Page 24 of Reckless: Corruption

The night stretches on, each second measured in heartbeats and guard rotations. Behind my tactical observations, memories of Cayenne surface like code breaking through firewalls—her laugh during free fall, the way she kissed me in that barn like she was finally letting herself feel something real.

What my packmates experienced as pure sensation, I cataloged as data—the 37.2% increase in her pulse when our lips met, the subtle shift in her breathing pattern when I touched that spot beneath her left ear. The analyst in me knowsattachment is dangerous in our line of work. The beta in me doesn’t care.

“New pattern,” I report, forcing my voice to maintain its analytical distance. “Loading dock. They’re bringing in medical equipment. Cold storage units.”

The words taste like ash. I’ve watched this scene before, but this time it’s different. This time it’s personal.

“Specifications?” Ryker asks, voice tight with controlled rage.

“Advanced life support. Monitoring systems. The kind used for testing biological responses.”

“I’ll kill them,” Jinx vows. “If they’ve hurt her?—”

“Focus,” Theo interrupts. “She’s alive. I can feel it.”

I hear the strain beneath his steadiness—his pre-heat symptoms must be progressing, making this separation even harder on him. The approaching biological imperative would explain the occasional tremor in his voice when he mentions her.

My scope catches movement—our mystery omega again, this time at a different window. She’s writing something in the condensation, movements more deliberate than before.

“Message,” I report. “Numbers. Could be coordinates.”

“Or a trap,” Ryker reminds us.

“Everything’s a trap if you look at it right,” I counter. “The question is whether it’s one we can use.”

The memory of Cayenne hits me again—all calculated risk and brilliant chaos. She kissed me like she was dismantling my defenses, found weaknesses in walls built from loss and logic. The beta in me wants to storm the gates, but the analyst in me—the one who survived when my family didn’t—knows better.

I failed my family once by analyzing without acting. I won’t make the same mistake with my pack. The tactical patience my father taught me isn’t about inaction—it’s about choosing the perfect moment to strike.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Theo murmurs through the comm.

“Just calculating probabilities.”

“Liar.” His smile carries through his voice. “You’re remembering how she tastes like adrenaline and rebellion.”

“The omega’s back,” Jinx reports suddenly. “North side. Third floor. She’s... is she eating a lollipop?”

The lollipop detail catches in my mind like an anomaly in a data set. Everything in this facility is controlled, measured, precise. Yet here’s this omega, deliberately breaking pattern while staying just within acceptable parameters.

“She’s testing boundaries,” I realize. “Every movement calculated to look random while following a specific sequence—the light for seventy-three seconds, the bubblegum on cameras, the lollipop at exactly 0300. She’s creating a map of blind spots.”

Jinx’s breath catches. “She’s giving us a way in.”

“Or showing us where she plans to come out,” Theo adds.

The facility’s patterns shift subtly as night deepens—guard rotation getting sloppier, security sweeps growing predictable.

“New vehicle,” I report, tracking a sleek black car entering the underground garage. “Sterling himself, based on security response.”

“Time to move to phase two?” Jinx asks, his patience finally fraying.

Through my scope, I catch one last glimpse of our mystery omega. She presses something against the window—a piece of paper with what looks like chemical formulas scrawled across it. Just long enough for surveillance to catch it.

“Yes,” I decide. “Our omega friend just gave us everything we need. Time to show Sterling exactly why they called us the psycho squad.”

“Finally,” Jinx breathes.

Ryker’s voice carries cold certainty. “Finn, break it down.”

---