Good. At least I'm not naked. At least they haven't⁠—

I shove the thought out of my head. My heart kicks against my ribs, wild and hard.

I hope they noticed I'm gone.

I swallow hard.

I hope they come looking.

But doubt creeps in. Heavy. Ugly. Mean.

Arrow. Acid. Gears. They said they wanted me. Claimed me. Took me in. But I've been nothing but a headache since the second they found me. An extra mess on top of the shit they already had to deal with. And then tonight...

God.

I brought Marcus and Franko right into the clubhouse like a goddamn ticking bomb.

Marcus, whatever.

But Franko? A known enemy.

I'm a fucking wildcard.

Too broken. Too much. Way too much.

I squeeze my eyes shut. And worst of all… Tonight... I touched two strange alphas. Right in front of them. Didn't even think. Didn't even stop myself.

Fucking idiot.

Tears sting the back of my eyes, but I bite them down. I won't cry. Crying won't get me out of here. But still the ugly thoughts worm in.

Too damaged. Too much baggage. No alpha wants a broken omega who can't keep her damn hands to herself.

Maybe they'll decide I ain't worth it after all.

Maybe they'd leave me here.

Maybe they'd think it was easier.

My throat tightens so bad I can't breathe for a second.

God. Please. I don't care what happens to me. Just keep my boy safe. Please keep Judge safe. Please.

If they leave me, fine. If they never want me again, fine. I can rot here for all I care. But if they don't save my son⁠—

If Earl even thinks about touching him⁠—

I yank hard against the chains, ignoring the way the metal bites into my wrists. The rafter creaks but doesn’t budge. I kick out with my feet, trying to find leverage, but I barely even tap the ground. I snarl low in my throat.

My instincts flare up sharp and furious inside me.

I'm supposed to be protected. I'm supposed to be treasured. That's what they said.

That's what my alphas promised me. But right now, all I feel is alone.

A noise jerks me out of my head. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Getting closer.

I freeze. My body stiffens, every muscle locking up tight. A shadow moves between the broken crates. He steps into the light. And smiles.

Earl.

His hair is still too perfect in that fake, greasy way, combed over like he's trying to hold on to some stupid idea of being young. That smile; it used to look friendly once. Now it's cracked. Wrong.

His eyes are the worst part. Still beady. Still glittering under heavy lids. A sick, hungry gleam there, like he’s already imagining all the ways he can rip me apart again.

He's wearing a faded red polo shirt that clings weird to his body. His jeans are old, worn at the knees, dirt caked into the cuffs. But it’s not the clothes or the years that make my stomach twist. It’s the way he stands there like he’s already won.

Like I’m still that scared little girl.

Like he still owns me.

He steps closer. The stink of cheap aftershave hits me first—an overpowering attempt to mask the greasy mix of grass and old cooking oil that still clings to him.

It doesn’t work.

“Well, isn’t this a sight,” Earl says, chuckling low in his throat. “My little girl. All grown up. All chained up.”

I don't answer. I just glare at him, teeth grinding so hard my jaw hurts.

"You always were a handful," he says, walking slow circles around me, like he’s admiring his prize. "Always thinking you were better than me. Better than the home we gave you."

I spit at his feet. It barely misses his boot.

For a second, he just stares at me. Then his hand flies.

Crack.

The slap snaps my head sideways so hard I see stars. Pain blooms sharp across my cheek. I bite down on the cry trying to rip out of my throat. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

"You got a mouth on you, still," he says, sounding almost amused. "Tina said we shoulda broke you younger. Shoulda started when you were fresh." He smiles, all teeth, no soul.

"Guess I’ll just have to finish the job now."

I thrash against the chains, my shoulders screaming, but it’s no use.

"You know," he says, stepping closer, voice dropping like he’s telling me some secret, "if you would have just behaved back then, none of this would have been necessary. We could have been a happy family."

Crack.

Another slap. Harder this time. My lip splits, hot blood filling my mouth. I don't look away. I stare him down with all the hate I got left in me. I want him to know I remember everything. Every touch. Every lie. Every goddamn minute he stole from me.

"Still so full of fire," he muses, shaking his head like I'm some naughty puppy. "You’ll burn yourself out eventually. And then you’ll thank me for bringing you home.”

Home. The word curdles in my gut.

He steps back finally, wiping his hands on his jeans like touching me dirtied him.

"I’ll leave you to think about your behavior," he says, walking toward the door. "We’ll have a little... talk later. After you cool off."

The door creaks and bangs shut behind him. The lock clicks. I sag against the chains, gasping for breath, my head pounding worse than before. My cheek throbs. My lip stings.

I don't know how long I hang there before I hear it. Another set of footsteps. Lighter. Quicker. I lift my head. The door opens again. And she steps through.

Tina.

Long blonde hair hanging straight and shiny down her back. Wearing a tight, green satin dress that hugs every curve like she’s going to a goddamn cocktail party instead of sneaking into a torture chamber. She’s older, her face lined with age, but she’s still pretty in that fake way women buy at the salon. Her lips are painted pink and stretched into a tight smile that doesn't reach her eyes. She carries a little metal bowl and a rag.

I snarl. My whole body tries to twist away, even though the chains bite deeper into my wrists.

"Easy now, baby," she croons like she’s talking to a stray dog. "Let’s get you cleaned up. You don't want Earl to see you like this, do you?"

"Stay the fuck away from me," I growl, yanking hard enough that the rafter groans overhead.

She clucks her tongue. "Still wild. Still ungrateful."

She dips the rag into the bowl and steps closer. I kick at her, thrash like a feral thing, but it’s useless. I can't reach her. All I do is make the chains rattle and rub my skin even more raw.

Tina—always calm, always in control, a goddamn Beta—grabs my chin in one sharp hand. Her nails dig in. I try to jerk away, but she holds me tight, forces the wet rag to my mouth, wiping the blood off like she’s doing me some kind of favor.

"There now," she whispers. "No use fightin', sweet girl. No use at all."

I flinch, the sting of the cloth against the raw wound sending a jolt of pain through me. I probably reek of fear. I can smell it, sharp and sour, worse than the blood. Omegas aren’t supposed to smell like this. Not supposed to smell like prey.

"Why?" I manage to whisper.

Tina pauses, her eyes narrowing as she considers me. A slow, almost pitying smile spreads across her face. "I can't give him what he needs... what he wants," she says softly. "So we picked you."

My stomach twists up so bad I think I’m gonna puke. Picked me. Like picking out a new car. Or a pet.

“You'd think you'd have been more grateful for the life we gave you.”

Grateful. Grateful for this. Grateful for all the shit they did to me.

Good omegas are supposed to be grateful. Good omegas are supposed to stay quiet and sweet and thankful for the attention. But I’m not good. I never was.

"You're sick," I spit, the words barely audible.

Tina leans in real close, and her hair brushes my cheek and her breath is all sweet and gross in my face.

"Maybe if you’d been better," she whispers like it's some big secret, "he wouldn’t have had to be so rough."

That’s when I strike.

I hook my legs around her waist, yank her in with everything I’ve got. She gasps, stumbles forward—and I go for her. Sink my teeth into her scalp, but all I get is a mouthful of hair.

She screeches, thrashing, tearing away from me. I let her go. Gladly. Because I’ve already tucked the prize into my cheek. She staggers back, wide-eyed and panting, one hand clutching her head.

“You’ll pay for that,” she snaps, voice shaking.

Then she drops the rag in the bowl, like she’s done, and just walks out. The door slams shut behind her. The lock clicks. And I’m still here. Bleeding. Chained up like an animal.

No alphas. No pack. No one to scent-mark me safe. Nothing but the smell of blood, fear, and rot thick in my nose.

Nothing but the sound of my own heart pounding way too loud in my ears.

I hang from the chains, my body aching, my mind racing. I think of Acid's fierce protectiveness, Arrow's steady presence, Gears' unwavering support. I cling to the hope that they're out there, searching for me. I have to believe they are.

The silence of the warehouse is deafening, but I refuse to let it break me. I won't give them the satisfaction. I am not theirs. I am not broken.

I have to think of something else.

Acid’s voice in my ear, low and pissed, but never at me. That stupid lighter he clicks open and shut when he’s gonna smoke. The way he watches me like he can see right through all the bullshit I hide behind.

Arrow’s hands. Big. Strong. The way they hold me, touch me like I’m something he’s scared he might break if he’s not careful. I can almost feel his scent too, crisp the way it usually wraps around me and makes everything safe.

Gears laughing under his breath when he thinks nobody’s watching. Calling me trouble, but the good kind. Making me feel like I belong somewhere for once. Making me feel wanted. Needed. Like a real omega should be.

I shift just slightly, tongue pressing the prize against my molars. I don’t spit it out. Not yet.

I need to be smart.

Tina definitely ran to tell Earl what I did. And he’ll come storming in here, puffed up and pissed off, like he always does. I need to be ready. I need to make sure he’s not coming right back in here before I use what I took.

This has to count.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

GEARS

I rub the back of my neck, pacing the length of my office like it might shake loose answers. The leather couch creaks as Arrow shifts, legs wide, one hand fisted over his mouth while he stares at the floor, his laptop balanced on his lap. Acid’s by the door, arms crossed, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Not one fucking sighting. Not from the boys on the street. Not from Nikola. Nothing.

Where the fuck did Earl take her?

And we still haven’t found Marcus either. No one’s seen him since the party.

Brydgett’s scent is still faint in the air—sweet jasmine and citrus heat. It’s stale now, almost ghostlike. Wrong.

The women and kids left thirty minutes ago. Nitro, Peter, and Mayhem rode out with them. Nitro was bitching about his sister getting sent to the same safe house as the other women—mostly because Peter was going, too. That guy’s been sniffing around her for weeks, and now she’s pissed at him on top of everything else. Nitro didn’t trust the setup anymore, said it was a powder keg waiting to blow. He found somewhere else to send her last minute. Good. We can’t afford distractions—or mistakes. Not now.

Arrow’s tapping fast on his laptop, eyes scanning across search engines, deep web stuff, anywhere he might find something about Brydgett’s past. But there’s nothing. No adoption record. No birth certificate trail. No damn school transcripts. Like she just appeared one day—pregnant, wild-eyed, and dangerous.

“What about Earl?” I ask, stepping closer. “Can you find anything on him? He had a whole life before he fostered Gidge—there’s gotta be a record of that, right?”

“Nothing on him either. Earl must’ve wiped everything,” he mutters.

I sigh. I already know what we have to do. And I hate it.

“We need to call Ike.”

Arrow nods, fingers still flying.

Acid exhales slow through his nose. “He’s not gonna like this.”

“Yeah, well, neither do I.” I wake up the screen on my phone, thumb searching the contacts until I hit Ike. My gut knots as I hit dial and put it on speaker.

It rings twice before his voice comes through.

“Gears.”

“Ike.” My voice is too flat. He picks up on it instantly.

“What happened?”

“Brydgett’s gone.”

He sighs. A long, tired breath. “I thought this might happen. She’ll be back. If she comes here, I’ll talk to her. You boys seem like decent guys. A little ignorant, but⁠—”

“No,” I cut him off. My voice cracks a little. “Earl took her.”

Ike goes silent. Then he growls. “Tell me fucking everything. Right now.”

I clench my jaw and start from the top. “We were having a club party. Everything was smooth. Franko showed up. So did Marcus. Gidge…she was enjoying getting under our skin. She was smirking, pushing buttons. Then she went outside, and apparently Earl and his guys were there. They had my sister and Judge. She traded herself to protect them.”

“Fucking hell,” Ike whispers like a prayer. “She’d do anything for that boy. Is he safe? Do I need to come get him until you straighten this out?”

“He’s safe. He went with our mom, sister, and the rest of the women and kids. We got them headed to our safe houses. We’re combing every damn street for Earl or a sign of her. But if you know anything about where he’d take her... we need that.”

