Page 21 of Reckless: Corruption

“I contain multitudes.” She finishes the bandaging with a little flourish. “Fifty-two seconds. We should probably run.”

Alexander groans, the sound carrying promises of violence. His eyelids flutter, consciousness returning in stages that Mona seems to have timed with meticulous precision.

“Forty-nine seconds.” Mona pulls another taser from her sweater. “I have a backup. Just in case. I believe in being prepared. Also, I really like electrocuting him. It’s very satisfying.”

“Why are you even here?” I whisper, keeping one eye on Alexander’s twitching form.

She leans closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was coming to tell you about the maintenance tunnel behind the east wing. Guards change at 3 AM. Security cameras on a forty-second loop.” Her eyes dart to Alexander. “But then I found big brother playing his boring dominance games and thought shocking him might be more fun.”

“You’re talking about escape.”

“I’m talking about options.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with calculated casualness. “For when you’re ready to see more of the facility than just this charming dungeon suite.”

I stare at my sister—this brilliant, broken creature who turns violence into art and trauma into tactical advantage—and feel something that might be love.

“Thirty-three seconds!” She sing-songs, practically bouncing. “Time for the crazy omega to disappear. Try not to die—I’m collecting data on your survival rates. For science.”

She melts into shadows just as Alexander’s eyes start to focus, leaving me with wrapped wounds, cavity-inducing emotional support, and the growing certainty that I can’t leave this place without her.

Behind me, my brother pushes himself up, radiating murderous intent.

Round two, I guess.

At least this time I know exactly where to hit.

Alexander rises like something out of a nightmare, each movement a study in barely controlled rage. The air around him practically crackles with alpha energy, but now I see what Mona meant—the subtle tremors in his hands, the way his carefully constructed control fractures around the edges.

“Did our sister’s little toy hurt?” I tap my own neck, mimicking where the taser connected. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she has charts about any lasting nerve damage.”

His snarl echoes off concrete walls. “You think this is funny?”

“Actually, yes.” I shift into a defensive stance, cataloging his tells with new understanding. “The great Alexander Sterling, taken down by bubble gum and candy bribes. It’s hilarious.”

“She’s using you.” He advances, but there’s something different in his movement now—something almost desperate.

“Playing her little games, making you think you understand. But you don’t know her. Not really.”

“I know she survived you.”

“Survived me?” His laugh holds no humor.

“Is that what she told you? Poor little Mona, daddy’s favorite victim?”

He moves faster than I can track, pinning me against the wall. “Ask her sometime what really happened to the pack thatalmost claimed her when she was sixteen. Ask her about the fires.”

Despite the pressure on my throat, I smile. “Worried about little sister’s body count?”

His grip tightens. “Worried? No. Unlike you, I know exactly what kind of monster wears our sister’s skin.”

I close my eyes briefly, drawing on what my pack has taught me—Ryker’s tactical patience, Jinx’s embrace of controlled chaos, Finn’s analytical precision, and Theo’s understanding of how to turn weakness into strength. Four distinct influences melding with my own skills to create something Alexander can’t predict.

“The real question is...” He leans closer, eyes searching mine. “What kind of monster are you?”

The answer comes in the form of Mona’s tactical lessons—a knee to his weakened joint, an elbow to that sweet spot behind his ear, a strike to the solar plexus that makes him stumble back.

“The kind that learns from family.” I follow up with a combination that targets every weakness Mona mapped out. “The kind that pays attention.”

He recovers quickly, but something’s changed in his expression. The rage remains, but now there’s something else—something almost like recognition.

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