Page 47 of Reckless: Collision

“I presented at thirteen.” A sad smile plays at his lips. “My family... they hated it. In one moment, I lost everything.”

“What do you mean?” The words escape before my brain can intercept them, hanging in the steam-thickened air between us as chicken sizzles and hisses in punctuation.

“I was no longer an alpha heir but an omega problem they had to solve.” His voice drops to a register that vibrates in my chest cavity rather than my eardrums. The temperature around him seems to plummet, goosebumps rising on my forearms even across the heat of the stove. His face remains perfectly composed, but the pain emanating from him hits my skin like cold rain, each droplet carrying fragments of memory too heavy for words alone. “They arranged my marriage at the ripe age of sixteen.”

The tongs clatter against the counter as rage floods my system. “The fuck they did.”

“They did.” His smirk holds years of defiance. “But without going into too much detail... I ran. To America. When Jinx found me and I knew we were a scent match, I ran again.”

“From a scent match?” The concept rocks me. In a world where compatible scents are rarer than winning lottery tickets, running from one seems impossible.

He shrugs one elegant shoulder. “I had my reasons.” The words come soft, measured. “The important thing is that I didn’t need to run. And I knew this. All I had to do was look deep inside and realize it was okay to allow others to have my back. I didn’t need to do it all alone.”

Tears burn behind my eyes and I turn back to the stove, pretending it’s just steam from the pan. But Theo’s words hit too close to home. I’m the strong one. The one everyone else leans on. Me.

“Will you think about it before you run?”

My throat feels too tight. “Maybe.”

“Good.” He pushes off the counter with fluid grace, entering my space with deliberate slowness. His nostrils flareas he inhales—not the predatory assessment of an alpha but something more artistic, as if cataloging notes in a complex perfume. The gesture should feel invasive, but instead warmth blooms beneath my skin like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Because even if you do run,” he whispers, close enough that his vanilla-jasmine scent wraps around me like silk ribbons, “I think Jinx would love the chase.”

The implications of that—of being caught, of being kept—send heat rushing through me that has nothing to do with the stove. “Dinner’s ready,” I manage to gasp out.

But as I dish up the food, I can’t help wondering—when was the last time someone chased me because they wanted me to stay, not because they wanted me gone?

Chapter 11

Cayenne

My fingers trembleagainst my thighs in arrhythmic patterns, tapping out phantom code on non-existent keyboards. Cold sweat beads at my temples despite the comfortable temperature, each drop sliding down like corrupt data through a failing system. Tech withdrawal claws at my insides with physical hooks, my body screaming for the endorphin rush of breaking through firewalls and the steady hum of processors beneath my fingertips.

Four sets of eyes track my movements as I set dinner on the table, the weight of their attention almost as heavy as the silence in my head where keyboard clicks and system hums should be. Thirty-six hours without a single digital connection. I’ve gone longer without food, without sleep, but never without the comforting pulse of electronics beneath my fingers.

“Don’t expect this daily,” I announce, aiming for snark but landing somewhere closer to defensive. The domesticity of the moment makes my skin crawl—or maybe that’s just my nerve endings trying to find signals where there are none.

The pack flows into position around the table with an unspoken choreography perfected through years of shared meals. Ryker claims the head chair with a single fluid motion,shoulders squaring as his presence expands to fill the space—a gravitational force rather than just a person. At the opposite end, Theo slides into place with the deliberate grace of a dancer, his posture a perfect counterbalance to Ryker’s structured power. Finn settles at Ryker’s right hand, angling his body slightly toward his alpha like a compass finding north, while Jinx sprawls beside Theo with deliberate casualness that fails to hide how his eyes track everyone’s movements. They leave me with strategic gaps that reveal more about their hierarchy than words ever could—empty spaces designed to test where I’ll naturally slot into their carefully balanced ecosystem.

I take what I tell myself is the strategic option, placing myself between Finn and Theo. Before I can attempt to manage utensils with my trembling hands, Jinx reaches across and takes my plate. The gesture should piss me off. Instead, something in my chest constricts at the casual kindness.

My fingers find the wine bottle Theo brought up, and I focus on pouring like it’s a hack that could get me killed if I fuck it up. The rich red liquid sloshes against crystal, and I catch myself counting the ripples like verification codes.

Don’t chug it,I warn myself, even as my throat aches for something to replace the bitter taste of forced sobriety. Somewhere out there, Sterling Labs’ servers are probably having a meltdown, and here I am, playing happy families with a pack of beautiful disasters.

Jinx sets my plate down with a gentleness that feels like a security breach in my carefully constructed walls. When did the feral alpha learn to be soft? When did any of this—from Finn’s worried glances to Theo’s knowing smiles to Ryker’s watchful silence—start feeling less like captivity and more like coming home?

God, I hate withdrawal. Makes me think dangerous thoughts.

“I want you in the training room at dawn.” Ryker’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He takes another bite of chicken, his eyes rolling back slightly despite his attempts to maintain his stern alpha facade. Small victories.

“I’m sorry, what?” I arch an eyebrow, deliberately misunderstanding. Because there’s no way he just tried to order me around like some omega princess in need of protection.

Ryker pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. “You heard me. Dawn. Training.”

“And what, pray tell, are we training for?” I inject enough mockery into my voice to make Finn wince. My hands have finally stopped shaking, but now my leg bounces with pent-up energy. Fight or flight with nowhere to go.

“You have assassins on your ass.” Ryker’s bluntness would be refreshing if it didn’t make my stomach clench. “I need to know if shit goes down, you can hold your own.”

Logical. Practical. Infuriating.

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