Ike hesitates, then clears his throat. “She didn’t talk much about her past. I know she took a bus out of Michigan while pregnant. She was living in a tent when I found her. Let her crash at the gym. Then she moved in with me. Tina, who’s Earl’s wife, worked for this cleaning company—Brydgett mentioned it once...it was called...damn it...Dainty Dusters. Maybe look up a tax filing or something?”

“Arrow’s on it.” I glance up at him. He’s already typing faster.

My phone beeps.

Incoming call.

Nikola.

“Ike—I’ll call you back. Got a call coming in.” I don’t wait for him to respond before switching over. “Nikola.”

“One of my guys might’ve found something. A car registered to an Earl Osbourne was seen driving away from the old meat factory. Far north side of town.”

My pulse spikes. “Did they see who was in it?”

“Said it was dark. Looked like a young guy. Not the wormy one you sent. Could be an associate.”

“Maybe,” I grunt. “We’ll check it out. Thanks, Nikola.”

“You want backup?”

“No. We got this.”

I hang up and turn to my brothers.

“Gear up. We’ve got a lead. Meat factory on the north end. I want our omega back now. Her heat’s gotta be close—maybe a day, maybe hours. If Earl thinks he can use that to bind her to him⁠—”

Acid’s already halfway to his room. Arrow’s right behind him.

No one speaks.

We just move.

I head to my room and grab what I need—my Glock and an extra blade. We meet beside our bikes. The engines roar, echoing off the cement walls of the clubhouse. My heart’s pounding like a college drumline.

She traded herself for her kid and my sister.

That’s the kind of omega she is.

Ours.

And I’ll fucking burn this city down to get her back.

BRYDGETT

I open my eyes when the door creaks again.

Earl.

Shit.

I didn’t mean to doze off. But I’m hanging by my arms, and exhaustion won the fight. My shoulders are on fire: screaming, stretched, burning like a motherfucker. I thought he’d be back sooner. I waited, ready, holding still like a coiled spring. Ended up passing out like a damn rookie.

So either Tina didn’t tell him what I did—or he doesn’t care.

He strolls in, all smug swagger and empty menace. His boots scrape against the concrete floor, slow and heavy, and he’s got that stupid satisfied look on his face. He touches my face. His fingers are soft, pretending tenderness where there is none.

"Such a pretty little omega," he murmurs, like we’re sharing a moment.

I spit in his face.

The slap comes fast. It snaps my head to the side. Heat flashes under my skin, pain sharp on my face, but I’ve had worse. I’ve done worse.

He wipes his cheek slowly, and I see the shift in his eyes. Rage. Embarrassment.

My pulse spikes, but I lock it down. No panic. Not now.

I smile. Just a little. Just enough to piss him off. “You hit like a bitch,” I rasp. “Almost as pathetic as you fuck.”

That gets him.

He grabs my hips to steady me, and I don’t give him the chance to think. I wrap my legs around his middle and then use that grip to twist hard, throwing my weight sideways. He stumbles, trying to stay upright, but I plant my feet on his chest and kick off with everything I’ve got. The force knocks him backward; he crashes to the floor, cursing as he lands hard on his back.

Perfect.

For half a second, I think I’ve bought time. But then he’s snarling, grabbing at the waistband of his pants.

“I’ll show you pathetic,” he growls, yanking them down with shaking hands.

He steps back, fumbling with his zipper. The sound slices through the silence. His gaze is wild. Fixed. He starts toward me.

I thrash, twisting, trying to get some leverage, but my hands are still chained above my head. I had a plan. Had a damn bobby pin in my mouth, pulled from Tina’s hair while she gloated. I was going to use it. Pick the lock. Get free. But then I passed out and dropped it somewhere and now I’m fucked. Hopefully not literally.

No. No fucking way.

I scream. Kick. Fight. I won’t let it happen again. Not ever again.

And then⁠—

BANG.

One deafening gunshot. Earl’s eyes go wide and he drops. Just crumples to the floor, body slack and useless.

My breath freezes in my chest. My alphas. My heart leaps.

But it’s not Gears. Not Arrow. Not Acid.

It’s Marcus.

He’s standing in the doorway, still holding the smoking gun looking like a vigilante. His eyes sweep over me, and I see the guilt hit him like a truck.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demand, breathless.

He doesn’t say anything. Just rushes over and drags some old crate under me. It’s wobbly but solid enough that I can get my feet on it, and holy shit—relief. My legs shake and I gasp when the weight finally shifts off my arms. The blood rushes back into my hands and shoulders so fast it feels like I’m being stabbed with a thousand needles.

Marcus bends over Earl’s body, yanks the key from his belt, and starts undoing the chains. The second I’m free, I stumble, but he catches me. It feels weird to be upright. To not be chained. My body is drained. Aching. Raw. But I’m me again.

I wrap my arms around Marcus. Not because I’m falling apart or need saving—but because he came. Because I trust him. He’s my friend. And right now, that means more than I can explain. I press my face into his shoulder for just a second. Just to breathe. Just to feel safe.

The door slams open.

It’s Tina. Screaming her head off, waving a knife like she’s in some slasher movie. Her eyes are wild, mouth foaming, hair stuck to her face like she’s been running through Hell to get here, and maybe she has. Wouldn’t surprise me.

Marcus turns, but he’s too slow.

I shove away from him and throw myself at her, grabbing her wrist as the blade swings toward his neck. We slam into each other hard, our bodies tangled, fighting, both of us slipping and tripping and clawing like animals. The knife flashes between us, too close, too fast.

“Get off me!” she screeches, spit flying, her face twisted.

She’s stronger than I thought. All frantic and twitchy and pissed off. I feel the blade slice across my abdomen, slicing my shirt open but not catching my skin, but still I don’t stop. I won’t stop.

And then she moves wrong. She jerks forward instead of back, tries to twist out of my grip, and she messes it up badly. She lunges right into the knife. All her own momentum. It slides in deep. Right under her ribs. Her eyes go huge. Her mouth falls open. She gasps once. Then again. Blood spills out of her mouth, running down her chin, and she just sort of sags.

“You were supposed to love me,” I say, and my voice comes out weird. “Protect me.”

She drops to her knees, hands still kind of reaching for me. Then she falls all the way back and goes still.

Gone.

I stare at her for a second. Just long enough to feel nothing. Then I pull the knife out of her chest. My hands shake, but only a little.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” I whisper, stepping over her body.

Because I don’t have time to fall apart right now.

I need my alphas. And I don’t know why the hell they haven’t come for me yet.

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.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

ARROW

The second I step back into the shed, the scent hits me.

Jasmine. Orange.

Gidge. My omega.

It’s everywhere—thick and sweet, almost too much. I breathe it in and it hits the back of my throat, sharp and kind of sickening in a way. My cock presses hard against the denim of my jeans, aching as if it might tear free. I grit my teeth, blinking against the haze. Fuck me, it’s powerful.

Then I see her.

Flat on her back, thighs parted, face flushed. Her damp curls frame her face in dark, sticky ringlets; her mouth is half–open, lashes heavy with moisture. Her slick is everywhere—on the sheets, dripping from between her legs like she’s made of want.

Acid’s head is buried between her legs, tongue flicking through her slick folds with primal hunger. I catch the moment her back arches, her hips thrusting toward him, and a low, broken cry rips from her throat—raw beauty. Her body trembles in sweet surrender, fingernails digging into the rough blanket. Acid holds her hips like she’s a treasure he’s claimed. Maybe she is.

It’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen; this blood-soaked woman undone, soft and needy and perfect. For us.

I don’t hesitate. The cut is off first, folded on the chair. My shirt hits the dusty floor; my jeans follow in a soft thud. I drop onto the mattress pad beside them, my hand sliding along Gidge’s thigh, slick and warm beneath my fingertips.

She turns toward me, eyes glassy with need, lips swollen and glistening. I lean in, pressing my mouth to hers. She tastes of sweat and desperation and something intoxicating.

“Enjoying yourself?” I whisper against her parted lips.

She whines, and it hits me square in the chest. “More,” she begs, voice breathless, pupils blown wide.

Acid chuckles deep and low. “I told you not yet, Omega. We wait for Gears.”

“Please…” Gidge’s plea catches in her throat. Her hips jerk, rolling forward as though she’d climb me then and there.

I glance at Acid. His eyes burn, mouth still slick with her flavor. I slide a hand through Gidge’s damp hair, brush it from her forehead. “He said no taking you without all three,” I murmur, voice thick. “But I’ve never cared much for rules.”

I grin up at her. “Ride me, Omega. Take what you need.” I fall back into the pillows, free hand wrapping around my cock, already hard and leaking.

She doesn’t hesitate.

Gidge throws a leg over and sinks onto me in one smooth, desperate move. Her head falls back, mouth open, a broken moan slipping out. The feeling of her slick heat wrapped around me nearly ends me on the spot.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Acid growls from the side.

“Shut up and enjoy the show, brother.” My hands grip Gidge’s hips, steadying her as she starts to move — slow, testing thrusts at first. But then her pace shifts, wild and urgent, and I match her with hard, driving strokes.

The door creaks. Gears slips in, arms piled high with Gidge’s pillows, blankets, the little treasures she’d stashed in her room. He freezes at the threshold, wide eyed.

Before him, our omega rides me like her life depends on it—hair plastered to her neck, breasts bouncing, soft sounds of pleasure falling from her parted lips. Acid moves in close, lips brushing her collarbone, tongue flicking at her nipple. Gidge gasps, hips stuttering against mine.

Gears drops his burden onto the mattress with a soft clatter. He just stands there, jaw slack, watching.

“The fuck are you doing, Gears?” I grit out, sliding my palms over her slick abdomen.

He swallows. “We didn’t talk about this,” he murmurs. “She’s been with you two. Not me.” His voice wavers. “Maybe I should go.”

A pained whine slips from Gidge’s throat. She stills, whole body quivering like she might shatter.

“I don’t think she likes that idea,” Acid says as he kisses along her collarbone.

“Mine. Stay,” Gidge says hoarsely.

Gears doesn’t hesitate after that. He kicks off his boots, shrugs out of his cut, and folds it, setting it down carefully on the chair next to mine. Then he sits on the edge of the pad.

Gidge moves again, rolling her hips harder, slick soaking my thighs. Acid flicks his tongue against her nipple, and she clamps down on me with a tightness that rips the air from my lungs.

I grab her hips, trying to hang on, but it’s no use. She drops down on me one last time, and my knot pops inside of her. Her mouth opens in a wordless cry, her whole body locking around me as she falls forward, breath hitching. I thrust up, hips jerking, losing myself in her and groaning her name as I follow her over the edge.

We stay tangled, breath mingling in the charged air, our skin slick with sweat and our scents mix together. Acid’s fingers trace lazy circles along Gidge’s spine, whispering praise. Gears watches, a soft smile ghosting his lips.

Little snores rise from Gidge’s lips, and I laugh softly, brushing damp hair off her forehead.

“She won’t be out long,” I murmur. “Not with her heat just kicking in. She’s worn out from the night. But once she wakes up?” I look at both of them. “We do whatever she wants.”

Gears nods. “No backdoor action,” he says. Voice quiet. Firm.

Acid lets out a breath. “Agreed. She’s only been with us. I’m not messing with her second heat. As far as I’m concerned, this is her first. We erase everything that bastard did to her the first time and show her how it should be.”

“Done,” Gears says.

“Agreed,” I echo, smoothing my hand down her back. Her skin’s so soft it almost doesn’t feel real.

My knot softens, and not two seconds later, Gidge stirs. She blinks sleepily. Then snaps awake with a scowl.

“Empty. Need,” she growls, already trying to flip over.

Acid laughs, low and dark. “I got you this time.”

With a growl, Acid grabs Brydgett and moves her onto all fours. Gears looks at him with a mix of shock and lust, but he doesn't protest. Instead, he moves closer to her, his arousal evident.

