Page 34 of Reckless: Corruption

We burst through the maintenance door into air so cold it burns my fever-raw lungs. Pre-dawn paints the world in shades of bruise-purple and shadow, while smoke from Mona’s calculated destruction curls against the sky like victory written in ash. Behind us, the facility blazes—all that sterile white andchrome now crowned in flames, Sterling’s temple of science burning at the hands of his broken omega daughter.

“Perfect,” she announces, consulting her tablet as we run. “The damage ratio is exceeding all projected models. Very satisfying. Though the bees were definitely the highlight. I should incorporate more aggressive insect species into future calculations.”

Ahead, I spot the pack’s vehicles idling exactly where Mona’s coordinates indicated. As we pile in, I catch her looking back at the facility—at the smoke rising from what used to be her prison, her laboratory, her stage.

“Having second thoughts?” I ask.

Her laugh holds no artifice. “Please. I have contingency plans for my contingency plans. Also, several other facilities to destroy. Very systematic. I have a spreadsheet.”

The vehicles roar to life, Ryker and Jinx taking point while Finn keeps me steady in the back seat. Theo’s hands find my fever-hot skin, his omega presence trying to soothe what Roman’s virus is trying to destroy. Each pack bond vibrates with different emotions—Ryker’s protective fury, Jinx’s satisfied chaos, Finn’s analytical concern, Theo’s omega nurturing. The sensation overwhelms me, tears pricking behind my eyes as I realize I’ve been missing this, fighting this, for so long.

They came for me. Despite my running, despite my secrets. They followed my crazy sister’s mathematical breadcrumbs into hell just to bring me home.

“Your pack is very efficient,” Mona observes from beside me, still typing on her tablet. “Though their extraction protocols could use refinement. I have suggestions. Many suggestions. Also PowerPoint presentations.”

“Not now, Mona.” But I hear the smile in Finn’s voice even as his analytical mind probably catalogs every symptom the virus is causing.

Sterling Labs burns against the pre-dawn sky like a funeral pyre, smoke writing rebellion in the air. Through fever-blurred vision, I watch our father’s temple of science crumble—all that sterile perfection consumed by Mona’s carefully calculated chaos.

In the rearview mirror, Jinx follows in our wake like a war god drunk on victory, Alexander’s blood painting his wild grin. Something in his eyes doesn’t match his expression though—a calculation that belongs more in Finn’s gaze than his chaotic one, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

The taste of copper floods my mouth as the virus rages hotter, but I can’t look away from the destruction behind us. Years of Sterling control going up in flames, precision undone by the children he tried to break into perfect shapes.

“They’re very violent,” Mona muses, finally setting her tablet aside. “I approve. Though their methods lack certain mathematical precision. We should discuss the optimal ratio of chaos to calculated destruction. I have graphs.”

“Rest,” Theo murmurs, his Italian accent thickening with concern as another wave of fever wracks my body. “Both of you.”

I lean back, surrendering to the pack’s protection for once. Finn’s fingers find mine again, tracing binary against my skin: H-O-M-E N-O-W. Theo’s scent wraps around me like a shield, while Ryker’s steady presence leads us to safety. And Jinx, beautiful chaotic Jinx, keeps watch behind us, ensuring nothing follows.

“Your alpha is bleeding on the upholstery,” Mona notes with clinical interest. “Very unsanitary. Though the pattern is aesthetically pleasing. I should document it. For science.”

As consciousness starts to fade, I hear Ryker’s quiet laugh from the front seat. “Your sister is definitely going to make our lives more interesting.”

“Obviously,” Mona replies, producing yet another lollipop. “I have charts predicting exactly how interesting. Also, contingency plans. Many contingency plans. And possibly more bees.”

The last thing I register before the virus pulls me under is my pack’s presence surrounding me like a fortress—not a cage but a sanctuary I chose. For the first time since the virus invaded my system, I stop fighting against both it and them.

Instead, I surrender to the connection I’ve spent my life denying but somehow always needed.

Chapter 9

Theo

The mansion fallssilent as we carry Cayenne inside, her fever-sharp scent hitting me like a physical blow. Cayenne’s scent breaks my composure—her bright citrus now twisted into something wrong, something that makes my hands tremble.

When we pause in the hallway, I touch the pill bottle in my pocket. fourteen tablets left. Fourteen days before withdrawal starts, before my biology betrays me and sends me spiraling into the heat I’ve been suppressing for weeks. The irony isn’t lost on me—hiding my nature with pharmaceuticals while treating a beta infected with a virus designed to change designation markers.

We carry her to the medical wing, my arms trembling with the effort not to clutch her too close. Her fever burns against my skin, and my omega instincts scream to push everyone away—even pack, even Mona with her promises. The antiseptic smell brings back memories of stitching Jinx together after missions gone wrong, making my protective instincts surge.

“We need a doctor,” Ryker snaps, already reaching for his phone.

“Oh look, you need a doctor.” Mona’s voice cuts through the tension. “Lucky for you, I collected medical degrees likesome people collect stamps. Daddy’s money had to be useful for something.”

She pulls surgical gloves from pockets that shouldn’t hold them, arranging supplies with the same focus I use for my tattoo station. In her performance, I recognize another artist—damage transformed into precise chaos.

“What?” She catches our stares. “You thought the whole chaos act was all I do? Please. The DO and PhD were just the start. I’ve got enough letters after my name to spell disaster. Cost daddy a fortune too. Worth every penny.”

Beneath her calculated whimsy, I smell something familiar—suppressants, different formula but unmistakable. She’s not expressing normal omega biology either, which explains why my territorial instincts aren’t flaring at another omega treating our pack member.

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