Page 34 of Reckless: Collision

The basement door lock clicks with finality, and I start my mental countdown. She’ll make her first escape attempt in under ten minutes—less, given that Ryker just effectively challenged her entire sense of autonomy with his alpha posturing.

I grab my tablet, pulling up the property’s security feed while reaching for my coat. March in Puritan City means potential snowfall and temperatures that make my Irish bones ache in protest. Not that weather has ever deterred someone like Cayenne.

And there she is—a blur of red hair and determination already making her way toward the tree line. At least she’s wearing proper clothes this time. The unicorn pajama incident will haunt our incident reports forever.

I should alert Ryker. That would be the proper protocol. The safe choice.

Instead, I grab a spare jacket, hat, and gloves. Because sometimes the best way to handle a runner isn’t to chase them—it’s to walk beside them until they decide to stay.

Though I sincerely hope she doesn’t make me actually run. My cardigan-wearing lifestyle hasn’t exactly prepared me for pursuit scenarios.

I try to rehearse what I’ll say to her as I follow at a distance, each word getting lost in the crisp March air. In my head, I’m suave and collected.

I understand your need for freedom, but perhaps we could find a compromise that doesn’t involve potential hypothermia.

Or maybe,Your skills are impressive—we could use them to keep you safe rather than planning escapes.

But those carefully practiced lines dissolve like snowflakes on my tongue. In reality, I’ll probably stammer something about statistical probability and proper safety protocols. Or worse, blurt out how the way she moves reminds me of code breaking free of constraints.

I don’t take the main path. Years of tracking Jinx’s manic episodes have taught me every shortcut through these woods. The crunch of dead leaves under my feet sounds impossibly loud, but Cayenne is too focused on her goal to notice myapproach. She’s standing at the corner of the property where the fence makes a perfect ninety-degree angle, hands on her hips like she’s personally offended by its existence.

Let me show you there are better options than running.Another perfect line that will die unspoken in my throat.

“Who the fuck has a fence all around a property?” she mutters, tilting her head back to study the barrier before her.

I open my mouth to explain the complex security measures integrated into the fence’s design, but the words die in my throat as she moves. One moment she’s on the ground, the next she’s launching herself between the fence posts like gravity is merely a suggestion. Each push takes her higher, a deadly dance of momentum and precision that makes my analytical mind short-circuit.

Three-quarters of the way up, her foot slips.

Time stretches like cold honey as she falls. My body moves before my brain can calculate trajectory or impact force, the pack bonds flaring with shared alarm. Through them, I feel Ryker’s sudden spike of protective rage, Jinx’s instinctive surge forward even though he’s nowhere near, Theo’s musical anxiety—all of it hitting me at once through connections that shouldn’t react this strongly to a beta.

But they do. They have since she walked into that conference room in unicorn pajamas and turned our carefully calculated world upside down.

I’m too far away to do anything but watch as she hits the ground with a thud that steals the air from my lungs, the pack bonds humming with a relief that feels too intense for mere duty. Too personal. Too much like recognition.

“Knew you were there,” she says casually, staring up at the grey sky like she didn’t just nearly give me cardiac arrest.

Are you alright? That impact could have caused serious injury. Please don’t scare me like that again.

I say none of those words. “Fucking hell, woman.” The words come out more breathless than I intend, betraying how fast I ran to her side. “That fence is fifteen feet high.”

“Just a bruised ego.” Her eyes catch on the extra jacket in my hands. “That for me?”

“Yes.” My glasses are sliding down my nose again, but I’m too focused on checking for injuries to fix them. “What were you thinking would happen?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“Escape. Yes.” I finally push my glasses back up, trying to slow my racing heart. “Walk with me?”

“My legs are broken.”

Pure panic floods my system. I drop to my knees, hands hovering over her legs as medical knowledge fights with blind terror in my brain. It’s not until I hear her giggling that I realize I’ve been played.

“I’m fucking with you,” she sits up, swatting my hands away.

The adrenaline crash hits hard. My chest constricts as anxiety claws its way up my throat, familiar and unwelcome. Brilliant. Nothing sayscompetent protection detaillike having a panic attack in front of your charge.

“Hey.” The amusement drops from her voice as I wheeze.

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