"Suck Gears' dick while I fuck you, Omega," Acid commands, his alpha tone leaving no room for argument.

Gidge whimpers, her need overpowering any sense of modesty she might have once had.

Gears swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he doesn't retreat. He shifts himself on his knees before her, his cock throbbing with anticipation. Slowly, hesitantly, he guides himself to her swollen lips. But any remaining reservations vanish when she opens her mouth on her own accord and takes him in, sucking him down like a lollipop.

Acid's hand comes down on her ass with a stinging slap, the sound echoing through the room. He positions himself at her entrance, and with one powerful thrust, he's inside her, claiming her cunt as his own. Gidge moans around Gears' cock.

Gears' hands tangle in her hair, gripping tightly as he guides her head up and down his shaft in sync with Acid's relentless, punishing thrusts.

"That's it, baby," Acid growls, his hands roaming over her body possessively. "Take it all."

The room fills with the sounds of their bodies slapping together, their ragged breaths and desperate moans.

As I watch from the side, I can't help but admire the sight before me. Acid is pounding into Gidge's tight pussy with an animalistic fury, his knot swelling as he nears his climax. Gears' cock is buried deep in her mouth; eyes squeezed shut as she sucks him down to his knot. I know she's teasing him with her hand, stroking him to match her movements. It's a damn show, and I'm here, taking it all in, conserving my energy for later. Because I know my next turn with her will be long and hard, no pun intended.

With a growl, Acid shoves himself to the hilt one last time, his knot expanding inside her as he comes. Gidge moans around Gears' cock, clearly enjoying every second of it. She sucks him even harder, taking him down to his knot as well. She teases him with her right hand, urging him on. He gives in with a hiss, filling her mouth with his hot seed. She swallows everything he gives her and then licks up any remaining drops that dribble out. Gears slips out of her mouth with a wet pop, and she takes a deep breath, trying to catch her breath.

Acid pulls her backward so she's laying on her side with her back to his chest while they're still knotted together. Her eyes meet mine, and there's a hunger there that makes my blood boil. I savor the view of my two brothers claiming our shared omega.

As Gidge’s breathing begins to slow, the tension of the moment dissipates into a soft haze. I watch her eyes flutter, the warmth of Acid’s body cradling her as he wraps around her protectively. His fingers glide up and down her arm, a gentle caress that speaks volumes more than words ever could. Gears is in front of her, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns over her belly, his eyes shut though I know he isn’t really sleeping.

My heart swells with possessiveness and tenderness; she belongs to us, and we to her.

I catch myself smiling at the sight before me when I notice Gidge's eyelids grow heavy, her breathing deepening until it finally evens out into a soft rhythm. She’s asleep now, deeper than the last time. It’s good to see her resting after everything she’s been through.

A soft ping sounds from my phone—Suave. I slide out from my spot beside them, careful not to disturb the moment they’ve created. As I approach the door, I crack it open just enough to peek outside. A couple of bags from the local market sit on the ground, and I grab them before shutting the door quietly behind me.

I set the bags on the counter and begin sorting through them. Snacks, water bottles, some quick meals—everything we need to make sure Gidge stays nourished and hydrated while she recovers from this round of heat. She hasn’t had time to clean up since before we found her; thinking about how filthy she must’ve felt while trapped there, gnaws at me. I want to make sure the first thing she gets when she wakes up is a hot shower—something to help wash that place off her.

I find what I can fit into the mini fridge we set up; a few sandwiches, bottles of water, and then lay back down beside my brothers. My body sinks into the mattress as I get comfortable again, letting out a slow breath that calms my racing heart. Gidge lies nestled between us, safe and sound.

Closing my eyes, I listen to their soft breathing; the lullaby of my pack and let myself drift for a moment. I’m waiting for her to need me again; waiting for that spark in her eyes when she realizes we’re here to stay. We’ll take care of her in ways no one else ever could.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

GEARS

Gidge slept most of the night, but she's awake now, and after fixing and rearranging the nest with her pillows, blankets, and treasures, she’s ready for more.

"Omega," I groan.

"Fuck me," she hisses.

I hesitate, not because I don't want her or want to sink deep inside of her, but because this will be our first time, and I hate that it's when she's in a heat-induced state.

Her scent is intoxicating, and all I can think about is sinking deep inside her heat-soaked pussy. But something in the back of my mind hesitates. This should be special, shouldn't it?

But then Arrow’s voice cuts through the haze. “You can make a new first when she's more with it, brother. Give her what she wants.”

His words are a lifeline; a reminder that this isn't just about me or my hesitation. It’s about Gidge: the woman who’s been through hell and back, who deserves to feel pleasure without fear or pain.

I take a deep breath and nod, steeling myself for what's about to happen. This is what she needs right now, and I'm going to give it to her. I sit up, gently moving her so she's laying flat on the pad, and then I kiss my way down her body—starting with her swollen breasts, teasing each nipple with my tongue before moving lower. She moans in pleasure as I lick down her stomach, tracing patterns with my tongue until I reach her slick folds.

Her scent hits me like a ton of bricks, musky and sweet at the same time. I growl in approval as I part her lips with my fingers, exposing her swollen clit for my tongue. Gently, I lap at her nub, circling it before sucking it between my teeth lightly. Her hips buck against me as she cries out in ecstasy. Fuck, it feels so good to finally taste her like this—to know that she's mine and mine alone. Well, ours, but you get the picture.

"Oh fuck!" she moans as I slide two fingers into her, the sheer slickness of her heat catching me off guard. She’s so damn soft, so responsive—every gasp of hers fueling the growl in my throat. I suck on her clit harder, moving in time with the tight grip of her body.

Her hands grip my hair as I tease her folds with my tongue, swirling around her clit before plunging deeper into her heat. She gasps, arching her back off the mattress, and I can’t help but smile against her skin. This is what we’ve wanted; what we’ve fought for.

“Alpha,” she moans, and it’s like music to my ears. It pulls at every instinct in me to claim her fully, to mark her as mine in every way possible.

That word on her lips wrecks me.

I don’t even get a chance to answer before she’s coming apart beneath me. Her whole body arches, trembling, thighs clenching tight around my head. Her pussy pulses, dripping down my chin as she cries out, her hands fisting in the sheets. I keep my mouth locked to her clit, flicking and sucking as the wave crashes through her.

“Ohhhh!” she gasps again, and fuck, I’ve never heard anything so beautiful.

I finally pull back, my face soaked in her, and press kisses along the inside of her thighs while she tries to catch her breath. She looks ruined in the best way; lips parted, chest rising and falling in frantic little jerks, eyes glazed and wild.

“I want more,” she whispers, breathless.

I rise over her, bracing myself above her small, trembling frame. Her legs part instinctively, hips rising in offering, and I catch the way her body trembles—slick glistening at her center like nectar, waiting for me. The tip of my cock slides through it, just once, and I nearly lose it right there.

“You sure, Omega?” I manage.

She looks up at me, pupils blown wide, her mouth kiss-swollen. “I need you inside me. Knot me, Alpha. Please—need to be full.”

That breaks me.

My omega isn’t afraid. She isn’t uncertain. She’s burning and wet and ready. Her body calls to mine instinctively, the kind of connection that doesn’t come with logic or ceremony—it comes with soul-deep claiming.

I line myself up and press in, slowly at first, letting her take every thick inch. Her mouth drops open in a silent cry as I stretch her around me, her walls fluttering in welcome. I groan, feeling her warmth, her tightness, the heat of her wrapped around me like she was made for this. For me.

“Fuck, Gidge, you feel—” I can’t even finish.

She locks her legs around my waist and pulls me deeper, her hands clawing at my back, and I let go. I start to move, thrusting slowly at first, grinding my pelvis against her clit each time I bottom out. She sobs beneath me, her nails dragging down my skin as pleasure tears through her again.

She moans, “Don’t stop. Knot me—please. I want it.”

“Mine,” I growl, losing myself in the rhythm, in the wet slap of skin against skin, in the way she clings to me.

Her slick makes it so fucking easy to move, every stroke sliding home with perfect, aching friction. I dip my head to kiss her, open-mouthed and deep, our teeth clashing in desperate hunger.

Her body begins to shudder, her orgasm building fast again. I can feel my knot swelling at the base, pressure building with every pulse of her pussy around me.

“You’re gonna take my knot, Omega,” I whisper against her mouth. “You’re gonna milk it like you were born to.”

She whimpers, “Yes, yes, please⁠—”

And then I thrust one last time, hard and deep, as my knot pushes past her swollen rim and locks us together.

She screams, full-body shaking, as her orgasm tears through her like fire. Her walls clamp down, squeezing and pulsing around my knot, drawing every drop of my release from me as I spill into her in thick, hot spurts. I bite down—not to mark, not yet, but just enough to hold her still as I bury my face in her neck, groaning through clenched teeth.

“Fuck, Omega. You’re mine. You were always mine.”

We ride it out like that; bodies locked, sweat-slicked, trembling.

When her sobs turn to soft gasps, I cradle her against me, kissing her temple, her cheek, her lips. She’s smiling, boneless and beautiful in my arms. I hold her tighter, knot still locked deep, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

It’s been three days.

Three days of nothing but skin and sweat and scent. Of hands and mouths and knot after knot. Her heat burns like a wildfire, needing us, taking us, and still begging for more.

Right now, she’s on top of me, riding my cock slow like she’s savoring every second. Her thighs shake around my hips, and her nails dig into my chest for balance. I grip her hips to keep her steady, even though she’s the one in control. She sets the pace—grinding her slick pussy down on me in deep, rolling movements that leave me shaking.

Her head falls back and she moans, loud and shameless. I watch the way her body moves on mine, soaked in sweat, flushed from the heat. Her tits bounce with every motion, nipples tight and begging to be touched.

Her slick coats my cock completely, dripping down to my balls, soaking the pad beneath us. Every time she lifts up and slams back down, I groan. It’s heaven. It's torture. It’s Gidge.

Arrow moves in front of her, cock in hand, and she barely hesitates. She opens her mouth and takes him in deep, her lips stretching around him as her eyes flutter shut.

“Fuck,” he groans, one hand fisting in her hair. “Good girl. That’s it.”

She moans around him, and her pussy clamps down so tight around me I gasp.

“Shit,” I breathe, hips twitching beneath her. “You feel so good, Omega.”

Behind her, Acid steps up, his chest already heaving. He’s flushed too, cock hard and dripping slick, and when Gidge reaches back for him, whimpering around Arrow’s cock, he grabs her hips and lines up beside me.

And then he pushes in.

Right next to me.

Her body stretches to take him, and she screams around Arrow’s cock, her eyes rolling back. Tears spill down her cheeks. She’s shaking, completely overwhelmed, and she loves it.

“Ahhh,” she gasps, pulling off Arrow just long enough to speak. “So full. So good. I-I can’t⁠—”

“You can,” Acid growls from behind her. “You’re perfect. You’re ours.”

I feel every inch of him pressed against me inside her, her walls squeezing us both. It’s too much, in the best fucking way. Her body feels like it was built to take all of us. And she is.

Arrow groans again as she sucks him deep, messy and desperate. Her jaw works fast, spit running down her chin and soaking her chest.

She rides us harder, bouncing up and down, her pussy fluttering around both our cocks. I slide my hands from her hips to her breasts, squeezing and rolling her nipples between my fingers. She cries out around Arrow, her body locking up as she gets close again.

Acid leans in over her back, his hand joining mine on her chest, his thrusts getting harder, deeper.

“You’re taking us so good,” I groan. “So fucking tight, Gidge. I can’t—fuck—I’m close.”

“Me too,” Acid growls, sweat dripping from his jaw. “You’re gonna come for us, Omega. Now.”

Arrow moans, his hips jerking forward as he grabs her head and holds her still. “Swallow it,” he pants. “Take it like a good omega.”

She gags once and then moans deep in her throat, body convulsing as the first wave hits her. Her pussy clenches down hard and I lose it.

