Page 32 of Reckless: Corruption

“I knew you weren’t dead,” he murmurs against my temple, his voice carrying that steady certainty that makes his calculations feel like prophecy. Beneath my palm, his heart races despite his outward calm. His fingers find mine, squeezing once in a pattern I recognize—binary code, translated: F-O-U-N-D Y-O-U.

Theo materializes on my other side, his omega scent wrapping around me like a shield against the virus. The dark vanilla and jasmine notes deepen with protective fury, his artist’s hands gentle as they brush fever-damp hair from my face. “Stay with us, piccola,” he whispers, the Italian endearment carrying new weight.

Through fever-hazed vision, I watch Jinx and Alexander clash in a dance of violence—sterling technique against feralchaos, precise control versus inspired destruction. Alexander’s moves follow perfect form, every strike lifted from advanced combat manuals. But Jinx...Jinx flows, each movement unpredictable, his natural chaos turned to deadly art.

“Your escape route closes in ninety-seven seconds,” Mona announces, watching their deadly dance with analytical interest. “Also, the bee situation is about to escalate dramatically. I may have forgotten to mention the second hive. Very careless of me.”

Fresh alarms start blaring. Through fever-blurred vision, I watch my brother and my alpha try to tear each other apart while my sister catalogs their movements like she’s taking research notes.

“Mona—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Go.” For a moment, her mask slips completely. “I have contingency plans. Many contingency plans. Also more bees.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Her smile turns genuine, just for a second. “Don’t be dramatic.” Mona says, producing another device that looks suspiciously like her homemade taser, “I’m coming with you. My research requires direct observation. Also, daddy’s WIFI is terrible. Very limiting for data uploads.”

Relief floods through me even as the virus burns hotter. “You’re sure?”

“Obviously. I’ve planned for this exact scenario. Multiple scenarios actually. I have flowcharts.” She watches Alexander and Jinx’s deadly dance with clinical interest. “Though I admit, the violence quotient is exceeding my projected models. Very impressive. Must update my calculations.”

“We need to move,” Ryker commands, his voice cutting through chaos of alarms and combat. “Now.”

“Seventy-three seconds until the next security sweep,” Mona confirms, checking her Hello Kitty watch. “Also, the nitrogen cooling system is about to?—”

An explosion rocks the facility, followed by the distinctive sound of shattering glass and screaming.

“That.” She pockets her taser. “That’s what it’s about to do.”

Finn’s arm around my waist tightens as another wave of dizziness hits. Through the fever, I hear Theo murmuring something in Italian—probably cursing, based on Mona’s appreciative expression.

“Your alpha is quite talented with that wire,” she tells me as we move toward our escape route, leaving Jinx to handle our brother. “Though his technique could use refinement. I have suggestions. Many suggestions. Also diagrams.”

“Mona.”

“What? I’m being supportive of your life choices. Very sisterly. Also gathering evidence for peer review.”

As we reach the exit, a crashing sound echoes behind us. Through the strobing emergency lights, I glimpse Jinx shoving Alexander into a wall, the impact cracking concrete. Alexander’s response is pure Sterling efficiency—a knife appearing in his hand, blade finding Jinx’s shoulder before being knocked away. Blood paints the floor as Jinx laughs, the sound carrying equal parts pain and pleasure.

Then something strange happens. For a fraction of a second, their eyes lock in a way that doesn’t match the violence of their bodies. A flash of... something passes between them, too quick to interpret through my fever-haze, but distinct enough to register as wrong. Alexander’s mouth forms words too quiet for me to hear, and Jinx’s response is equally silent—not the snarl I’d expect but something more controlled, almost calculated.

“Time to go,” Ryker growls, his alpha command vibrating through pack bonds.

“Jinx!” I call, something desperate clawing beneath my sternum.

His head turns, feral grin finding me through chaos, but there’s a new edge to his smile—a coldness that wasn’t there before. “Go, Glitch. I’ll be right behind you.”

Another explosion rocks the facility. Finn pulls me through the exit as Jinx lands one final devastating blow to Alexander’s jaw, dropping him to the floor before sprinting after us.

“He’ll recover,” Jinx reports as he joins us, blood soaking his shoulder. His tone carries an odd certainty, like he knows exactly how much damage he inflicted. “Unfortunately.”

The corridors twist like a funhouse mirror maze, emergency lights strobing red-black-red across concrete walls that seem to breathe. Finn’s arm around my waist anchors me to reality—the scratch of his tactical vest against my fever-hot skin, the steady rhythm of his breathing cutting through chaos. Mona’s voice charts our course through hell, each precise direction a lifeline as my infected body tries to surrender to the dark.

“Security breach in Sector Seven,” she narrates, still typing on her tablet. “How unfortunate. Also, completely unrelated to the sequential failure of every backup generator. Pure coincidence. Much technological tragedy.”

“You’re enjoying this,” I manage through gritted teeth as we round another corner.

“Obviously. I rarely get to implement my chaos algorithms at this scale. The data collection opportunities are fascinating. Also, the bees are exceeding all behavioral predictions. Very impressive. Must recalculate their chaos coefficient.”

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