Page 52 of Reckless: Collision

The question hits too close to the tangled mess of instincts she provokes. Protect. Possess. Control. Submit.

That last one scares me the most.

“She’s a mission,” I say finally. “A protection detail.”

“Right.” Finn’s disbelief could fill the Grand Canyon. “That’s why you growled at Jinx for scenting her.”

“He attacked a PCA officer.”

“And you were perfectly calm about that until he pinned her.”

I resist the urge to bare my teeth at the memory—Jinx’s hands on her, her legs wrapped around him, the way their scents mingled into something that made my alpha want to tear the world apart.

No to rut.

“If you’re done psychoanalyzing me,” I grab my phone, “I have a disobedient beta to deal with.”

“Careful.” Finn’s voice stops me at the door. “Push too hard and she’ll run. Not because she wants to, but because she thinks she has to.”

“Like you did?”

His sharp inhale makes me regret the words immediately. “Below the belt, Alpha.”

“Finn—”

“No, you’re right.” He stands, and for a moment I see the haunted young man we found in that Dublin alley. “I did run. And I would have kept running if a certain alpha hadn’t shown me that safety doesn’t always mean chains.”

The words hang between us, heavy with meaning.

“I—”

“Don’t.” Finn steps close, his scent spiking briefly before he presses a kiss to my lips. “I get it.” And then he’s gone, leaving me to inhale the bitter note in his scent that says more than words ever could.

Fuck.

Needing to move, to do something—anything other than linger in my head—I leave the room. But not before pausing to really look at it. Something in Finn’s words has me seeing the space through fresh eyes.

It’s simple, really. A bed. A desk. A dresser. And yet it feels cold. Militaristic. White walls and no color anywhere. Nothingpersonal. Nothing that screams this room is anything but a temporary stop.

Fuck.

Bass vibrates through the hallways as I make my way to the west wing, music loud enough to wake the dead pouring from the training room. I push through the doors ready to rip into Cayenne—and every thought leaves my head.

There, in the center of the mat, she’s passed out. Sprawled like a starfish, one arm thrown over her eyes, breath deep and even. Sweat still clings to her skin and hair, giving her scent a syrupy sweetness that reminds me of state fair lemonade.

The black sports bra and leggings do nothing to hide the constellations of freckles scattered across her stomach. That creamy skin makes me want to trace each one with my tongue, map her body like territory I need to claim.

Shit.

I stare at the ceiling, fighting for control as my body shivers with the need to see how well she takes my cock.

No. Stop.

Amusement from Theo vibrates through our pack bond. I try to shut him out, but his laughter echoes in my head anyway.

Screw it. I march over to the sound system and shut the music off.

She rises like the dead, torso stiff as she sits up and blinks at me blearily. “What the hell?”

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