Page 53 of Reckless: Corruption

“Not an antidote.” She rolls her eyes at my scientific imprecision. “A control mechanism. Daddy likes control.Very predictable psychological pattern. Much paternal overcompensation.”

Of course. Roman Sterling wouldn’t create a virus without ensuring he could control who lived and died. Precision and power—the Sterling family values.

“Where?” I take a bite, the sweetness almost too much after days of fever-dulled senses. My enhanced beta senses catch subtle flavor notes I’ve never detected before—hints of mineral and soil that tell stories of the orchard where it grew.

She slides the tablet toward me, security schematics filling the screen. “Coastal facility. Approximately thirty-seven minutes by car. Twenty-two by motorcycle. Very efficient transit options. Much reduced security compared to primary operations.”

“And you know this because...”

“I know everything about daddy’s operations.” She taps the screen, bringing up guard rotations. “Also, I have extensive digital access. And possibly some backdoors I installed while pretending to be incompetent with technology. For science.”

I study the layout, muscle memory from years of system infiltration kicking in. “Security protocols?”

“Standard biometric entry. Easily bypassed with daddy’s genetic material.” She gestures vaguely at me. “Congratulations, you’re a walking access key. Very convenient. Much biological advantage.”

The implications catch me off-guard. “You want me to break into Sterling’s lab?”

“Obviously.” She produces another lollipop from somewhere. “Your genetic markers are close enough to fool the primary authentication. The secondary requires actual skill. I have documentation of the system vulnerabilities. Very detailed. Much exploitation potential.”

I should say no. I should be sensible and continue resting and recovering. I should?—

The memory of Finn collapsing into my lap hits me like a system crash, his chess pieces scattering between us like broken possibilities.

“When do we leave?”

“We?” Mona’s genuine surprise breaks through her mask of calculated chaos. “Oh no, no, no. Highly inefficient team composition. Much increased failure probability.” She makes a dismissive gesture. “I don’t do fieldwork. Very messy. Much adrenaline-based decision-making. I prefer controlled environments. And candy.”

“Then who?—”

A low whistle from the doorway interrupts. Jinx leans against the frame, predatory interest written in every line of his body. “Sounds like fun.”

I should’ve known he’d be lurking. Jinx has a sixth sense for chaos in the making—probably why he and Mona get along so disturbingly well despite their surface antagonism.

“Were you eavesdropping?” I demand.

His grin is all teeth. “Always.”

“Perfect,” Mona declares, already typing on her tablet. “Alpha-beta team composition yields highest success probability. Very complementary skill sets. Much violence potential.” She glances up. “Though your feral one’s impulse control variables remain concerning. I have spreadsheets about optimal restraint-to-chaos ratios.”

“I’m right here,” Jinx reminds her, but there’s amusement rather than offense in his tone.

“Yes, and your enthusiasm for potential property damage is both statistically valid and psychologically concerning.” She hands him the tablet. “Security changes at 2200 hours. Optimal infiltration window lasts approximately twenty-seven minutes. Very precise timing requirements. Much coordination necessity.”

“What about Ryker?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Otherwise occupied.” Jinx’s expression shifts, something darker passing through his eyes. “Theo’s heat.”

“Pre-heat symptoms intensifying,” Mona corrects, clinical as ever. “Theo’s suppressants are failing at a fascinating rate. Very unexpected chemical breakdown. Much biochemical interest.” She unwraps another lollipop. “Full heat onset expected within forty-eight hours, but he’s already experiencing significant discomfort. I have research papers about omega suppression failure rates. Many research papers. Also extremely detailed diagrams. I also may have made him a cocktail to make it a wee bit longer.”

The reminder of what I’m going to miss if we don’t solve this sends an unexpected pang through me. Theo tried to wait—for me. And now his suppressants are failing, and I’m still barely functioning, and Finn is worse, and if I don’t do something, I might lose all of them without ever having truly belonged to any of them. The thought stabs through me like one of Alexander’s knives, sharp and precise.

“Here.” Jinx tosses me a leather jacket. “Might be a little big, but it’ll protect your skin if we go down.” His casual confidence cuts through my spiral. “Figured we’d take the Ducati. Fast in, fast out.”

“You planned this already?” I glance between him and Mona, suspicion blooming.

“I calculate probabilities,” Mona corrects. “He plans violence. Very different cognitive processes. Much specialized expertise.”

“You’re using us as lab rats,” I realize, watching her tap away at devices I can’t even identify. “This entire conversation was a test.”

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