I thrust up into her, cock swelling fast as my knot forms.

“Gidge—fuck—I’m coming,” I groan, stars dancing behind my eyes. I feel myself spill deep inside her, hot and thick, pulse after pulse.

Acid lets out a growl and slams into her one last time before locking against my knot.

She screams again, full-body shaking as she’s split and stretched, stuffed completely. Her orgasm crashes over her, mouth still working on Arrow.

He groans through clenched teeth and finally spills down her throat. She swallows every drop, her lips sliding off with a loud, wet pop. Her body twitches between us, still clenching, still dripping, and then she falls forward into Arrow’s arms.

We’re all breathing hard. My arms are wrapped around her waist, my knot still locked inside. Acid’s chest is against her back, his hand tangled in her hair. Arrow strokes her cheek gently, brushing the sweat and tears away as she blinks up at him.

No one speaks for a while. Just the sound of panting and the weight of what we just did.

She’s glowing. Ours. And I’ve never seen anything so perfect.

CHAPTER FIFTY

BRYDGETT

I blink my eyes open, lashes sticking together, and I’m hit with a wave of scent so thick it almost makes me dizzy. It’s them. Sandalwood, bergamot and mango, sweat and skin, all tangled up with the sharp citrus and jasmine of my own perfume. It’s clinging to everything, soaked into the blankets, into the mattress, into me. I’m wrapped in it—wrapped in them.

I realize I’m lying in a nest. Not just some pile of blankets, either. A real one. Built with care. Pillows fluffed and tucked around me, blankets layered soft and low, clothes that still smell like them scattered like scent markers. I don’t remember building it. I barely remember getting here. There are flashes—Gears holding me close, Acid cursing under his breath, Arrow's steady voice in my ear.

Marcus. God, Marcus. He actually saved me.

And then the heat hit full force. After that, everything went foggy. Touches, gasps, lips, voices. A blur of need and instinct and fire that wouldn’t stop burning. And now, everything aches. My thighs. My neck. Between my legs. I shift and feel the soreness right at the center of my core, deep and dull and entirely earned.

First heat in almost a decade. This one with alphas I actually care about. That thought hits harder than I expect. Knocks the breath out of my chest. I care about them.

Gears. Arrow. Acid.

They’re mine. My alphas.

It scares the hell out of me.

But Earl is dead. And I’m still breathing. So maybe it’s time I stop hiding from things that scare me. Maybe it’s time I start living.

Still, I refuse to stop killing.

That part of me isn’t going away. I’ve spent too long sharpening that skill to let it go dull. There are still alphas out there who deserve to bleed. Men and women who hurt omegas. Alphas who leave kids shaking in closets. I’ll keep tracking them. Hunting them. Ending them. And my alphas? They’re just going to have to learn to love a killer.

I shift gently, careful not to wake the three men tangled around me. Gears is curled against my back, one hand resting possessively on my hip. Arrow’s breath flutters over my collarbone. Acid has an arm slung across my legs like he plans to keep me anchored forever.

It would be easy to stay here.

But my body is stiff. My skin sticky. I need a minute to myself. Just a little space to come back to center.

I slip out from under them slowly, tiptoeing across the wooden floor. I spot the small door I clocked earlier and nudge it open, relieved when I see the sink through the crack. It’s a bathroom. Cramped and ugly, but it’ll do.

I step inside and close the door behind me, not bothering to lock it. We’re past that now. I pee first, sighing at the ache and the release, and then stand, turning on the shower. The pipes rattle a little, but the water runs warm enough when I test it with my hand.

When I step in, I brace both palms against the wall and let the spray hit my back. It feels good.

Blood. Slick. Tears. Scent. Guilt. Relief. Lust.

It runs down the drain, but it doesn’t leave me. Not really.

Because something is different now.

I’m not alone.

And I’m not running anymore.

I don’t turn around when I hear the door creak open. I already know it’s him. Acid’s scent fills the space behind me before I even feel his touch. I keep facing the wall, eyes closed, letting the water run down my back in a slow, steady stream.

He steps into the shower behind me like he belongs there, like there was never a world where he wasn’t pressed up against me. His arms slide around my waist, pulling me close, his chest solid and comforting against my spine. He leans down and presses a kiss to the curve of my shoulder. I hum at the touch, the sound low in my throat, and let myself melt against him.

“You okay?” he murmurs against my skin, voice quiet but heavy.

I nod, eyes still shut. “Yeah.”

He pauses. “You sure?”

The question sits heavy in the steam between us.

“More than sure,” I say. “I’m good. It was good. You three, you were respectful. You took care of me. That’s all I wanted.”

He hums softly, and I can feel the pride in it as much as I can hear it. “That’s what you deserve, Gidge.”

He takes his time helping me wash my hair, his fingers working through the tangles gently, like he’s scared to hurt me. Nobody’s ever done that for me before. Not like this. Not slow. Not careful. I stand there in silence, letting it happen, letting him touch me like I’m something fragile. Maybe I am right now. But not in a broken way. In a healing one.

When I turn around, his eyes meet mine, and neither of us speaks. I lift one leg and hook it over his hip. He catches me by the waist, steady and strong, and I sink down onto him, slow and easy. He fills me completely, but there’s no urgency this time. Just warmth. Just closeness. Just us.

He rests his forehead against mine, his breath mixing with mine in the steam. “I’m in love with you, Gidge,” he says, rough and real. “Every unhinged, murdery bit of you.”

My heart stutters. His words shouldn’t make me emotional, but they do. Maybe because I believe him. Maybe because I know how hard it is for someone like me to be loved at all. A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it, and he catches it with his thumb, brushing it away like it never happened.

“Say something,” he whispers. “Anything, Omega. I’m a little lost here. This is a first for me.”

“I love you too,” I rasp. It comes out hoarse and raw, like the words don’t know how to exist on my tongue yet. But I mean them. I mean them so much it hurts.

My body tenses, and I come with a cry. I try to bite back, but he kisses me, swallowing the sound. He holds me close, moving with me slow and deep, and I don’t want it to end. But when I pull away, I know what I want next.

“Mark me, Acid,” I whisper, breath shaking. “I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

His arms tighten around me, but his voice stays soft. “We don’t have to, Gidge. We’ve got time.”

“I want to,” I tell him, urgency creeping into my voice. “I want this to be real. To be forever. Mark me, Alpha.”

He doesn’t hesitate again. He lowers his head and sinks his teeth into the curve of my left shoulder, right at the collarbone. The pain is sharp, blooming hot under my skin, but it’s nothing compared to what it gives me…him.

I cry out as his knot locks inside me and the bond hums to life, full and unbreakable. I feel it settle into my bones, my blood, my heart. He licks the wound clean, sealing it, and I lean into him as the heat between us begins to fade.

We just stay like that, stuck together, not moving, like something deep inside us doesn’t want to let go. It’s more than just heat stuff or instinct. It’s...bigger. I don’t have the right words for it, but it’s there, and it’s real. His knot softens eventually, but I’m not ready to let go.

Before he can move, I wrap my arms around his neck and sink my teeth into the side of his neck, right where a hickey would go—but this one’s not fading. It’s deep enough to last. Permanent. Mine.

He groans, low and rough, his hands gripping my hips as I hold on, and when I pull back, I lick the mark to seal it.

The bond between us isn’t just a spark anymore—it’s alive. Loud. Real. One-third of me is locked in place.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

BRYDGETT

We step out of the shower, water still dripping off the ends of my hair and running down his chest. On the sink, I spot two piles of clothes: mine and Acid’s. Joggers and a tank for me. Jeans and a black T-shirt for him.

I raise an eyebrow, glancing between the bundles. “Who do you think snuck in and dropped these off?”

“One of the two of them,” Acid says, pulling his shirt on like it’s nothing. “Or maybe the shower fairy.”

I snort but say nothing else. I tug the joggers up my sore legs, wincing a little at the stretch, then pull on the tank. I’m still bare underneath, but whatever. It’s not like modesty exists in a nest after a heat.

When we walk out, the scent hits first—familiar and comforting, a mix of them, and now us. Gears and Arrow are on the mattress pad in nothing but their boxer briefs, sitting like they’ve been waiting for this moment all day.

Which, honestly? They probably have.

Both their heads turn when they see us.

“How ya feeling, Gidge?” Arrow asks, eyes scanning me like he’s checking for bruises or missing pieces.

“Good,” I say with a nod. “Great, actually.”

“You sure, Omega?” Gears chimes in. He sounds anxious, which is kind of weird coming from him. “This was your first heat with us. We tried to be respectful and not cross any lines. Next time we can, y’know, talk about kinks and stuff.”

I laugh. “You were amazing. I mean, from what I can remember. I felt safe. Taken care of. And I’m sore, so you must’ve done a good job.”

Acid wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me tight to his side like I’m something he just won in a game. “She’s also cleaned up and mine. Snooze, you lose, fuckers.”

I smack his chest, rolling my eyes. “Don’t be a smartass.”

He just chuckles, smug as hell.

Arrow raises a brow. “What are you on about?”

Acid doesn’t say a word. Just tilts his head and shifts so they can see it. The mark. Shimmery and iridescent, opal-toned where his skin broke under my teeth.

“You bonded?” Gears blurts out, eyes wide.

“Yup,” Acid says, grinning like he just won first place in a bar fight. “Gidge and I are official.”

“Gidge?” Arrow asks, voice lower now.

I sigh and slide my tank strap off my shoulder to show them the matching mark on my collarbone. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal?!” Gears shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re bonded!”

I shrug like it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing. It’s everything. Still, I can’t help poking at him. “Oh, calm down. If you’re done throwing a fit, maybe you’ll listen when I say I want you two to mark me, too. Right now.”

Arrow stares. “You’re sure?”

“I’m positive,” I tell him. “I’m done running. Done fighting. Fate gave you to me and well, you've kept me safe. You've cared for me, listened to me, respected me. Most importantly, you care about my son."

“We do,” Arrow says. “And we will. Always.”

“Promise me,” I whisper, locking eyes with both of them. “If we have kids of our own, Judge doesn’t become less. He doesn’t get pushed aside. He’s equal. I know it already, but I need to hear it.”

“Promise,” Arrow says without hesitation.

“Swear it,” Gears echoes.

“I told you I’d adopt him. We all did,” Acid pipes in. “He can have my last name or I’ll take yours. Whatever makes it legal. Whatever makes it real.”

My head jerks toward him, eyes wide. “You meant it? It wasn’t just something you said in the moment?”

“We meant every word.”

Something twists in my chest—tight, hot, terrifying in the best kind of way. I rise up on my toes and kiss him, and he meets me there, deep and solid, making me whimper into his mouth.

When we break apart, I glance back at the other two. “Alright. Arrow, you’re up first. Gears, since you threw a tantrum—and well, let’s be honest, you’ve been an asshole the longest—you get to go last.”

“Fuck,” Gears mutters. “You’re gonna give us hell forever, aren’t you, Omega?”

“Sure am.”

“I can’t wait,” Acid says, pulling me close and nuzzling my neck.

“Oh—and one more thing,” I add, giving them both a hard look. “I’m not gonna stop killing. Don’t ask. Don’t try. It’s not up for debate.”

Arrow chuckles. “Like we could.” He stands up slow, like he’s not sure if he should. His boxer briefs hang low on his hips, and he looks at me like I’m something he’s scared to reach for.

“You really want this?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah. I do.”

He takes a step forward, and the scent of him rolls over me. Plum and sandalwood. His scent’s already laced into the nest, but now it wraps around me in full force.

Acid steps away, giving us space, but I feel his presence still, heavy and warm just behind me. Gears doesn’t move. He watches like he’s holding his breath, eyes locked on me like he’s afraid he’ll miss something.

Arrow stops in front of me, so close I feel the heat radiating off him. He brushes a strand of damp hair off my cheek and cups my jaw in one hand. His thumb traces the edge of my mouth, then drops to my throat. His fingers rest right over my pulse.

