Page 19 of Reckless: Chaos

“Yeah.” I meet his gaze steadily. “It means we paint the basement later. Right now?” I bare my teeth in what might be a smile. “Right now we go to war.”

Chapter 5

Cayenne

Turnsoutgetting started immediatelytranslates to Ryker calling Quinn about a safe room, because apparently these guys value my skin more than my sanity.

Who knew?

It’s been two long, suffocating days of nothing but walls and worry and waiting. No paint to brighten the sterile basement. No tech to check the USB drive that burns like a live wire in my memory. Just the growing knot in my gut that someone out there knows enough about me to slip past Quinn’s defenses and erase my digital footprint like I never existed.

I don’t just dislike that—I hate it. Hate being hunted. Hate being helpless. Hate that someone else is controlling the game.

After my second shower of the day—because apparently boredom breeds obsessive hygiene—I pull on leggings and an oversized sweater that probably belonged to one of the guys before Theo’s sticky fingers got to it. The small kitchen in my basement domain has been mysteriously restocking itself—I’d blame fairies if I didn’t know better.

“Hey beautiful.”

The voice stops me short. Theo leans against the counter like sin made flesh, and suddenly breathing becomes a consciouseffort. I get it now—why alphas go feral for omegas. Why they lose their minds over a single scent.

He’s wearing leather pants that sit criminally low on slim hips, showing off lines I want to trace with my tongue. His shirt seems to have lost its buttons somewhere between design and execution, leaving a strip of skin visible from throat to navel. When I finally drag my eyes up to his face, I find him watching me through thick lashes, subtle liner making his dark eyes even more dangerous.

And he’s turning a key over in his hands like it holds secrets.

“You look like you’re up to no good.” I step closer, still learning the dance of pack dynamics, of when to touch and when to hold back. My fingers itch to explore all that exposed skin, but something in his expression makes me wait.

“I am.” He catches my hips, pulling me closer until my palms land on his warm chest. The contact sends electricity through my nerve endings.

“Tell me more.” I breathe him in—night-blooming jasmine and aged sheet music and something darker underneath.

“I thought you and I might go on an adventure.” His voice drops low, conspiratorial.

“I’m getting the vibe this is a no-no?” I fiddle with his open shirt, suddenly uncertain. Sneaking out with Finn had felt natural, inevitable. But Theo? The pack’s precious omega? That feels like playing with fire in a whole different way.

“Ryker has us all on lockdown for many, many reasons.” His fingers trail up my neck, a deliberate distraction that works embarrassingly well. The touch feels calculated, like he came armed with omega allure because he wasn’t sure I’d agree otherwise. It should bother me. Instead, it makes something warm curl in my stomach.

“But Sanctuary called,” he continues, still playing me like one of his instruments, “and there’s an issue only I can address.”

“Okay?” I make it a question, a prompt for more. Because if he’s willing to risk Ryker’s wrath—if he’s trying this hard to convince me—it has to be important. And that matters. He matters. Too much for me to carelessly risk him in one of my chaos-fueled adventures.

Look at me, actually growing as a person. At least in my head.

“Sanctuary isn’t just a club.” His fingers continue their maddening path along my neck, and I’m not even sure he realizes he’s doing it anymore. The seduction has become genuine concern. “It’s a literal sanctuary.”

My jaw drops. “Wait.”

His lips curve into something sadder than his earlier smirk. “Omega Guardians is amazing, and I love the work Willow does, but there are still omegas who don’t trust the system. Who never will.”

“Can’t say I blame them for that.” The words come out rougher than intended, memories of Aria’s bruises flashing behind my eyes.

“Sanctuary existed before Omega Guardians. Five years now.” Something in the way he says it makes my stomach drop. “We haven’t had an omega seeking sanctuary in a while.”

I lick suddenly dry lips. “Explain.”

“Sometimes omegas get placed in packs that aren’t good for them.” His eyes go distant, seeing ghosts I can’t. “And they do everything they can to get to me.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t have to. My mind fills in the blanks with images of Aria, beaten and broken, clinging to life by threads I wasn’t sure would hold. Some stories don’t need words to be understood.

“How do we get out?” The question comes without hesitation, because some choices aren’t really choices at all.

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