Page 36 of Reckless: Collision

“Here we are.” I say instead, leading her to the bottom of the hill. The words I want to share about Jinx, about how a broken man found another broken man, stick in my throat.

“Where are we?” She looks around, confusion clear on her face.

“Here.” I clear my throat and walk over to where the hidden door is carved into the hillside. I’m about to reveal my inner nerd status. My sanctuary. “I could explain the complex risk assessment matrices we’ve developed for keeping you safe,” Ifind myself saying, “or I could show you that sometimes the best security isn’t about locks and fences.”

I open the wooden door and gesture for her to go in.

“What. Is. This?” She punctuates each word as she steps into my little hobbit home.

“It is exactly what you think it is.” I head over to the fireplace that has long since gone out as Cayenne looks around with wide eyes. “Sometimes we all need a place where we can just... be. No alphas. No omega dynamics. No expectations.”

“You nerd you.” She giggles before flopping on the couch, a crooked smile on her face.

“Busted.” I wiggle my glasses up my nose as she watches me start the fire. Something about her presence here, in my private space, makes me brave enough to continue. “Jinx found me in a really vulnerable place. A broken man found a broken man.” The words come out softer than intended, my accent slipping through.

“You have an accent.” She leans forward, interest sparking in her eyes.

I huff because I tried so hard to hide that accent. But maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to let some things show.

“It slips out sometimes,” I admit, focusing on getting the fire started. “Usually when I’m nervous. Or comfortable.” I’m not sure which one applies right now.

She settles deeper into the couch, watching me with those sharp eyes that seem to catch everything. The same eyes that probably see right through firewalls and security systems. “So which is it?”

“Both.” The honesty surprises me. “You make me nervous because you remind me of how I used to be. Before the pack. Always looking for the next system to break, the next puzzle to solve.”

“And the comfortable part?”

The fire catches, casting warm light across the small space. I stand, dusting off my hands and finally meeting her gaze. “Because you also remind me of what I found instead. Sometimes the best security isn’t a fence or a locked door. Sometimes it’s having people who understand why you need to run, but give you reasons to stay.”

Her expression softens just slightly, and for a moment, I see past the fierce hacker who tried to scale our fence. I see someone like me—someone looking for their own version of a hobbit hole in the hillside.

“You know,” I say, my voice quiet but steady, “the thing about coding is that even the most complex systems can be rewritten.”

I pause, feeling the pack bonds pulse with awareness. Through them, I can sense Ryker’s restless pacing, Jinx’s simmering need, Theo’s musical curiosity—all of them hyperaware of her presence, even from a distance. And me? I feel it too, but differently. Not the primal pull of a scent bond, but something equally powerful. Something that makes my analytical mind want to solve the puzzle of her, to understand how one beta could inadvertently slot into all our broken places.

“Maybe instead of trying to break out,” I continue, choosing my words carefully, “you could help us rewrite the parameters of what keeping you safe looks like. Because sometimes the most complex codes aren’t meant to be broken—they’re meant to be completed.”

She tilts her head, studying me with those sharp green eyes that see too much. “You’re not like other betas.”

I smile, thinking of how the pack bonds let me feel what they feel, how I experience their scent recognition through our connection even though I can’t scent it myself. “No. And you’re not either.”

Chapter 8

Cayenne

How darehe come at me with logic right now.

God, I hate when nerdy boys make sense. It scrambles all my carefully ordered thoughts, corrupts my defenses like a perfectly crafted virus. Make them hot as hell and suddenly my firewall’s compromised. At least Jinx was simple—a purely physical breach in my security. But Finn? Finn likes to talk. To understand. To connect.

And that is a dangerous kind of intimacy. Far more dangerous than giving away my body for a quick system reboot.

“What does that look like?” I question, pretending not to appreciate his hobbit home. Except I do. I really fucking do. He has bookshelves lining one wall, complete with twinkle lights that cast dancing shadows across what I’m betting is the entire Lord of the Rings series. It’s exactly the kind of sanctuary a tech nerd would build if they suddenly found themselves in Middle Earth.

Finn shrugs as he tosses another log into the wood stove. “I don’t know. I’m not the one who has a hit out on me.”

Touché.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just works the fire, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I hate thinking. Hate being left insilence where the only noise is what my brain creates. And it’s never good. More often than not, my brain lies to me—like a corrupted hard drive spitting out bad data. That’s the worst part about not having my devices. The quiet. The endless processing with no output.

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