Page 59 of Reckless: Collision

“Thought you boys weren’t allowed to touch the house guest.” My voice comes out raspier than intended.

His laugh echoes through the stairwell, wild and free. “Ryker’s rules don’t apply to me.” Those amber eyes dance with beautiful madness. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

That’s exactly why I turn and continue up the stairs—because I can absolutely see myself getting into all kinds of delicious trouble with this broken alpha. The kind of trouble that ends with bite marks and regrets and complex pack dynamics I’m not equipped to handle.

Though I make sure to put extra sway in my hips, just to remind him what he’s not allowed to touch. His growl follows me up the steps, sending shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the cold draft from above.

“Parkour,” he manages, voice rougher than before. “Is a physical discipline focused on movement through environments using only the human body.” A pause as I reach the top step. “Kind of like what you did jumping between buildings, only with more style and less death wish.”

I hum noncommittally as I enter what has to be an attic space, though calling it that feels like calling a Ferrari a car. The room stretches longer than it has any right to, empty except for a window at the far end that catches the morning light like a promise.

Jinx moves past me toward that window, all coiled power and lethal grace. Before I can question his intentions, he turns with that feral grin that should probably send me running.

Instead, it makes me want to see just how wild he can get.

“That’s what we’re doing today?” I ask as he opens the window, sending a blast of winter air whipping through the attic space. “I don’t think the cuts on my feet have completely healed.” Not that they’re bothering me anymore—calluses have always been my body’s way of adapting to stupid decisions.

Jinx flashes me that smile that straddles the line between thrilling and terrifying. “Trust me, Glitch.”

Before I can decide if I do trust him—with more than just bathroom hookups and adrenaline rushes—he moves with alpha speed. One moment I’m contemplating escape routes, the next I’m over his shoulder, my world tilting as he steps through the window onto the roof.

“Put me down before I make you regret having functional kneecaps.” The threat loses some impact given how my handsautomatically grip his leather jacket, taking in the solid muscle beneath.

“Your threats are adorable.” He sets me on my feet with surprising gentleness, those alpha hands lingering at my waist. “Almost as adorable as how your scent spikes when you’re plotting violence.”

I step back before I do something stupid like lean into his warmth. The February wind cuts through my workout clothes, but the view steals my breath for entirely different reasons. “Holy shit.”

The mansion’s roof stretches out like an urban explorer’s wet dream—multiple levels and peaks creating a vertical playground that would make safety inspectors cry. Metal beams span gaps between sections, clearly reinforced but still daunting. Guard rails and climbing holds have been added with precise calculation, turning architecture into opportunity.

“This is incredible.” The words slip out before I can mask my enthusiasm with snark.

“You should see it in the rain.” Jinx’s voice carries that edge of beautiful instability that makes my pulse race. “Everything gets slick, dangerous. One wrong move and...” He trails off, eyes going distant in a way that says he’s remembering something I probably don’t want to know about.

“Let me guess, Ryker got tired of you trashing his fancy house?”

His laugh sounds more stable this time. “Something like that.” He gestures to a particularly wicked-looking section where metal poles create a monkey-bars setup over a steep drop. “Pack bonds are stronger when forged in adrenaline.”

“Good thing I’m not pack then.” The words come out sharper than intended.

Something flashes in his eyes—hunger or violence, maybe both. “Yet.”

Before I can unpack that loaded response, he’s moving across the roof with inhuman grace. “The whole structure is reinforced, so don’t worry about falling through. Though the landing might still kill you.”

“Your safety briefings need work.” But I’m already analyzing routes, my mind mapping paths like network diagrams. Each gap becomes a firewall, each handhold a potential exploit.

“You’re doing it now,” he observes, head tilted like a predator scenting prey. “Reading the environment like you read code.”

“Old habits.” I test my weight on a beam, remembering similar calculations from that night on the high-rise. “Though usually my systems don’t try to actively murder me.”

His grin turns feral. “Don’t they though?”

“Shit.” The word escapes as Jinx suddenly launches into motion, his body moving with a fluid violence that shouldn’t be possible. He takes a running leap at one of the steeper sections, using momentum to scale what looks like a sheer face. His hands find invisible holds, each movement precise despite looking wild.

The morning sun catches his profile as he balances on a peak, all coiled power and barely contained chaos. Show-off.

“First principle of parkour,” he calls down, not even winded, “is turning obstacles into opportunities.” He drops to a lower section, rolling to absorb the impact before springing up with predatory grace. “The path isn’t always what it seems.”

I track his movement, cataloging techniques like I would security vulnerabilities. The way he uses his body’s momentum, how he reads surfaces for grip points, each calculated risk that looks reckless but isn’t.

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