Page 11 of Reckless: Collision

That is absolutely on me.

I accept that, and I do feel awful about it.

But at the same time, my chest burns with the truth of why I did it. I’m out here trying to save my own kind—betas who keep getting mysteriously ill after we shut down those trafficking rings. The ones Sterling Labs swoops in totreat. The ones everyone else seems content to write off as coincidence.

I’m living a catch-22.

What I’m most upset about is hurting Willow.

She stands at the front of the conference table, her big cushy chair pushed in, palms pressed against the polished surface, head hanging down. She looks defeated. Broken. And I did that. I put that look on her face with my reckless need to rush in and save everyone.

Hell, the drive in my pocket weighs heavy, a constant reminder. The same drive that proves Sterling Labs isn’t just treating sick betas—they’re creating them. And sharing my last name with them isn’t feeling like such a coincidence anymore.

My ears begin to buzz, and I swear I can feel my heart pulsing in my head as everyone in the room shouts around me. The words blur together into a symphony of disappointment and rage.

I need to get out of here.

Tossing the drive on the table, I abruptly stand. All around me, the shouting stops. My bestie Aria looks up, her eyes tired and red-rimmed. Not from crying—no, just because she’s been up all night cleaning up my mess. Again. At the head of the table, her mate Malachi looks at me with those soulful eyes of his, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

“Ladies’ room.” I clear my throat and head for the door. Everyone’s eyes follow me as I walk away. I can feel their stares burning between my shoulder blades, but I keep my head held high as I exit the sterile room and step into the hallway.

Out here, I finally let the air escape my lungs.

Puritan Alpha Security headquarters. It’s a brand new space, clean and smelling of fresh paint and money. Lucky me being a beta—I can’t smell the overpowering pheromones I know everyone else is drowning in.

“Fuck, where the hell is the bathroom?” I run my hands through my long red hair and twist it over my shoulder. “Right or left. Right or left.”

I dart left, taking a chance. My bare feet slap against the tile flooring because fuck shoes. They’re a social construct anyway, just like my impulse control. As I round a corner, I spot the signs for the bathrooms.

Alpha, Beta, and Omega bathrooms.

I have no idea if that was Malachi’s choice, but at the end of the day, it was still a choice. One that makes my blood boil.

Look, I love Aria. She’s my best friend, and I adore her and her pack of alphas and omegas. But this segregation bullshit? It’s exactly what lets Sterling Labs treat betas like we’re disposable. Like we’re somehow worth less than everyone else.

Today I’m an alpha.

I slam through the alpha bathroom door.

It’s... not at all what I expected. Spacious. Each stall is like a little room of its own. None of which I actually need to use. I just need a sink to fill with water to drown myself in.

Not really. But the guilt is now spreading through my veins like poison, and I don’t know how to handle that shit.

There are a few sinks along one wall, so I head there and turn the cold water on full blast, hanging my head as the words from the meeting room echo through my mind.

“You put everyone in that building in danger!”

“Sterling Labs’ security isn’t like other corporations!”

“Banned.”

“Do you know what they do to people who hack them?”

“Beta lives are at stake!” I tried to argue. No one cared.

“How could you not think through your actions?”

“You’ve gone too far this time. Too damn far.”

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