“I’ve never claimed anyone,” he murmurs. “You’ll be my first. My only. It’s you I’ve been waiting for.”

I swallow. My throat works against his hand. “Then make it count.”

He leans in slowly, giving me time, his lips brushing over mine before he moves lower. He presses a kiss to my shoulder, then my collarbone, right below the mark Acid left.

He finds the spot between Acid’s claim and the base of my neck—right at the junction where it’s soft and vulnerable—and that’s where his mouth lingers.

I tilt my head without even thinking, giving him access. Just opening up for him. That’s all it takes. He bites me. Right there between Acid’s mark and my neck. His teeth sink in deep, not rushed, just solid and sure. I gasp and grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as my whole body shudders. It doesn’t feel like it did with Acid. This one’s different. Calmer. But strong in this quiet way. It settles into me slowly, almost like a heartbeat in my bones.

My legs go weak, like jelly, and I start to fall, but Arrow catches me before I can. He holds me close like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into my skin. “I’ve always got you.”

I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“Now, you hold still.”

He goes wide-eyed, and then I lunge.

I sink my teeth into his neck right where I marked Acid; just above his collarbone, where it’ll show. Deep enough to last. My scent floods the air again, mixing with his, thick and heady and complete. When I pull away, I lick over the mark, sealing it like instinct demands.

It’s done. Bond locked. Two out of three.

Arrow’s pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling fast. He stares at me like I just broke open something inside him.

“You okay?” I ask, brushing my thumb across the edge of my bite.

He swallows hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just—” He laughs once, soft and shaky. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

“Welcome to the club,” Acid mutters from behind us, but there’s no edge in his voice. Just pride.

I take a breath, chest full of heat and something bigger than heat.

“I meant what I said,” I tell them both. “This isn’t just instinct. This is choice. You’ve protected me. You’ve seen me. And now you’re mine.”

Arrow smiles, slow, like he’s barely holding it together.

“Yeah,” he says. “And you’re ours.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

GEARS

I don’t move right away.

I sit there like an idiot, watching the woman I’ve come to care about more than anything walk around marked and glowing, and all I can think is serves me right to be last. I was the one who held back the most. I was the one who gave her the cold shoulder, even when I wanted to touch her more than I wanted my next breath.

Arrow and Acid—they earned their marks already. I earned my place on my damn knees.

So that’s what I do.

I move over to her, heart beating as fast as a bee's wings, and drop down in front of her. Not like some big grand alpha move. No, this is different. I take her hands in mine, and I look her right in the eyes because she deserves that.

“I’m sorry, Brydgett,” I say.

She starts to talk; probably something smart-ass, like always, but I shake my head.

“Foo—”

“Let me finish,” I cut her off.

I take a breath, shoulders tense.

“I’m sorry I had my brothers take you and Judge. Sorry we tied you up in the basement like you were something to be contained. And most of all, I’m sorry I pushed Acid to hurt you. He could’ve said no, yeah, we all know that. But he follows my lead. I’m his brother. His president. His leader. And I led him wrong.”

Her hands twitch in mine, but she doesn’t pull away. That matters more than I can put into words.

“You were the first female we ever laid hands on that wasn’t a monster,” I say. “And you’re the last. I know you’ve moved on…you’ve shown us, shown me in your actions, but I need you to hear it from my mouth. For as long as I live, Brydgett, no harm will come to you. Not by my hand. Not by theirs. I will give my life to protect you and Judge. I swear it.”

She’s quiet for a second, and when I look up, her eyes are shining, but she’s holding it back. Tough to the end.

“I forgive you,” she says, and then she smirks, and damn if it doesn’t ease something in my chest. “Next time, just warn a girl if you wanna play rough.”

That makes me huff out a laugh. “Deal.”

She leans forward, presses her forehead to mine, and I breathe her in. That scent, jasmine and citrus, burns into my lungs, and my control slips. Not all at once. Not fast. But slow. Steady.

Like her choosing me gave me permission.

I look up at her still standing, all fire and strength and mine, and I reach for her waist. I tug gently, pulling her down so she’s on her knees with me. Eye to eye. No power games. No rank. Just us.

She lets me.

I bring my mouth to her neck, finding the spot just above Arrow’s mark. The last bit of untouched skin there that belongs to her and will belong to me. I kiss it first, because this matters. Because she matters. Then I sink my teeth in, deep and final.

Her body jerks when I bite her, and she grabs onto my shoulders like she’s gonna fall if I let go. I hold her steady. I want to hold her steady. The bond doesn’t slam into me all at once. It comes on slow. Warm and heavy. Like syrup moving through my veins. It’s sweet, but not soft. It’s strong. Real. It doesn’t hurt, it just settles in deep. Like it’s been waiting this whole time, and now it’s finally where it belongs. When I pull back, I taste her blood and scent on my tongue.

She’s mine.

And then she looks up at me with those wild, wicked eyes and says, “Your turn.”

Before I can answer, she’s lunging forward, teeth sinking into my neck, right where she marked my brothers. Same spot. Her spot. I grunt and hold still as her claim burns into my skin like a brand, and the bond flares again—stronger now. Like a final puzzle piece clicked into place.

She licks the mark once, sealing it.

And that’s it.

The bond is locked.

I rest my forehead against hers again, breathing hard.

“You really chose us,” I whisper.

She smiles. “I did.”

“Even after everything.”

“Because of everything,” she says.

And I believe her.

God help anyone who tries to take her from us now.

BRYDGETT

I sit between my alphas, my back resting against Acid’s chest, my hand still wrapped in Arrow’s, Gears to my right. There are three marks on my neck now. Acid’s. Arrow’s. Gears’. Each one still sore and pulsing.

And I’m happy. Really happy.

That shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does. I didn’t know I was missing anything. I thought I was fine on my own—me and Judge against the world, and that was enough. But now I know the truth. I was missing something. Someone. Three someones.

They’re mine.

And I’m theirs.

I glance down at my hands, then up at them, and it hits me all over again: I have something good. Something real. Something I never thought I’d get.

Before things can spiral into emotions I’m not ready to unpack, Gears grabs his phone off the mattress.

“We need to call some people before we get too distracted,” he mutters.

Arrow groans. “I wanna get distracted.”

“Same,” Acid grins, nuzzling my neck.

“Later,” Gears says. “I promise.”

He puts the phone on speaker and dials. It barely rings once before Ike’s voice booms through the speaker.

“Where the fuck have you assholes been? Where the fuck is my girl? She better be okay.”

I burst out laughing. “I’m alive, Ike. They got to me in time, but my heat hit, so we've been dealing with that."

“Jesus, Brydge. You sound good. What the hell happened? Don’t tell me—wait, no, don’t ever tell me. I knew you were alive because some idiot named Suave texted me. What the hell is with you guys and your weird-ass nicknames?”

“Ike?”

“Yeah, Brydge?”

I bite my lip. My heart thumps. “I officially claimed them. All three. We’re bonded.”

There’s silence. Then he exhales, shaky.

“Brydge, I’m so happy for you. And proud. Proud you followed your heart, not just your head—which, let’s be honest, is mostly led by a blade, I’m pretty sure.”

I laugh hard.

“Come visit. Please. Bring Jackie. I want you to meet my alphas properly. On my terms.”

“Okay, kid. We can do that. Just tell me when.”

“I need to get Judge home first. Then I’ll call.”

“Sounds good, Brydge.”

“I love you, Ike.”

“I love you too, Brydge. You and that boy are the best damn thing that’s ever happened to us.”

“Same,” I whisper.

“Bye, kid.”

“Bye.”

Gears hangs up and immediately dials Nitro next.

“All clear. You can head back,” he says. “Be home tomorrow morning.”

Then he calls his mom.

“Is Judge near you?” he asks.

“Of course,” she says, voice firm. “I haven’t let him out of my sight.”

“Put him on speaker,” Gears says.

“You’re live,” she answers.

“Judge, baby?” I say, voice cracking with how badly I miss him.

“Mom!” he shouts. “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay, baby. They got to me in time.”

“Bettie said your heat started. Are you okay? You’ve blocked it for a long time.”

I laugh, wiping at my eyes. “You’re too damn smart for your own good.”

“I gotta take care of you.”

“Not anymore, Judge. You’re a kid. That’s your job now. I’ve got something to tell you.”

“What?”

“I bonded Gears, Acid, and Arrow.”

“You did?!” He sounds excited.

“You okay with that?” I ask.

“Can I call Bettie grandma and Dillon aunt?”

“Yeah, honey. You can call me Grandma,” Bettie says. “Raiden? Orion? Titus?”

“Yeah, Mom…Bettie,” they say together.

“I’m so proud of you boys. And over the moon for you.”

“Thanks,” Gears mutters.

“You hurt her again or step out of line and I’ll get my wooden spoon back out. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they all say in unison.

I make a mental note to ask about that spoon situation later.

“You can come home now, Mom,” Gears says. “Nitro already knows. Pack up. Leave tonight. Be here by morning.”

“Oh, thank God. I miss my bed,” she sighs. “See you boys and my new daughter-in-law soon.”

We hang up.

I pick up my own phone and call Georgia next.

She answers on the first ring. “Brydge?”

“Hey,” I say. “Can you come by the clubhouse tonight? I want to talk to you and Marcus. In person.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll make sure he’s with me.”

“Thanks, Georgia. Love you.”

“Love you too, Sweetheart.”

I hang up and look at my alphas, who are all grinning at me like I hung the damn moon.

“So, now what?” I ask.

“Now,” Acid says, voice low and wicked, “we fuck our omega.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

BRYDGETT

Georgia and Marcus show up right around sunset. Georgia’s got that huge-ass purse she always carries and a plate of cookies she refuses to admit are store-bought. Marcus just walks in like he’s still not sure if he belongs.

We sit at the kitchen table. There’s a six-pack of beers cracked for my alphas, and Georgia and Marcus have lemonade in mismatched mugs.

She looks at me over the rim. “How you holding up, baby?”

“I’m good,” I say. “Actually, I’m great.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow, and Georgia’s already tearing up before I finish the next part.

“I bonded them,” I say, lifting my chin. “All three.”

Georgia full-on cries and comes around the table to hug me so tight I can barely breathe.

“Well, guess that means you’re moving out for good,” she sniffles.

“Yeah,” I nod. “Marcus, the place is yours for good.”

He looks a little stunned. “Thanks, Brydgett.”

But Gears speaks up, “We still have questions.”

Marcus doesn’t even flinch. “Ask them.”

“How did you find Gidge?” Gears says.

“I saw them carrying her out of the clubhouse,” Marcus says. “Once I made sure they hadn’t hurt Judge or your sister, I followed. I was a Ranger before I left the service. I used my tracking skills to find where they took her.”

“Why?” Gears narrows his eyes.

“Why what?” Marcus fires back.

“Why follow them alone instead of coming to us?”

“I care about Brydgett. About Judge,” he defends.

“If you cared so much,” Acid growls, “why didn’t you come get her alphas?”

Marcus slams his hand on the table. “Because I didn’t know if she was fully in. I didn’t know where she stood with you. I just wanted her safe.”

“You wanna fuck her?” Acid snaps.

“Absolutely not,” Marcus says immediately, looking horrified.

“What the hell, Marcus?” I shoot him a glare. “That’s rude.”

Marcus rubs a hand over his face. “Brydgett, I—I…”

“Spit it out.”

“When I got out of the service, I went home. Michigan.”

I freeze. “That’s where I’m from.”

“I know.”

“How?” My whole body is tight now. Ready.

He holds up a hand. “Just listen. I went home, started working odds-and-ends jobs for this little construction crew. One night, I saw one of those DNA ancestry ads. I always knew I was adopted. My parents—my adoptive dads—were amazing. I didn’t want to go digging until after they passed. But I did the test. Found out who my birth parents were. They were already gone. But I had a sister. She’d been adopted at fifteen.”

