Page 87 of Unhinged
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 headedto 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.”
