Page 40 of Reckless: Collision

Something shifts in Ryker’s eyes—not quite trust, but maybe understanding. “We start tomorrow. Dawn.”

“With what?”

His smile is all predator. “You wanted adrenaline? Let’s see if you can handle a real rush.”

Chapter 9

Jinx

“Get up, boy.”

The voice slices through sleep like a rusted blade, familiar and jagged. Hot whiskey breath washes over my face, and I’m thirteen again, counting the seconds until violence breaks out.

“Get the fuck up, boy.”

Usually, he passes out in his chair after the bar. Not tonight. My body moves before my mind fully wakes, muscle memory from years of dodging fists. I roll off the bed, face pressed to hardwood as something heavy impacts where my head was moments ago.

The thud would have been so much worse if I hadn’t moved.

I pop up, facing the man who fathered me. Not father. Never father. Just a shitty alpha with no pack and a mate he manipulated into staying. Hatred burns in my gut, pure and potent as any thirteen-year-old’s can be. One day, I’ll see him dead.

Will that day be today?

“Ah, there you are, boy.” His laugh carries more malice than mirth. But that’s good. Keep his attention on me. Not on Mama. Never on Mama.

Don’t ask about her. Don’t draw his attention there.

“You’re drunk.” I cross my arms, standing tall enough now to look him in his dead eyes. Eyes I share. Eyes that make me want to find the sharpest spoon in the kitchen and?—

He scoffs, trying to match my stance but stumbling instead. The clock reads 3:47 AM. A Wednesday. Fucking perfect.

“Go to bed.” My voice cracks on the words. “I have school.”

“No school.” He gags, and my stomach drops. He’s drunk-drunk tonight.

The house is too quiet. Everything’s too quiet.

“Yes, school.” I know I should stop, but the words spill out anyway. “The principal came knocking last time you kept me home. Want that to happen again?”

I do. But the smile that spreads across his face tells me I’ve miscalculated. It’s the smile that says his fists need something to break.

“You locked me out, James.”

“I went to bed at midnight.” The words tumble out, sharp and stupid. “I locked the door because this is a shitty neighborhood. Or did you fucking forget that too?”

“What did you say to me, boy?”

His rage burns through the alcohol haze, and I know?—

“Jinx.”

A different voice. Softer. But the memory has its teeth in me, dragging me under—colors blurring, timelines merging, past and present colliding like tectonic plates?—

A scream tears through my vocal cords, raw and primal. My body convulses, muscles spasming as past and present separate violently. Cold hardwood slams against my cheekbone, the impact sending shockwaves through my skull that momentarily drown out my father’s phantom laughter. Stomach acid claws up my esophagus, burning a jagged path that matches the brokenfragments of my consciousness. Each inhale sounds like tearing fabric, exhales like wounded animal whimpers.

“Hey.” That soft voice again. Theo. My Theo.

“I’m good.” The lie tastes like copper and fear.

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