Page 10 of Reckless: Corruption

Then, with deliberate eye contact, he raises the blade to his lips and licks my blood from the steel.

“What the fuck.” Horror propels me backward, my shoulder blades scraping concrete as I try to put distance between us. The movement sends fresh fire through my stomach wound.

“Don’t move.”

The knife leaves his hand in a silver arc. Every instinct screams to dodge, but some primitive part of my brain—the part that recognizes apex predators—knows that movement means death. Instead, I freeze as the blade finds its home in my previously wounded shoulder, right where the bullet hole was still healing.

My scream echoes off concrete walls, bouncing back at me in a chorus of my own agony. The sound follows me down as my legs give out, darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision.

The last thing I see is Alexander’s satisfied smile, blood—my blood—still staining his teeth.

For the first time in my life, I let unconsciousness take me.

But even as I fall into darkness, one thought burns bright.

I’m going to kill him.

Not for the torture, not for the pain, but for showing me exactly what kind of monster shares my blood.

Family is supposed to be about love and protection. The Sterlings? We’re about precision and pain, about finding exactly where to slip the knife to make it hurt the most.

When I get out of here—and I will get out—Alexander Sterling will learn why it’s the quiet ones you should fear the most.

Chapter 3

Jinx

The screaming stoppedtwenty minutes ago.

I watch the newest addition to our collection through monitors, tracking his breathing patterns like I used to track targets. My fingers tap an uneven rhythm against the desk—three quick, two slow—counting exits, counting breaths, counting the hours since we lost her. The familiar static builds behind my eyes, that warning buzz that says the beast is getting hungry.

Control. Focus. Channel it into the hunt.

Slow, steady inhales followed by shuddering exhales. The good news? He’s still alive. The bad news—for him? He’s about to wish he wasn’t.

I reach through the pack bond, searching for her. The other connections burn bright and steady—Ryker’s iron will radiating like heated steel, Finn’s razor-sharp mind calculating probabilities, Theo’s artistic soul pulsing with harmonious warmth—but where Cayenne should be, there’s only a thin, stretched thread, fraying but not broken.

The emptiness aches like a physical wound, worse than any torture I’ve ever endured. I push against it, sending rage anddetermination through that fragile connection, hoping some part of her feels us reaching for her.

Each of us deals with her absence differently. Ryker throws himself into tactical planning, Finn analyzes every data point until his eyes are bloodshot, and Theo... Theo’s pre-heat symptoms have intensified from the stress, his scent shifting toward something darker, more volatile. The omega in him calling for his missing pack member.

“Status?” Ryker’s voice carries through my earpiece, steady as a metronome.

“Subject Four is ready for processing.” The clinical terms help, give structure to the chaos burning under my skin. Like the way Ryker taught me to catalog my episodes—rate the violence thrumming through my blood on a scale of one to nuclear.

Right now? We’re hovering somewhere around thermonuclear, but I’m holding it together. Mostly.

Seventy-two hours since Cayenne disappeared, and we’re finally getting somewhere. For a moment, I see her face as it was that last morning—hair tied up in that messy bun, coffee mug cradled between her palms, lemon-bright scent mingling with the warmth of her skin as she laughed at something stupid I said before everything went to hell.

The memory burns hotter than any rage. I force it down, back to business. “Three’s intel checks out. The service entrance has blind spots in the camera coverage.”

Finn appears in the doorway of our command center, his usual pristine appearance touched by darkness. Blood stains his collar—not his own. “Two broke. Confirmed the ventilation weakness Theo identified. They’re using an older system, separate from the main building.”

On the screens before me, Subject Four stirs. Sterling’s head of external security, caught taking a piss at his favorite bar. Amazing how vulnerable men are with their dicks in their hands.

“How’s One holding up?” I ask, though the answer shows on another monitor. Our first catch rocks in his cell, mumbling prayers to whatever god abandoned him here.

“Theo’s working on him.” Ryker joins us, studying the feeds. “The omega withdrawal is... effective.”

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