Page 104 of Reckless: Chaos

Good thing I’ve had two months of Jinx teaching me to embrace the explosive option.

I swing the tire iron again, taking out an entire section of pipe. More steam. More alarms. More confusion as guards try to figure out if they’re dealing with a maintenance emergency or a security breach.

“Find her!” A voice cuts through the chaos—sharp, controlled, commanding. So much like Ryker’s alpha tone it makes my chest ache. But this voice carries something colder. Something that tastes like Sterling ambition.

Time to move.

I duck low, using the steam cover to double back the way I came. Let them think I’m retreating. Let them think the chaos spooked me into running.

Let them think anything except that I’m leading them exactly where I want them.

Another pipe bursts—this one not my doing. A warning shot, precise enough to spray scalding steam right where I would have been if I hadn’t already moved.

“Sloppy,” that voice calls out, closer now. “You have his hands. His precision. But this?” A laugh that could have been mine. “This is disappointing.”

The taunt hits harder than it should. But I don’t have time to analyze family drama—not when I’m counting steps, measuring distance, calculating angles.

Just three more feet...

The beanie catches on something sharp as I duck under a lower pipe. Fabric tears. Blood wells.

I’m sure that pleases my psychotic brother.

“The perfect heir and the beta mistake,” that voice cuts through steam and sirens. “How very Sterling of him to pretend you don’t exist.”

My fingers freeze mid-keystroke, a glitch in my usually flawless execution. Behind my eyes, code fragments and scatters, his voice corrupting my thought processes like a virus breaching firewalls. I blink hard, restart the mental program, reroute around the damage. Three deep breaths, and my fingers find their rhythm again, muscle memory overriding emotional infiltration. Blood trickles down my temple where the beanie caught. Not deep, but enough to leave a trail if I’m not careful.

Guards cluster at the junction ahead, their flashlight beams cutting through steam. Behind me, those measured footsteps draw closer. Time to commit.

I throw the tire iron—not at the guards, but at the electrical panel behind them. The clang makes them spin, weapons drawn. In that split second of confusion, I launch myself at the ceiling pipes.

Thank you, Jinx, for all those midnight parkour lessons.

I swing up just as Alexander—because that calculated voice can only belong to Sterling’s first son—reaches my previous position. Through the steam, I catch my first glimpse of him. Tall, precise, every movement a mirror of the man we saw on TV this morning.

But his eyes when they find mine—pure Sterling arrogance stares back. Cold. Calculating. Everything I fight not to be.

“There you are, little sister.” His smile could cut glass. “Coming down, or should I start shooting pipes?”

To emphasize his point, he fires—not at me, but at a junction that would spray superheated steam right where I’m hanging.

The beanie slips further as I swing to another pipe. Blood drips onto his pristine suit.

His laugh carries no warmth. “You know what’s funny? He wanted me to bring you in clean. Said all that beta potential shouldn’t go to waste.” Another shot, another near miss. “But accidents happen in maintenance tunnels all the time.”

I time my next swing to the rhythm of his words. Almost there. Almost...

“Isn’t that right, little beta?” He tracks my movement with that gun. “Just like accidents happened to all those other test subjects. All those failed experiments before you were even born.”

The beanie catches again—this time on exposed wire. I feel it tear, feel Jinx’s protection starting to unravel.

Just like Alexander wants.

Just like he planned.

Which means...

“You’re herding me,” I realize, even as I keep moving through the pipes. “This whole time, you’ve been...”

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