Page 17 of Reckless: Collision

A curvy beauty stands there in unicorn pajamas of all things, red hair spilling wild over her shoulders like flames. Like warnings. Like every bad decision I’ve ever made wrapped up in one package and tied with a you’re fucked bow.

The lavender can’t quite mask it—a scent that hits me like a physical blow. Bright lemon and electric ozone, with something underneath that makes my alpha instincts surge to life. That makes my hands grip the table edge until wood creaks beneath my fingers. Because this? This isn’t just attraction. This is recognition. This is my entire biology screaming mine in a way I haven’t felt since?—

No. Lock it down. Control. Always control.

One perfect eyebrow arches the longer I stare, but I can’t look away. Something about her screams trouble—and not just the unicorn pajamas that somehow manage to look both ridiculous and tempting as sin. No, it’s in the tilt of her chin, the fire in her eyes, the way she takes in the room like she’s cataloging exits and weaknesses.

Just what I need. Another force of chaos to try to contain.

But I need to scent her. Need to know what kind of trouble we’re dealing with. This damn lavender diffuser is blocking everything important, making my alpha instincts more aggressive in their need to assess. To categorize. To understand why every cell in my body just snapped to attention.

“What did you find?” The question cuts through the room, sharp as an order. The kind that usually has betas averting their eyes and omegas baring their necks.

She doesn’t even flinch. If anything, her spine straightens, green eyes flashing with defiance that hits me like a shot of pureadrenaline. Wrong reaction. Very wrong reaction. And why the hell does that turn me on?

“Who the fuck are you?” she snaps, choosing the seat directly across from Aria. The deliberate distance isn’t subtle.

“Cayenne.” Willow interrupts, and I catch a hint of dread in her tone that makes my hackles rise. Makes me wonder just how much chaos this little beta has caused. “This is Alpha Ryker Locke. His pack has been assigned to your protection detail.”

Well, fuck.

All hell breaks loose.

Shouts explode around the table. The redhead leaps to her feet, knocking her chair backward with enough force to dent the wall. A hint of her scent finally breaks through the lavender—spice and fire and pure beta defiance. Of course she smells like trouble.

I sit back, letting the argument wash over me. Angry people make mistakes, and right now I need to learn everything about the beta who’s about to become my pack’s problem. My living, breathing probation officer in unicorn pajamas.

“Absolutely fucking not!” She jabs a finger at Malachi. “I don’t need a pack of alphas hovering over me. I can protect myself.”

My alpha instincts bristle at her tone, but I keep my face neutral. Watch. Wait. Learn. She’s all bravado and sharp edges, but there’s something underneath. Fear, maybe. The kind that makes people reckless.

“Cay,” Aria tries to soothe her friend, “after what happened last night?—”

“What happened last night is that someone tried to kill me because I found proof that Sterling Labs is?—”

“Cayenne!” Quinn’s sharp voice cuts her off. “Not here.”

Interesting. Very interesting. I catalogue every detail. The way Quinn’s eyes dart to the corners where cameras hide. Thetension in Malachi’s shoulders. The slight tremor in Cayenne’s hands that she tries to hide by crossing her arms.

She found something big. Something worth killing for. And now she’s my problem to keep alive whether either of us likes it or not.

“I have work to do,” Cayenne growls. “Real work. Important work. I can’t do that with an alpha pack breathing down my neck.”

“You can’t do anything if you’re dead,” Finn points out mildly.

She whirls on him, all fire and fury. It’s... intriguing. Most betas show at least some submission around alphas, but this one acts like she’s never heard of hierarchy. She assumes we’re just another alpha pack, all brute force and dominance.

Let her. Sometimes misconceptions make the best armor.

“You’ve managed just fine on your own so far?” Finn asks, his analytical tone slipping into place as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “Because from the reports I’ve seen, you’ve left quite the digital trail. Maybe we should start by confiscating all your electronics.”

Cayenne’s jaw actually drops. “Excuse the fuck out of you?”

“He has a point,” I say, just to watch her bristle. “Can’t hack yourself into trouble without a computer.”

“I—you—” She sputters, spinning to face Quinn. “Tell them how ridiculous that is.”

Quinn badly disguises his laugh as a cough. “I mean, he’s not entirely wrong about the trail...”

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