“Don’t.” My voice is a growl now.

“She was adopted by Tina and Earl Osbourne.”

“No.” I stand up so fast my chair scrapes back hard.

He stands too, hands raised but not close, not stupid. “You’re my little sister. I called in every favor I could. I found you. I didn’t know how to tell you. So I stayed close. I played homeless. I wanted to be near you. To watch your back. I figured Judge had to be from something bad; a single omega doesn’t just happen. I didn’t know what to do except protect you the only way I knew how.”

I don’t think. I move.

I walk those last steps and slap him across the face. Loud. Sharp. Everything in the room goes silent.

“Get out.”

“Brydgett—”

“I said get out. I need to process this. Right now, I’m thinking about stabbing the shit out of you. I want a DNA test to confirm it. But if you are my brother, I’d like to not kill my only living relative.”

His face crumbles, and he nods. “Okay,” he says quietly.

Georgia gives me a long look, then hugs me tight. She smells like cookies and old perfume. “Don’t stay mad, sweetheart,” she whispers. “He meant well. He’s a good one. And you know it. I’m proud of you, honey.”

“Thank you,” I mumble. She lets go and follows Marcus out.

The silence that fills the room after is heavy. Too still.

“You okay, Gidge?” Arrow asks.

“Yeah,” I say, too fast. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Not yet. I gotta work it out in my head.”

“Okay,” he says.

I exhale hard. “Can we eat? I want Thai.”

Acid smirks. “Yeah, Omega. We’ll get Thai.”

“We got other stuff to talk about anyway,” Gears adds, always business.

“Like what?”

“We can’t stay here,” he says. “We’ve got an omega. A kid. This is no place to raise a family. We need to start house hunting. We also need to discuss what your role is now, inside the club.”

I blink. “Just jumping into all of it, huh?”

“Yup.” Gears shrugs.

Arrow pulls out his phone and calls in the order to Thai Hut. I drop back into my chair as we start talking. Really talking.

“We want you in the club,” Acid says.

“That’s not exactly normal,” I point out.

Arrow shrugs. “So? It’s our club. You’re the Alpha Slayer. You can’t hold office, but we want you at Church. We want you in the loop. You deserve to know the plans. What’s happening.”

“Seems easy enough.”

Gears grins. “You need a road name.”

“Fuck no,” I shoot back.

“Gidge,” he says. “I think it fits.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

“They’re here.”

My chest gets all tight. Not the bad kind, not like panic. Just full. Like there’s too much in there and I can’t hold it all. Judge is here. My kid. My everything.

I rush to the door before anyone else can move, throw it open, and there he is, climbing out of Nitro’s truck with Bettie right behind him, one hand gripping his backpack, the other holding tight to the little stuffed Ghost Face he loves. He’s looking around, eyes sharp and searching, just like mine.

He sees me and takes off running.

“Mom!” he yells, arms wide.

I kneel down in the gravel and catch him, hugging him so tight I probably crush his ribs, but he doesn’t complain. He just buries his face in my neck and breathes me in.

“You smell different,” he says.

I laugh, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “I’m sure I smell like the alphas. I missed you, baby.”

He pulls back and looks up at me, his eyes searching mine. “You’re okay? Really okay?”

I nod, brushing his hair back. “Yeah. I’m good. Better than good.”

He glances past me then, toward where Gears, Arrow, and Acid stand. They’re not crowding or trying to take over, just standing there, waiting, watching. Letting him decide.

“You sure you’re happy I bonded them?”

He nods, slower this time. “Yeah. They protected you. And me. I like them.”

That alone nearly knocks me over.

Judge walks with me toward them, holding my hand tight like he doesn’t want to let go again. I don’t blame him. I don’t want to let go either.

When we step up, he gives all three of them a simple, “Hey.”

It’s casual, but his little smile says everything. He’s home. He knows it. He turns to Gears first, tilting his head. “Do I have to call you Prez now?”

Gears lets out a short laugh. “Nope. Gears is fine. Or whatever you’re comfortable with. Whatever works for you, kid.”

Judge nods like he’s satisfied with that answer, then glances at Acid next.

“So, while I was gone, I kinda repeated some of the stuff you said. And Bettie washed my mouth out with soap.”

Acid grimaces. “Shit—sorry. I mean shoot. I’m really sorry, kid.”

Judge shrugs. “It’s okay. I know better now. Mostly.”

I snort and Judge turns to Arrow last. Arrow crouches down, holding out a fist like it’s just part of their routine.

“Glad you’re home, man,” he says.

Judge bumps it, all cool like they’ve done it a hundred times before. Then he looks at all three of them.

“So, are you my dads now?”

My chest squeezes so tight I can barely breathe. My fingers dig into the back of his shirt before I even realize I’ve moved. Part of me wants to protect him from the answer, and the other part is begging for them to say yes.

“If you want us to be,” Gears says.

“We’d be proud to.” Arrow smiles.

“We’re not here to take over anything,” Acid adds. “We just wanna be what you need.”

Judge doesn’t say anything right away. He just stares at them, looking real serious, like he’s trying to figure this all out in his head first. Then he moves to Acid and hugs him. Arms locked around his middle like he means it. Like he trusts him. No fear. No hesitation.

“I need dads,” he says, voice small but steady.

Acid looks surprised for a second, then he wraps his arms around Judge real careful, like he’s afraid he’ll break him. Like he’s holding something precious and doesn’t wanna mess it up. Gears steps in next and folds them both up in his arms, and Arrow isn’t far behind. The three of them just surround him. My kid. Holding him like he’s theirs too.

I take a step back without even thinking, just so I can look at them all together. Judge in the middle of them, safe and happy.

My son. My pack. All in the same place at the same time.

Judge looks over his shoulder at me, and he’s grinning, nose wrinkled, eyes squinty.

“I wanna stay forever,” he says.

I feel my throat close up, but I push the words out anyway. “You will,” I tell him. “You’re home now.”

Bettie’s apartment smells like garlic and onions and something warm I can’t name but somehow already love. Bettie took over the kitchen the second we all came back inside. Didn’t ask. Didn’t wait. Just rolled up her sleeves and told us to get the hell out of her way.

I didn’t argue. None of us did.

Judge sits on the counter, legs swinging, helping her and sneaking bits of cheese when she’s not looking. The guys are scattered around the room, talking low, relaxed in a way I haven’t seen yet. Like something finally clicked into place.

Dillon’s standing at the counter beside Judge, peeling potatoes badly…like, murder-the-potato kind of bad, and ranting about how unfair it is that she’s not allowed to own a flamethrower.

“Seriously,” she says. “Just imagine the possibilities.”

“You’re banned from lighters, Dillon,” Arrow mutters without looking at her.

“That was one time, and that dumpster needed to burn,” she snaps back, flicking a potato peel at him.

Judge laughs so hard he snorts, and I swear Bettie mumbles a prayer under her breath.

Dinner’s ready not long after. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls that are probably from the store, but Bettie put butter and garlic on them, so they’re officially magic.

We eat around the long kitchen table. The pack. My kid. My boys. Bettie. Dillon, who technically just became my sister-in-law, which is wild to think about. She’s Judge’s aunt now. We’re a whole ass family, apparently.

We eat around the table, and it’s not awkward or weird. It just feels easy. Normal.

“So,” Bettie says, pouring herself a glass of wine. “What’s the plan for school?”

I look at Judge, who’s shoving another forkful into his mouth. “He starts Monday,” I say. “Acid took care of it all before everything went to hell.”

“You nervous?” Dillon asks him, nudging his arm.

“A little,” he admits. “But it’s just a regular school, right?”

I nod. “Yup. No big deal.”

Arrow leans forward. “We’ll be around. You need anything, you call.”

“Or shout really loud,” Acid adds.

Gears gives him a look. “We’re not giving him a panic button.”

“Disappointing,” Dillon mutters, stealing a green bean from Acid’s plate like it’s hers. He lets her.

“What about moving out?” Bettie asks, real casual as she stabs a piece of meatloaf. “You guys actually leaving the clubhouse?”

“Yeah,” Acid says. “Soon. We’re gonna start looking for a place this week.”

“We want somewhere quieter,” Gears adds. “With space for him. For her.”

“For all of us,” Arrow says, squeezing my knee under the table.

“Boooooring,” Dillon fake coughs.

“Go live in a treehouse, then,” Acid tells her.

“I would,” she shoots back. “I’m still mad you guys wouldn’t let me live in the weapons shed.”

“It’s not a studio apartment, Dillon,” Arrow sighs.

I smirk and stab a bite of potato. This is chaos. But it’s mine.

“I’m staying here,” Bettie says, cutting through the noise. “The clubhouse is where I feel closest to your daddy. He built this with his hands. Every corner reminds me of him.”

“We understand,” Gears says. “This’ll always be your home.”

“Yup,” Acid agrees. “You’re welcome to come over anytime.”

“I will and you better bring Judge to visit,” she adds, pointing her fork at me like a warning.

“I plan on it,” I say.

Judge is grinning like an idiot. Dillon’s teasing him about school outfits and demanding he wear matching socks so she doesn’t get “family shame.” Arrow's trying not to laugh, and Acid’s pretending not to be proud of his little chaos twin across the table.

We finish eating slowly. Nobody’s in a rush to get up. Gears talks to Judge about bikes. Arrow shows Dillon how to properly crack her knuckles, which is disgusting and somehow bonding. Acid keeps sneaking food from my plate, but I let him.

And for the first time, everything feels right.

I didn’t know this was what I needed.

But now that I have it?

I’m never letting it go.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

GEARS

The apartment quiets down after dinner. Judge’s already passed out on the couch with a blanket over him, head on Mom’s lap. Arrow’s flipping channels on the TV with the volume low, and Acid’s cleaning his damn boots for no reason, like he doesn’t know how to sit still when something’s on his mind.

Brydgett’s standing in the kitchen, rinsing a glass, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing one of my shirts. And shit, mine feels different now. Because she is. Bonded. Marked. Ours.

But tonight I want her to myself.

I cross the room slowly, giving Arrow and Acid a look that says back off, and step behind her, resting a hand on her waist. She tenses for a second, just a breath, and then relaxes against me.

“Come sleep in my room tonight,” I whisper.

She tilts her head to glance at me, eyes soft and curious. “You sure?”

I nod. “Yeah. I need this.”

Arrow groans from the couch. “Ugh, seriously?”

Acid throws his rag down. “You’re lucky we like you, Gears.”

“She’s mine too,” I remind them.

“She’ll be all of ours again once we’re in the house,” Arrow says. “We’ll sleep together every damn night.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Acid mutters. “Let the man have his turn.”

I lead her back to my room. It’s quieter here. Still. The kind of quiet where I can hear myself think. Not that I’m doing much thinking right now. Everything in me is focused on her. My omega. Mine. She steps in like she owns the space. Like she’s not second-guessing anything. And maybe that’s what floors me most. How damn right she looks standing here. In my shirt. In my space.

She doesn’t wait for instructions. Doesn’t fidget or act shy. She just walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, like she knows exactly what I want. And hell, maybe she does. The bond’s humming between us: loud, steady, undeniable.

I drop to my knees in front of her, same as I did when I claimed her. My hands rest on her thighs, heat soaking through the cotton. My voice comes out low and rough.

“I want tonight to be just us.”

She threads her fingers into my hair, slow and sure, like she’s known me a hundred years. “Then take me, Alpha.”

I don’t need to be told twice.

I lean in and kiss her. Not tentative. I kiss her like I’ve been starving, and she’s the only thing that’ll fix it. She melts into me, mouth parting, breath catching. My hands slide under my shirt and I push it up over her head. Every inch of skin revealed makes my chest ache with something primal. Something that says protect her, claim her, keep her.

