Page 17 of Reckless: Corruption

Mona meets my eyes, and for a moment, her carefully crafted mask of chaos slips. “Because Alexander isn’t the only one who had to practice breaking things.” She pops another piece of candy in her mouth. “And maybe I want to see what happens when someone finally breaks him instead.”

“That training accident,” I venture, watching her face carefully. “Was it really an accident?”

Something like pride flickers across her features. “I was eleven.” She arranges more candy on the floor, this time in what looks suspiciously like a human anatomy diagram. “He was sixteen and thought he was invincible. Daddy told him to teach me self-defense.”

The way she says it tells me exactly how well that went.

“Alexander didn’t think an omega needed to learn how to fight properly.” She marks an X over the candy-knee with a piece of licorice. “So I learned improperly. Oops.”

“You broke his knee. At eleven.”

“Shattered it, actually.” She begins marking other points on her candy diagram. “Turns out those fancy marble stairs were really slippery. Especially after someone waxed specific spots. With math. And physics. And maybe a little premeditation.”

Jesus Christ.

“The doctors said he’d never walk right again.” Her voice carries an edge of satisfaction. “Daddy was so angry. Made me watch while they reset it without anesthesia. Thought it would teach me empathy.”

My stomach turns. “Did it?”

“Oh yes.” Her smile would give serial killers nightmares. “I learned exactly how much pressure it takes to break someone. How bones sound when they splinter. Where to hit to cause the most damage.” She pauses, considering her candy diagram. “Daddy’s lessons always backfire like that. He’s not very good at positive reinforcement.”

“That’s why Alexander hates you.”

“He doesn’t hate me.” She pops a piece of her anatomy lesson into her mouth. “He fears me. There’s a difference. See, he knows what I can do, but he can never prove it was intentional. It’s our special game—pretending I’m just daddy’s unstable little omega while we both remember the sound his knee made on those stairs.”

“You’re actually terrifying.”

“Thank you.” She beams at me. “Want to know where else he’s weak? I’ve had eighteen years to catalog every single vulnerability.” Her smile turns predatory. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you use them.”

“Before you teach me Alexander’s weak spots,” I say, watching her rearrange her candy anatomy into what looks disturbingly like an autopsy diagram, “can I ask you something?”

“Is it about my mental stability? Because that’s boring. I already know I’m crazy.” She places a red gummy bear where the heart should be. “But I’m crazy with spreadsheets. And contingency plans. And maybe a few manifestos. I’m very organized about my instability.”

“That’s... both comforting and disturbing.”

“Story of my life.” She offers me another lollipop. “I color-code my murder plans. Daddy thinks I’m doing art therapy.”

I take the candy, because apparently this is my life now—plotting violence while sharing sweets with my homicidal sister. “How are you so...”

“Delightfully unhinged?”

“Self-aware about it.”

She pauses her candy arranging, something vulnerable flickering across her face before the mask of controlled chaos slides back into place. “Because crazy doesn’t mean stupid. I know exactly what they made me into. I just decided to become it on my own terms.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut. Because isn’t that what we’re both doing? Taking the damage they inflicted and reshaping it into armor?

“The Sterling legacy,” she continues, sorting red Skittles into what looks disturbingly like a bloodstain pattern, “means different things to different designations. Alphas get the empire—they’re the crown princes, the generals, daddy’s perfect soldiers. Omegas are treasures to be displayed and controlled—the jewels in his crown. And betas?” She glances at me. “They’re redundant code to him—useful tools at best, genetic failures at worst. That’s why you’re down here instead of in the labs. You’re a glitch in his perfect system.”

“Now,” she continues, producing a packet of Skittles from somewhere, “let me teach you about the beautiful weak spot behind Alexander’s left ear. Did you know if you hit it just right, he loses equilibrium for exactly forty-three seconds? I have spreadsheets.”

“Forty-three seconds is a lot of time,” I muse, watching her meticulously sort Skittles by color.

“Enough time to do considerable damage.” She arranges the red ones in a disturbingly accurate blood spatter pattern. “Or escape. Or both. I’m not picky about order of operations.”

A door clangs somewhere in the distance, and Mona’s head snaps up like a predator scenting prey. “Time’s up. Daddy’s guards do rounds soon, and I have a date with some very traditional alphas and their germaphobe leader.”

She stands in one fluid motion, gathering her candy arsenal with surprising speed. “Try not to die tomorrow. Alexander gets boring when he’s smug.”

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