Page 6 of Reckless: Collision

“Yeah, about that...” I slam through the stairwell door, the metal reverberating with a sound like thunder. “I may have left myself a few shortcuts. Remember that maintenance scaffolding they’ve been using to repair the east facade?”

“Cay, no.”

“Cay, yes.” I smirk to myself as I run, my bare feet silent on the concrete stairs. Because of course I forgot shoes. At least the unicorn pajamas have pockets.

“That scaffolding is forty-two floors up!”

“And conveniently extends halfway across the gap.” I take the stairs three at a time, heading up instead of down. The concrete echoes with each step, a drumbeat countdown to something either brilliant or fatal. Possibly both. “I just need to know if they’ve locked down the roof access yet.”

More typing. “You have maybe two minutes before the response team reaches your floor. The roof is... holy shit, did you seriously program my security protocols to play Pokémon music when overridden?”

“Gotta catch ‘em all, baby.”

Aria’s voice cuts in, tight with worry but not stopping me. She never stops me. It’s why we’ve been best friends since childhood. Since before I understood what it meant to be beta, to live between worlds. “Puritan Security are mobilizing. Three minutes out. Whatever you’re going to do?—”

“Already doing it.”

I burst onto the roof, the night air hitting my face like a shot of pure adrenaline. The city spreads out below, a glittering maze of lights and shadows. The Westin building looms across the gap, close enough to mock me. My would-be assassin is probably already packing up, thinking they’re safe, thinking I’ll be trapped by conventional responses and protocols.

They clearly haven’t read my file.

The wind whips my hair into a frenzy, catching my unicorn pajamas like a battle flag. Something wild stirs in my chest—not alpha aggression or omega instinct, but pure beta chaos. The kind that makes us perfect for walking the line between order and anarchy.

“When this is over,” Quinn mutters in my ear, “we’re having a long talk about backdoors in security systems.”

“Less lecturing, more telling me if anyone’s watching this side of the building.”

A pause. “Clear for the next forty seconds. But Cay? The wind speed at your altitude?—”

I’m already running. The scaffolding extends like a half-finished bridge, a skeleton of metal and promises. Below, Puritan City holds its breath, unaware that somewhere in its shadows, betas are being murdered. That someone in power is pulling strings.

Not for long. Not on my watch.

“You know what the best part of being a beta is?” I ask, my bare feet hitting the first metal bar with a resonant clang.

“Your questionable survival instincts?” Aria suggests.

“Our sense of style.” I flash my bedazzled gun at the city below, rhinestones catching starlight. “And our complete disregard for what should be impossible.”

I launch myself onto the scaffolding proper, cold metal biting into my bare feet. The whole structure sways with my momentum, and I bite back a curse. Note to self—next time I decide to play rooftop parkour, maybe grab shoes first.

The gap between buildings yawns beneath me, a forty-two-story reminder that some decisions can’t be unmade. Kind of like that time I decided to dye my hair purple in sixth grade, except with more immediate consequences.

Wind whips my red hair into a frenzy as I sprint across metal bars that definitely weren’t designed for barefoot chase sequences. The scaffolding sways with each step, and I’m pretty sure that creaking sound isn’t listed in any safety manual. Every step sends shocks of cold through my feet, metal ridges pressing patterns into my skin that I’ll probably feel for days. If I survive that long.

“Fun fact,” I pant, trying not to think about the drop beneath my feet, “this seemed way more badass in my head.”

“Everything seems more badass in your head,” Aria responds. “It’s why you thought releasing a virus that made all the school computers playNever Gonna Give You Upwas a good idea.”

“That was artistic expression!” I leap over a gap in the planking, my heart doing a fancy gymnastics routine. My bare toes curl around the next beam, seeking purchase. “Also, I maintain that Rick-rolling the entire sophomore class was peak comedy.”

Another step. Another sway. The Westin building is getting closer, but not nearly fast enough. The metal is so cold it burns, each footfall a shock of pain that keeps me focused, present, alive.

“Twenty seconds until the next security sweep,” Quinn warns. “Also, I feel like this is a good time to mention that this scaffolding was rated for two workers max.”

“Good thing I skipped lunch then—shit!”

A metal bar snaps under my foot, tumbling into the abyss. I throw myself forward, catching the next support beam with one hand while my bedazzled Glock nearly slips from my waistband. For a moment, I’m dangling forty-two floors above Puritan City, feeling every sharp edge of metal against my bare skin, watching the broken bar disappear into the darkness.

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