I kiss down her neck, across her collarbone, and land right where my mark sits beside Acid’s and Arrow’s. It’s still healing, but it’s mine. A piece of her soul carved out for me. I nip it, not hard, just enough to feel her shiver. Her breath hitches.

My hands slide down to her hips and I take my time removing the leggings and lacy panties she has on. Her perfume hits me like a punch: sweet and sharp, and all omega and mine.

I push her thighs apart, exposing her glistening cunt. She gasps and the sound sends a thrill through me. Leaning forward, I inhale her scent like it’s the oxygen I need to breathe before diving in, my tongue flicking through her folds with urgency.

Her back arches as I feast on her, each lap of my tongue drawing desperate cries from her lips. I lose myself in the pleasure I’m giving her. She grips my hair.

“Gears,” she breathes, desperation in her tone.

Just when I feel her about to come, I stand up, locking eyes with her and smirk.

“Asshole,” she hisses. “Get back down there.”

I chuckle. “I want you to come on my cock, Omega.”

I undress quickly and when I’m finally bare before her, I position my tip at her entrance and drive inside of her. She wraps around me like a vise and we groan at the feeling.

I’m buried all the way inside her, and it’s like nothing else exists. She’s so warm, so tight, it almost knocks the breath out of me. When she moans, it shoots straight down my spine. I pull back and slam into her again, harder. The sound of us echoes in the room and I growl without meaning to, completely lost in how good she feels.

“Take it,” I command, driving deeper still, relishing in the way she clenches around my shaft. Her cries turn into desperate whimpers, and I can feel her nearing the edge again.

I lean back, my fingers finding their way to her sensitive clit. I strum it roughly, matching the pace of my thrusts with an intensity that has her gasping for breath. “Come for me, Gidge,” I demand.

Her eyes roll back and she lets out this half cry, half scream as she falls apart underneath me. Her whole body shakes, and I can feel her squeeze around me; it nearly knocks the control right out of me. I lose it. There’s no holding back now.

With one final thrust, I push my knot inside her, tying us together as I release inside of her. My seed floods her, marking her completely as mine. The world fades away; it’s just us in this moment of raw connection.

We’re both still catching our breath, the pleasure still rolling through us. I watch her face, and the look she gives me hits me hard. It’s more than just sex. It’s us. All of it. I lean down and kiss her, slow and deep, wanting to keep her close, to hold on to this feeling as long as I can.

She blinks up at me, dazed and soft, her fingers dragging slowly along my jaw. Still knotted, still joined, still mine. I shift gently and lift her like she weighs nothing. Her arms loop around my neck without a word, her forehead resting against my cheek as I carry her to my side of the bed. The spot where I sleep, the space no one else ever touches.

I sit down with her still in my lap, her legs wrapping around my waist. I lay back with her still on top of me, then roll us carefully onto our sides. We’re face to face now, still locked together. Her hand finds my chest, fingers curling into the hair there. She smiles before letting out a soft yawn.

“Sleep, Gidge. I got you.”

She hums, almost too quiet to hear. “I love you.”

Her words hit me hard. I kiss her gently right over the curve where my mark will always sit.

“I love you too, Gidge.”

She exhales, relaxed completely now, and within seconds she’s out, her breathing slow and even.

I hold her close, my knot still locked tight, and close my eyes with a smile I don’t even try to fight.

I wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of knuckles rapping on my door. Brydgett’s still curled up against me, her leg thrown over mine, her breath warm on my throat.

There’s another knock, louder this time.

“What?” I grunt, not moving.

The door cracks open, and Arrow steps in like he owns the place, a coffee mug in each hand and that smug look on his face that means he’s about to be a problem.

“Morning, lovebirds,” he says, walking in like it’s nothing.

Gidge stirs against me, blinking slowly. She doesn’t pull away. She stretches like a damn cat, sighing against my chest before sitting up just enough to see him.

“Is that coffee?” I grumble.

He raises one brow. “Yeah. Brought her some.”

“And where the hell’s mine?”

Arrow shrugs. “You don’t suck dick as good as she does.”

Gidge cackles, straight-up chokes on air, and grabs the mug from him before I can throw a pillow across the room.

“He’s not wrong,” she says, snorting as she takes a long sip.

“Traitor,” I mutter, glaring.

“Mmmm,” she hums, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

Arrow freezes. Like freezes freezes. His whole face changes, that cocky smirk wiped clean in a blink.

“What?” she asks, tilting her head.

“You’ve never said you loved me before,” he says, voice suddenly way too soft for a man who just made a blowjob joke.

“I haven’t?”

“Nope.”

She shrugs and smiles. “Well, surprise.”

Arrow lets out a laugh and leans down, catching her mouth with his. He doesn’t kiss her softly; nah, he goes straight for it, sucking on her tongue like he’s claiming every damn inch of her right there in front of me.

“I love you too,” he mutters against her lips.

I roll my eyes. “Can y’all save the mushy shit ‘til after I’ve had caffeine?”

Brydgett flips me off without looking.

Arrow grins against her mouth.

And I gotta admit, even through the roasting and chaos, something about this feels damn right.

Arrow finally stops sucking face with Gidge long enough to sit his smug ass down on the edge of my bed.

“We need to talk about Marcus,” he says, like he’s easing into it, but I know that tone. He’s not gonna let it drop.

Brydgett growls low in her throat, the sound more feral than annoyed. “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” he says. “He was your friend. Now, he’s apparently your brother. And yeah, he should’ve told you, but he also saved you. He cares about you, Gidge. He fucked up, but you can’t cut him out forever.”

I can see the fight still flickering behind her eyes, but she’s listening.

Arrow takes a sip from his mug. “Plus, we were thinking about asking him to join The Renegades.”

Brydgett’s whole face scrunches like she just bit into a lemon. “Fucking traitors.”

“Sexy fucking traitors,” Arrow grins, the asshole.

I snort.

She narrows her eyes at both of us but groans. “Fine. I’ll call him today and ask him to come talk.”

Arrow lifts his brows like he didn’t think she’d fold that fast. “You will?”

“But I want Acid there when I do.”

“Why Acid?” I ask.

She turns her head toward me, smiling that evil little omega smile.

“Because he won’t stop me if I stab him. Just a little.”

Arrow barks out a laugh, and even I can’t help the grin that pulls at my mouth. This is Brydgett. Our omega. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Ours.

God help Marcus.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

BRYDGETT

I find Acid out back, leaning against the clubhouse wall, like he’s waiting for something to explode, or maybe for someone to try him so he can start the explosion himself. He’s got a cigarette in his mouth, boots crossed at the ankle, sunglasses on even though the sky’s cloudy.

“Hey,” I say, walking out barefoot, coffee in hand.

He doesn’t look at me right away. Just shifts slightly, like he knew I was coming. “You call him yet?”

I shake my head. “Wanted you there.”

“Thought so.” He finally turns his head and smirks. “You look well fucked, by the way. Real pretty, just slightly unhinged.”

I take a sip and flip him off. “Thanks. You coming in for the call or what?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He stretches like a cat and then nudges my shoulder as we head back inside. “You gonna stab him?”

“Maybe just a little.”

He grins. “Good. I’ll bring a towel.”

Inside, I grab my phone and plop down on the couch. Acid drops beside me, one leg bouncing, his energy already too damn much. I hesitate, staring at Georgia’s name in my contacts.

“You want me to hit dial for you?” Acid asks, eyebrow raised.

“No.” I click it myself before I can overthink. It rings once. Twice.

She answers on the third ring. “Brydgett?”

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Can you go across the hall and tell Marcus I want to speak to him?”

There’s a pause. Not long. Just enough to make me think she’s debating whether to ask questions.

“Alright,” she says gently. “Give me a minute.”

The line goes quiet for a beat or two, and then I hear a door creak and some muffled voices: Georgia’s, then his.

His voice comes through, a little breathless, like he jogged over. “Brydgett?”

My hand tightens around the phone like it might jump out of my grip. Acid watches me but stays quiet, just there, steady and annoying like always.

“Yeah,” I say, steadying myself. “It’s me.”

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks fast, too fast. “I’ve been waiting—hoping you’d⁠—”

“Don’t push it,” I snap. “I’m not calling to cry and hug it out. But I’m calling. So shut up and listen.”

“…Okay.”

I lean back into the couch, eyes locked on a crack in the ceiling. “You were my friend. And now you’re claiming you’re my brother. You dropped that like a bomb. You should have told me sooner. And yeah, I’m still pissed.”

“I know,” he says, quiet now. “I deserve that.”

“But,” I force out, “you saved me. And you looked after Judge. So I’m not cutting you out. Yet.”

Acid grins and mouths yet like he’s proud of me.

“I want you to come talk. In person. Tonight.”

“Yeah. Of course,” Marcus says. “I’ll be there.”

“And Marcus?”

“Yeah?”

“Acid’s gonna be there. So if I stab you,” I say sweetly, “he’s gonna let me.”

Acid salutes from the couch.

Marcus sighs. “Yeah. I figured.”

“Good,” I say, and hang up.

I drop the phone onto my lap and exhale like I’ve been holding my breath since the minute I found out.

Acid slaps my knee once. “Proud of you, Omega.”

“Shut up.”

He grins. “Still proud, though.”

The knock on the door is too soft and polite to be one of the brothers.

Acid glances at me. “You want me to get it?” he asks.

“No. I got it.”

I cross the room and open the door. Marcus stands there, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, eyes unsure. His shoulders are tight, like he’s bracing for me to hit him already.

“Come in,” I say, stepping aside.

He walks in, and Acid stays right where he is, arms crossed, silent but sharp. Marcus nods at him but doesn’t say anything.

I sit on the edge of the armrest, Acid leans against the wall like a damn vulture, and Marcus sits in a chair across from me. The space between us feels like miles.

“You didn’t have to call,” Marcus says finally. “But I’m glad you did.”

“Don’t push it,” I reply.

He nods again, jaw tight. “I just—-I want to explain.”

“I don’t need an explanation. I need the truth.”

“That is the truth,” he says. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to just drop it on you and mess up what we had. You trusted me.”

“And then you didn’t give me a choice,” I snap. “You let me walk around thinking you were just some guy living in the alley. I fed you. I gave you my fucking apartment. Not family. Not blood.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s on me.”

Acid finally speaks up. “You know what else is on you? Playing homeless instead of just saying something.”

“I didn’t know if she’d want me in her life,” Marcus says. “Not with everything she’s been through. I figured staying close was better than losing her completely.”

My hands tighten in my lap.

“And what if I’d died before you said anything?” I ask, voice quieter now. “You would’ve just carried that around? Never said a damn word?”

His face twists. “I don’t know.”

“Look,” I sigh. “You saved me. You helped keep Judge safe. You were there when you didn’t have to be.”

“I always had to be,” he says, voice thick. “You’re my sister.”

There’s a beat of silence. Acid shifts just enough that I feel his presence beside me, calm but ready.

“Like I said on the phone, I’m not forgiving you…yet.”

Marcus nods. “I don’t expect you to.”

“I meant what I said about not cutting you out, either.”

His breath catches. “Okay.”

“But if you ever lie to me again…” I look him dead in the eye. “I will stab you.”

Acid raises a hand. “I can confirm. She will.”

Marcus gives this crooked, pained smile. “That’s fair.”

“Good,” I say, leaning back finally. “We’re making progress.”

I let the silence hang for a few more seconds before I push off the armrest.

“You hungry?” I ask.

Marcus blinks. “What?”

“Dinner. You staying for it?”

He sits a little straighter. “Uh…if that’s okay?”

I glance at Acid. He shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him, but I can tell he’s paying close attention. Always is. Watching everything, reading the room even when he pretends he’s not.

“It’s fine,” I say, heading toward the kitchen. “Judge will want to see you, anyway.”

The second I say his name, Marcus shifts again. Softer this time. His whole damn expression changes, and it hits me that maybe it was never just about me. Maybe he’s been watching over Judge this whole time, too. Another layer of guilt or duty—whatever it is, it’s there.

