Page 16 of Reckless: Collision

I take the seat directly across from Malachi, Finn sliding in at my right with the kind of fluid grace that reminds me why he’s the only one who’s never flinched from my command. He immediately picks up the folder sitting in front of me and begins to thoroughly read through it. Show-off.

Two empty chairs mock me from my left. Chairs that should hold my pack. That should prove we’re still whole. Still functional.

I reach for the pack bonds, mental fingers stretching toward where Jinx should be, only to hit something that feels like crawling through television static with my nerve endings exposed. The connection fizzes and burns, deliberately impenetrable. A muscle in my left eye begins to spasm, a telltale tic that forms whenever he blocks me out like this.

Fucking fantastic.

Some days I swear he does it just to watch that muscle jump beneath my skin, a physical reminder of my diminishing control.

“You got a job for us?” The words come out clipped, harsh. My fingers tap against my thigh—a tell I thought I’d trained myself out of years ago. Then again, I also thought I’d trained my pack better than this, so clearly my track record with self-improvement is shit.

Malachi exchanges a look with his mate before meeting my eyes. “We do,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining things to a particularly dense child.

I’m going to hate every word that comes out of his mouth. I can feel it in my bones, in the way my scent probably goes sharp enough to cut through even the lavender haze.

I lean back, arranging my limbs in a calculated display of disinterest while beneath my skin, muscles coil so tight I can feel individual fibers threatening to snap. The chair creaks slightly as I shift my weight, deliberately taking up more space than necessary, a silent reminder of who I am. My eyes never leaveMalachi’s, maintaining the stare until he’s the one who blinks first. Might as well put on a show. “Let’s hear it then.”

Malachi clears his throat, his eyes darting to the empty chairs beside me like they’re personally offending him. Join the club. “Where’s the rest of your pack?”

“On their way.” The lie tastes like copper and desperation, but like hell am I admitting I’ve lost control of my alpha in Malachi’s own fucking territory. Or that I’ve got my omega locked down tight at home where nothing can touch him. Where I can pretend I’m still capable of protecting anyone.

Aria leans forward, her pink hair catching the fluorescent light like some kind of cotton candy nightmare. “This job requires a full pack, Ryker. We can’t risk anything going wrong.”

I bite back a snarl. Because that’s exactly what I need—more reminders of how spectacularly I’m failing at this whole Pack Alpha thing. “My pack can handle anything you throw at us. We’re the best you’ve got.”

“Were the best,” Malachi corrects, his tone gentle but firm like he’s soothing a wounded animal. Like I’m something that needs to be handled with kid gloves and careful words.

The words hit like armor-piercing rounds, each syllable finding its mark. My fingers dig into the table’s edge, wood creaking under alpha strength. Some distant part of me hopes they’ll bill me for the damage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Finn shifts beside me—a silent warning to check my control. But the rage bubbles up anyway, tangled with a fear I refuse to acknowledge. Six months of being benched, of holding my pack together with teeth and will and prayers to gods I stopped believing in years ago. Six months of watching Jinx fracture and Theo withdraw and wondering when it all went so wrong.

Malachi sighs, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Look, Ryker, we know things have been... difficult since the incident with Jinx. We want to help.”

“We don’t need your help,” I snap, even as my pack bonds strain thin enough to see through. Like spider silk in sunlight, beautiful and fragile and one wrong move from snapping entirely.

“You do,” Aria says softly. “That’s why you showed up here today.”

Malachi leans forward, fingers steepled like some corporate villain in a bad movie. I half expect him to start petting a white cat. “There’s been a... situation. We need your pack to handle it.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Everything’s a situation with Malachi. Guy probably calls taking a shit a situation. Has a whole PowerPoint prepared about proper tissue allocation and strategic flush timing.

“What kind of situation?” I grind out. The pack bond pulses empty where Jinx should be, a void that grows with each passing second. My control slips another notch, alpha pheromones probably leaking through despite the lavender assault.

Aria clears her throat, worry pinching her delicate features. “It’s Cayenne.” She licks her lips. “My best friend.”

I look back at Malachi. “A woman?” A sharp laugh escapes me. “We don’t kill women.” Not anymore. Not since... but that’s a darkness better left buried.

“I don’t want you to kill her.” Malachi sighs, and for the first time, I catch genuine concern in his scent through the lavender haze. Well, shit. That can’t be good.

His pack has kept quiet until now, a unified front of silence that speaks volumes about whatever mess we’re about to step in. But Quinn, their tech specialist, leans forward. “There was an incident last night at the Omega Guardian building. Cayenne hacked into Sterling Labs’ database and they retaliated. Hard.”

Finn shifts into analyst mode beside me. “What did she find?”

“Well, that’s for me to know and you to fucking not.”

The voice hits me like a physical blow. Sharp. My head snaps toward the doorway, and?—

Oh, fuck me sideways.

---