Page 30 of Reckless: Collision

But I don’t.

Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? I always want to push. Always want to see what happens when things break. It’s why I’m in this mess. Why I’m standing here in unicorn pajamas being babysat by a beta who looks like he grades papers for fun while two doors down, an alpha and omega are probably redefining property damage.

“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’ and jerk my head toward the moans. “The stamina on those two is impressive.”

Poor Finn—his cheeks flush a pretty pink color, and damn if it isn’t sexy when he once again pushes those glasses up his nose. Every nervous gesture cataloged and filed away: the way he shifts his weight when uncomfortable, how his eyes dart to the nearest exit, the slight tremor in his hands that speaks of too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

“Ah well yes.” He stammers, and my brain immediately starts mapping out his weak points. Not for escape—okay, maybe a little for escape—but because I can’t help it. Can’t stop analyzing, can’t stop looking for the cracks in people’s code. “Omega pheromones.”

The words don’t compute.

Error: file not found.

I’ve never been affected by omega pheromones, which is probably why I’m still functioning while Finn looks like he’s about to combust. It’s almost cute how he tries to maintain his professional demeanor while down the hall, Theo is probably?—

No. Focus. Survey the surroundings. Look for vulnerabilities.

“Fucking hell.” I blurt out as I circle the room we’re in. It’s a rec room that probably cost more than every place I’ve ever lived combined. “This entire house is ridiculous.” I whisper to myself, but really I’m counting cameras, noting blind spots, calculating angles.

“Mansion,” Finn corrects, pushing those glasses up again. God, someone needs to tape them to his face. Or maybe just take them off entirely... “This is the family room.” The annoyance in his tone suggests he’s repeated this information while I was mentally hacking imaginary systems.

I should feel guilty. I don’t.

Still I am distracted by the moaning, but I’m trying to focus. Multi-tasking used to be my superpower—running multiple screens, tracking data streams, monitoring security feeds. Now I can barely keep my thoughts in order without something digital to anchor me.

On the far wall is a beautiful fireplace and around it a circular couch, perfect for packs, and above the fireplace is an enormous television. My fingers literally itch to get at its smart system. I bet I could have it reprogrammed in under five minutes. Three if I really pushed it.

But it’s what’s all around the place that makes my eye twitch.

“You guys don’t have a housekeeper?” I question, pinching a pair of boxer briefs between thumb and forefinger like they might bite. The fabric is expensive—everything here screams money—but it’s tossed around like garbage.

“Ah yes well Jinx doesn’t do well with strangers.” Finn grabs the underwear and turns away, probably finally seeing the chaos through my eyes. His embarrassment is oddly endearing, like watching a librarian realize their books aren’t alphabetized.

It looks like a tornado of testosterone hit the place. Pizza boxes. Chinese. More take-out boxes than a dumpster behinda food court. Clothing scattered like breadcrumbs of bad decisions. Hell, there are even empty beer bottles with fruit flies having their own little rave.

“Charming.” I mutter, but my mind is already cataloging. Four different credit cards used for deliveries. Regular patterns in ordering times. Security vulnerabilities in delivery apps that I could exploit... if I had any fucking technology.

Am I a neat freak? Absolutely not. My apartment looks like Best Buy and Radio Shack had a baby and then let it explode. But I can locate every wireless adapter blindfolded, find any USB cable by touch alone. My fingers twitch toward phantom keyboards now, muscle memory seeking the comfort of my customized setup where every component sits precisely 1.7 inches from its neighbor in a chaos only I can navigate.

This? This is almost self-sabotage at its finest. And I get to stay here. Yeah me. Thrilling.

“I’m not cleaning.” I blurt out because if these assholes think for one second I’m here to play maid then they have another thing coming. Though organizing might give me access to their papers, their bills, their routines...

No. Stop planning. Stop analyzing. Stop looking for data points in everything.

“We wouldn’t... We’d never...” Finn groans, shaking his head like he’s trying to dispel mental images. “I’ll deal with it later. There are multiple gaming consoles if you get bored, and Friday nights are pack nights.”

Gaming consoles. My heart actually skips. PlayStation and Nintendo, both hackable with the right tools. A way online. A way out. A way to?—

“She isn’t invited.” Ryker’s voice cuts through my plotting like a knife, the alpha appearing silent as a ghost. For someone his size, he moves like a damn shadow.

“Fuck you too, asshole.” I shout at his retreating back, but my mind is racing. His stealth means enhanced security training. His posture screams military background. Every detail is another piece of the puzzle I need to solve.

I keep my smile carefully hidden as I eye the consoles again. They don’t need to know I once reprogrammed an entire Xbox to mine cryptocurrency. Or that I can turn most smart devices into surveillance equipment with enough time and spite.

“Let me show you the kitchen.” Finn turns on his heel, all proper tour guide despite the chaos.

I linger, scanning the room one last time. Aside from the mess, it’s... cozy. The kind of space that invites lazy Sundays and movie marathons. The nesting blankets piled on the circular couch look soft enough to drown in.

---