Bettie’s at the stove, some kind of stew simmering in the pot. She gives me a once-over and then notices Marcus behind me. Her brow lifts, but she doesn’t say anything right away.

“He’s staying for dinner,” I say simply.

She nods once. “Alright then. Table’s big enough.”

Judge comes barreling in from the back hallway, socks sliding across the floor. “What smells—” He stops short when he sees Marcus. “Hey! You’re back!”

Marcus smiles, and for the first time since walking in, it looks real. “Hey, kid.”

Judge crosses the room and fist-bumps Marcus without hesitation, like he’s just another familiar face in his world. Then he looks up at me.

“Is he eating with us?”

“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice light. “He’s earned it. Mostly.”

Acid snorts and cracks open a beer from the fridge. “Barely.”

Dinner pulls itself together fast after that. Bowls clatter, stew gets ladled out, and I glance around, realizing someone’s missing.

“Where’s Dillon?” I ask, stirring my bowl.

Marcus hums but doesn’t answer, too busy with a mouthful of stew. Honestly, I can’t blame him, Bettie’s a damn good cook and I’m not about to interrupt the man’s meal.

Bettie answers instead, sliding a plate across the table. “She’s eating out with a friend tonight.”

Acid grunts without looking up, “Better have bail money ready.”

Judge laughs and nearly chokes on his bread. I shake my head and smirk.

Marcus finally swallows. “She seemed normal enough to me.”

“That’s your first mistake,” Acid mutters, jabbing his spoon into his bowl.

I roll my eyes.

Judge settles between me and Marcus, scooting closer to him every time he gets excited about something. They talk about school and comics and how Marcus used to be in the Army.

“You really were?” Judge asks, wide-eyed.

“Yeah,” Marcus says, smiling down at him. “A long time ago.”

Judge just nods like that’s the best answer in the world and starts digging into another roll.

I lean back in my chair, stew warming my hands, and glance at Marcus. “You wanna tell him?”

Marcus hesitates for a second, then looks at Judge. “Actually, there’s something you should know.”

Judge pauses, roll halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“You know how I said I cared about you and your mom? It’s because, well, I’m your uncle. Your mom’s my sister.”

Judge blinks. Looks at me. Then back at Marcus. “Really?”

“Really,” I say, setting my spoon down. “I found out the night we got back. Right after Marcus helped me. I was pissed. Still kind of am. But we’re talking it out. Figuring it out.”

Judge sits with that for a second, chewing slowly, like he’s trying to process all of it. Then he grins.

“Cool.”

I blink. “That’s it? Just cool?”

He shrugs, totally unbothered. “I’m really liking our family growing. Maybe Ike and Jackie can move closer, too.”

My throat goes tight, thick with emotion. Acid’s hand brushes against mine under the table, grounding me. This time, I reach back.

Marcus catches my eye. Just once. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t push.

And I nod. Not forgiveness. But a start.

The table starts to quiet down as bowls empty and stew settles warm in our bellies. The laughter fades a little, leaving just silence. Gears clears his throat.

Marcus looks up, and Gears shifts forward, elbows on the table. “We had an idea,” he says, voice steady, “one that’d keep you close to Gidge and your, uh, nephew.”

Marcus raises a brow. “I’m listening.”

“Well,” Gears says, “we’re getting ready to start house hunting. It’s time to move out. Which means rooms here at the clubhouse are gonna be open.”

Marcus nods slowly.

“So,” Gears continues, “we were wondering if you’d have any interest in joining the Renegades.”

Marcus blinks. “Become a biker?”

“Yeah,” Gears says.

Marcus leans back, arms folded. “I don’t think I’m cut out for the bitch work your low men do. I did enough of that in the service.”

“Consider being our brother-in-law an advantage.” Gears smirks. “You’d skip prospecting. Go straight to patched in.”

Marcus is quiet for a beat. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Acid says, incredulous. “That’s it? We ask you to join the club, knowing full well what we do, and it’s just fine?”

Marcus shrugs. “If it gets me time with my sister and nephew, I’ll do it. Plus, I like it here. Little loud, but I’ll deal.”

Arrow lets out a low laugh and Gears nods. “Alright, then. First order from your president. We got a whore we need you to drop off at another chapter.”

Marcus stiffens. “You trade women?”

“Not like that,” Gears says fast. “She laid hands on our omega. And while Gidge whipped her ass,” he nods toward me, “we’re not keeping her here. She was told—leave voluntarily or be tossed. She chose to go.”

“And the trade?”

“Another chapter’s sending one of theirs,” Arrow explains. “Willingly. Fresh start. Stacy’s hoping she’ll still land an Ol’ Man over there.”

“When did all this go down?” I ask, turning to Gears.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I put Suave on it while we were handling your heat.”

I stare at him for a second, then lean over and kiss him slowly. “I love you.”

Gears grins. “You better.”

I smirk. “I love all three of you.”

They murmur it back like a prayer, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Judge, of course, chooses that moment to fake a gag and make a face. “Gross.”

Marcus chuckles. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go outside. You can show me how good you’re getting at catching a ball.”

“Okay,” Judge says with a shrug, already pushing his chair back.

I watch him go, heart squeezing tight. “Watch him,” I mumble.

Marcus glances back, eyes warm. “With my life.”

SIX MONTHS LATER

BRYDGETT

The first one had carpet in the bathroom. The second didn’t have a backyard, just a sad patch of weeds and a broken swing. The third house smelled like lemon cleaner and staged lies.

But this one?

This one was it.

Five bedrooms. Huge backyard. A damn guest house in the back, too. Close enough to the clubhouse that we can still roll out when needed, but far enough that Judge won’t hear things he shouldn’t. It’s got enough space for Bettie when she wants to visit, or for Dillon to crash when she inevitably burns a bridge and swears she’s running away again. Hell, maybe even Ike and Jackie could visit for longer stretches.

And yeah… enough rooms for us. And Judge. And the other three kids the guys keep trying to talk me into.

They think I don't know what they’re doing, talking about names, making eyes at me whenever I hold a baby, pretending not to care that I keep checking my calendar like I'm not plotting this whole thing down to the second.

I did love being pregnant. There’s just the matter of pushing out three more kids from my lady garden. Doesn’t exactly sound like a walk in the park. But after seeing them with Judge… Arrow helping him with his math, Acid teaching him how to ride that dirt bike they totally didn’t ask me permission to buy, and Gears walking him to school every morning like a damn watchdog… yeah, they won’t have to twist my arm too hard.

One for each alpha. That’s the plan.

Which means, when we’re ready, we’ll need a DNA test system in place. Only the ones who haven’t made a baby get to finish inside me. I’m nothing if not organized.

The realtor hands over the keys, beaming like she built the house herself. I thank her, still grinning, then frown when I realize I haven’t seen Judge in a bit.

“Judge?” I call out, scanning the yard. “Where are you?”

He comes running around the corner, face lit up like he already owns the place.

“Just checking out the yard,” he says. “I think we could get a pool. And a trampoline.”

I laugh. “We’ll talk about it.”

Then he grins even wider. “You should probably turn around now, Mom.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why?”

“Just do it,” he says, bouncing on his toes.

I turn.

And there they are.

Gears, Arrow, and Acid, on one knee, all three of them like the damn Avengers of bad decisions. Gears is holding a ring box, and I immediately tear up. He speaks first.

“You’re ours. You’ve always been ours. You’re smart, savage, dangerous, and absolutely the love of our lives.”

Arrow continues, “You make us better. Even when you’re threatening to stab us.”

Acid smirks. “Especially when you’re threatening to stab us.”

Then Gears pops the box open and my breath leaves my body.

The ring isn’t dainty or sweet. It’s black metal, kind of matte and rough-looking, twisted like barbed wire into a circle. Right in the middle is a blood-red stone, not shiny or perfect. It looks like dried blood, but pretty. Somehow.

I catch something carved on the inside of the band, just a flash of it. I’ll check later, but knowing them, it probably says something like Ours. Always. No backsies.

It doesn’t look like it came from a jewelry store. It looks like it was pulled off a body in the middle of a crime scene. It’s dark. A little wrong.

Exactly right. Exactly me.

“Say yes, Omega. Make it official.”

I don't even pretend to hesitate. “Yes.”

Judge screams and jumps up and down like it’s Christmas morning and he’s just been adopted by a biker gang. Then Gears reaches behind him and grabs a box I didn’t even notice before. He opens it, and my mouth falls open.

Two leather jackets.

One in my size. One kid-sized.

Both have the Renegades logo across the back, stitched in blood-red thread.

And underneath?

Property of Gears, Arrow, Acid.

Gidge.

Judge.

Judge throws his on so fast I think he might pass out from excitement.

“This is so fucking cool.”

“Judge!” I snap, still clutching my jacket.

“Sorry, Mom,” he mumbles, but he’s grinning so hard I can see every tooth in his head.

I slide mine on and give it a spin, just to show off. It fits like it was made for me. Maybe it was.

“So damn sexy,” Gears growls, eyes dark.

“I want you in that and nothing else tonight,” Acid says.

“Ditto,” Arrow smirks.

I bite my bottom lip and smile like I just got away with murder. “Done.”

Because this? This is the life I didn’t even know I wanted. A pack. A kid. A future.

A home. And I’m claiming every damn inch of it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cassie resides in Northern Illinois on a farm with her husband and six kids. When not writing, she can be found reading, chauffeuring her kids around, or showing pigs. Cassie is a huge advocate for foster care and adoption. Enjoys a good horror movie, dark romance, and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. You can find her sitting on her front porch enjoying watching her kids play while she writes. She has an English bulldog named Daisy, a Husky named Sky, along with Aurora the ferret who she will go to war for. Let’s not forget a ton of chickens, goats, and horses. 

Cassielein.com

All the Books Here

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First I have to thank Chad my husband for supporting this dream no matter what. You were there from beginning to end supporting me and pushing me to keep it going. To our kids' Faith, Ro, Mario, Marshon, Sutton, and Georgia. (Ya'll probably thought I was kidding about six kids huh?) Thank you! Thank you for letting me type away while you entertained yourselves and I said a billion times I'm working. Thank you for helping to wrangle your younger siblings when I couldn't. I love you all so much!

To myALPHA/ BETA readers, you all are the bomb! Loving this story as much as me and really making it what it is today.

My ARC readers, what can I say you guys rock. I’m blessed to have each and every one of you. The majority of you have been with me since the beginning. Here are too many more books together.

To my broadcast channel, Thank you all for sharing my books and pimping me out. It means the world to me and I love each and every one of you.

Lastly, to my readers, I appreciate all of you. Without you, I’d still be just playing these stories out in my head. It is your support and enjoyment of reading our work that keeps me going.

ALSO BY CASSIE LEIN

Check out all her books here 

Holiday Heart Series

Christmas Cupid

Vacation Valentine

Summer Sweethearts

Hell’s Mayhem MC (Illinois)

Steel

Beyond the Pack Series w/Bre Rose (Complete)

Rise of the Alpha

Destroying the Alpha

Claiming Her Alpha

The Outlaws Duet w/ Bre Rose

All on the Field

All or Nothing

Shifters of Myth & Legend w/ Bre Rose

Fangs & Freaks

Wild Thorn Ranch w/ Alisha Williams 

Marshall

Wyatt & Weston

Murder and Mayhem Omegaverse

Shattered Omega

Entangled Beta

Standalones

Up In Smoke

Wild Child w/ Alisha Williams 

Scarlett w/Alisha Williams

Trapped By Beauty w/ Alisha Williams

Hooves & Heartstrings w/ Alisha Williams

My Soul For Sale

Sin Wagon

The Final Straw

Swipe Right for Orcs

Toxic B!tch

Suck Marry Kill

Forbidden Mischief w/ Alisha Williams

Under the pen name G.P. Darling (Cowrite with 2 friends)

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