Page 31 of Reckless: Collision

Nope. Not going there. Not thinking about how easy it would be to fit into this space. To belong.

Annoyed with myself—and my apparent weakness for comfortable furniture—I follow Finn into the kitchen, mentally mapping every turn, every door, every possible exit.

“We don’t have a cook,” Finn says over his shoulder, like that’s some kind of character flaw. “We try to rotate who cooks. But Jinx usually orders take out. Ryker burns everything he touches. Theo, well,” he pauses at the island, another blush forming. “He tries his very best. He is an incredible baker though and I like to try new recipes which means I often get stuck cooking.”

Translation: They live on takeout and good intentions. The kitchen, like everything else in this mansion-sized bachelor pad, is a beautiful tragedy. Stop-sign shaped with an island that probably cost more than my entire setup back home. A breakfast nook overlooking a pool that’s begging to have its automated cleaning system reprogrammed.

Everything in deep, dark colors that should feel oppressive but instead just feels... right. Like they designed the space for functionality over aesthetics but somehow got both.

And it’s a fucking disaster.

Which annoys me even more than the living room because this? This is a chef’s wet dream. This is the kind of kitchen that should have its own Instagram. Instead, it has what I’m pretty sure is a science experiment growing in the sink.

I love it. So naturally, I school my features into practiced boredom.

“And you?” I zero in on Finn and those expressive eyes that give away every thought behind his glasses. If I’m going to be stuck here, might as well learn my jailers’ habits.

“I make spaghetti and crock pot meals.” He sniffs and wiggles his nose a moment before he sneezes.

“Allergies?” I question, then add on, “It’s probably the mold from the dishes.” Or the fact that this place obviously hasn’t seen a proper cleaning since... actually, I’m not sure this place has ever seen proper cleaning.

The more I look around, the more I see it—four distinct personalities sharing space but never quite meshing. Theo’s sheet music mixed with Ryker’s tactical manuals. Finn’s academic journals buried under Jinx’s... are those throwing knives stuck in the wall?

“Ah yeah.” Finn sniffs again. “Let me show you to your room.”

“Excellent, do that.” Hopefully it isn’t a mess. But given the state of everything else, I’m not optimistic. My fingers drum against my thigh, coding an escape sequence that exists only in my mind.

“Right, so we thought it best to give you your own space.” He walks over to a door in the kitchen. One with several bolts that he has to unlock.

Every lock is another line of code in my head. Standard tumbler system, nothing fancy. The kind of locks I learned to pick before I learned to drive. The sound of each bolt sliding back sends little sparks of electricity through my nervous system.

“No.” I cross my arms and tap my still-bare feet. “That looks suspicious as fuck.” Like every horror movie ever made. Like every nightmare about being trapped. Like every system I’ve ever wanted to break just to prove I could.

Finn sighs and faces me head on, setting his tablet on the island. The tablet I absolutely do not stare at like it’s water in a desert. “We thought it would be wise for you to have your own space?—”

“In the murder basement?” I scoff, cutting him off. Even as I say it, my mind is already mapping possibilities. Analyzing angles. Looking for weaknesses. “No thank you.”

“It’s not—” he pinches the bridge of his nose, glasses sliding down again. “Will you just look?”

“Is there a television?”

“No.” Of course not. That would be too easy.

“A gym?”

“Not downstairs.”

“What the fuck is down there?” Nothing exciting, that’s for damn sure. Nothing digital. Nothing connected. Nothing that could get me back online, back to my world of ones and zeros where everything makes sense.

“Your things.” He states. “Ryker brought them down already.”

My things. Minus anything with a circuit board. Might as well cut off my arms while they’re at it.

“Is there a way out?”

“Yes.” He looks away.

“You’re lying to me.” I narrow my eyes at him, reading the tells in his posture.

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