Page 33 of Reckless: Corruption

Ryker signals a halt as footsteps approach. We press into shadows, watching a group of guards rush past, several frantically swatting at angry insects.

“Your sister is insane,” Theo whispers, but his tone carries something like admiration.

“Thank you,” Mona beams. “I do try. Also, we should move approximately now. The next phase involves moderate floodingand possibly some minor explosions. I haven’t decided yet. Choose your own adventure, but with property damage.”

Ryker’s eyes narrow as he recalculates our exit strategy. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“Enjoyment is irrelevant. Mathematical elegance is the priority,” Mona corrects, though her smile suggests otherwise. “Your tactical approaches are interesting but overly linear. You’d benefit from introducing controlled chaos variables.”

“I like her,” Jinx declares, watching Mona with the fascinated expression of someone who’s found a kindred spirit. “Can we keep her?”

“She’s not a pet,” Finn mutters, though his analytical gaze keeps returning to her tablet with poorly concealed professional interest. “Though her algorithms for security disruption are... impressive.”

“The appreciation of my methodology is noted and reciprocated,” Mona responds with a formal nod that immediately dissolves into manic energy. “I’ve been observing your work for days. The piano wire technique particularly. Very elegant tensile application. I have suggestions for optimal angle adjustment.”

Fresh alarms start wailing. Through emergency-lit darkness, I spot our exit—a maintenance door exactly where Mona’s coordinates promised. Freedom waits just beyond, but the virus makes every step feel like wading through fire.

“Almost there,” Finn murmurs, his analytical calm anchoring me as another wave of dizziness hits. “Just hold on.”

“Yes, very touching,” Mona interjects, still typing. “Much emotional resonance. But perhaps save the romantic moments for when we’re not in a facility experiencing multiple catastrophic systems failures? Just a suggestion. I have charts about timing and survival probability correlations.”

A deafening explosion rocks the corridor just as we reach the door. Through ringing ears, I hear Mona’s satisfied hum.

“Perfect timing. Though the blast radius exceeded projections by approximately three meters. Fascinating. Must recalculate the combustion variables.”

“What was that?” Theo demands as Ryker works the door.

“Insurance.” Mona’s artificial whimsy drops for a moment, something darker showing through. “Also, erasing certain research data. Very thoroughly. With fire. Lots of fire.”

Understanding hits through the fever—she’s destroying Sterling’s virus research. Years of his work going up in precisely calculated flames.

“Incoming,” Ryker warns as boots thunder down a connecting hallway.

“Oh good, right on schedule.” Mona’s fingers dance over her device with lover’s intimacy, all that artificial chaos dropping away to reveal the scientist beneath. The prototype hums to life in her hands, electricity crackling between copper nodes like captured lightning. “I was hoping to test this particular lullaby. The discharge patterns should be absolutely gorgeous—like neural pathways written in light.” Her eyes gleam with that special blend of genius and madness that makes me wonder if she’s actually the most dangerous Sterling of all. “Also potentially lethal. But the light show will be worth it. I have calculations about aesthetic value versus mortality rates.”

“Mona—” I start, but she’s already moving.

“Go.” She positions herself at the intersection, device humming to life. “I’ll handle this. Also collect valuable experimental data. Very efficient multitasking.”

“We’re not leaving you,” I insist, even as my legs threaten to give out.

Her smile carries equal parts madness and mathematics. “Don’t be dramatic. I calculated every possible escape vector.This is merely the optimal chaos-to-survival ratio.” She checks her watch. “Also, Jinx should be finishing with Alexander right about?—”

A familiar laugh echoes down the corridor as our feral alpha rejoins us, fresh blood painting his grin.

“Now,” Mona finishes with satisfaction. “See? Mathematics.”

Through virus-blurred vision, I watch my sister prepare to burn the last bridge to her gilded cage. All those years of playing daddy’s broken omega, building her cover story one calculated act of chaos at a time—gone in a symphony of explosions and angry bees.

“Mona.” My voice breaks as Finn practically carries me toward freedom. “After this?—”

“Yes, yes, I can never go back. Very dramatic. Much emotional weight.” But something real flickers behind her manic smile. “Though technically, I haven’t been back since I was eleven and learned about load-bearing architectural points. Did you know marble stairs have fascinating stress fracture patterns? I have diagrams.”

Guards round the corner. Mona’s device lights up like contained lightning.

“Also,” she adds as electricity arcs through the air, her victims dropping like professionally choreographed dominoes, “daddy’s dinner parties were boring. Terrible conversation. Excessive discussion of omega submission protocols. This is much more entertaining. I’m collecting fantastic data points.”

“Move!” Ryker commands as more footsteps approach.

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