Page 31 of Reckless: Corruption

“Cellular mutation is accelerating,” Mona observes, her clinical tone at odds with the way she gently steadies me. “Very fascinating immune response. Your beta cells are fighting harder than daddy’s models predicted.”

“How long?” I manage through teeth clenched against another wave of muscle spasms.

“Fourteen minutes, sixteen seconds of functional mobility remaining,” she calculates, already adjusting our pace. “We’ll need to take the secondary route. Longer distance but fewer vertical challenges. Your motor control is deteriorating in a fascinating pattern.”

“Duck,” Mona commands suddenly, yanking me down as something that sounds like lightning crackles overhead. My muscles seize again, vision blurring as my body fights Roman’s formula rewriting it from within. “Ah, the electrical grid is destabilizing. Right on schedule. Very inconvenient for the security cameras.”

“How long have you been planning this?”

Her laugh holds no humor. “Bold of you to assume I ever stop planning.” She checks her watch again. “Now, in approximately twelve seconds, a very specific maintenance door is going to unlock due to a totally random system reset. Behind that door, if my calculations are correct—and they always are—your pack should be waiting.”

My heart stutters. “The pack?—”

The word catches in my throat. After everything I’ve done—running from them, putting myself in Sterling’s path—they still came. Something shifts beneath my ribs, an ache that has nothing to do with the virus and everything to do with the threads of connection I’ve spent my life denying.

“Has been very cooperative about following my mathematical breadcrumbs. Also very creative with piano wire. I have notes.” She produces a keycard from nowhere. “Though we should probably discuss your taste in violent men later. From a scientific perspective, of course.”

The maintenance door clicks open exactly when Mona predicted, but the victory is short-lived. Heavy footsteps echo through the chaos—measured, precise, familiar.

“And there’s the fly in my carefully calculated ointment.” Mona’s artificial whimsy drops completely. “Alexander always did have unfortunate timing.”

Alexander bleeds out of the shadows like death made flesh, emergency lights painting his tactical gear in strobes of blood-red and void-black. The smile that cuts across his face carries Roman’s scientific curiosity—like I’m just another experiment to dissect, another variable to control. Our shared features twist into something wrong on his face, genetics perverted by precise cruelty. Even through the fever haze, I see how perfectly Sterling crafted his weapon-son, right down to the calculated way he checks his corners before fully emerging.

“Sisters.” His voice carries that special blend of sociopathy and satisfaction. “How predictable.”

Mona steps forward, positioning herself between us with casual grace. “Brother dearest. Still favoring that left knee? Such a tragic childhood accident. I have charts about recovery statistics. Very disappointing numbers.”

“Move, little omega.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” She produces something from her pocket—small, metallic, deadly. “Remember that time I tested electrical current thresholds? I’ve made improvements to the formula. Would you like to participate in my newest study?”

Alexander’s laugh holds no humor. “You really think you can take me?”

“Obviously not.” Her smile turns sharp. “That’s what the backup plan is for.”

Piano wire whispers through the air behind Alexander. Jinx materializes from shadows, that feral grin promising violence. “Miss me, pretty boy?”

More shadows detach from darkness—each movement a promise of violence wrapped in deadly grace. Finn materializes with predator’s focus, all that beta calm stripped away to reveal the killer beneath. Theo flows like liquid darkness, his omega beauty turned to weapon’s edge. Ryker brings alpha authority like a storm front, the air crackling with barely contained rage.

The partial pack bond hits me like a physical blow—not just visual recognition but a visceral sense of reconnection. Each thread that I thought broken hums back to life with jarring intensity. Finn’s thread vibrates with analytical precision, data points of my condition flowing through our bond before his eyes even find mine. Theo’s connection floods with omega protective instinct, the bond practically vibrating with his need to gather me close and heal. Ryker’s thread tightens like a steel cable, alpha authority tempered with something deeper—relief, possession, fury at my condition.

And Jinx...his bond hits hardest, raw emotion flooding the connection with none of the filters the others maintain. His chaos recognizes mine, feral energy reaching through to wrap around my core. Through fever and virus, I feel them all—claiming me, protecting me, their presence a fortress where I once saw only a cage.

“See?” Mona unwraps a lollipop with mechanical focus. “Mathematics. Also violence. I find they complement each other nicely.”

The sight of my pack hits harder than any of Alexander’s blows. Finn’s eyes meet mine first, that brilliant mind already cataloging my injuries, his gaze lingering on the places where Alexander’s knife found home. Theo radiates omega protectiveness, while Ryker’s contained rage makes the air crackle. And Jinx—Jinx looks ready to paint the walls with our brother’s blood.

“Well,” Mona observes, crunching her lollipop with clinical interest, “this is all very testosterone-heavy. I prefer my men more docile. Less prone to territorial displays. Though the piano wire technique is admittedly impressive. Very clean angles.”

“Mona,” I warn, as Alexander’s hands flex toward weapons.

“What? I’m complimenting their methodology. Also collecting behavioral data. For science.”

“Enough.” Alexander’s voice carries alpha command that slides off both me and Mona like water.

“Boring.” Mona sighs. “Also ineffective. Did daddy never explain how designation resistance works? I have diagrams. Very educational.”

Everything happens at once. Alexander moves like mercury, but Jinx is faster. Piano wire meets tactical training in a dance of lethal grace. Finn appears at my side, his arm around my waist as another wave of dizziness hits. The warmth of his skin grounds me through the fever, his familiar scent—rain-washed stone and earl grey—cutting through the antiseptic facility stench.

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