Page 59 of Reckless: Corruption

Just for a minute. Just...

The scent hits me first—gunpowder and leather, cherry tobacco and sin. Then strong arms close around me, lifting me from the forest floor like I weigh nothing. Jinx crouches beside me, those feral eyes scanning for injuries.

“Points for style on that dismount, Glitch, but your landing needs work,” he says, his attempt at humor belied by the concern radiating from him.

“Critics... everyone’s a critic,” I manage to rasp. “Didn’t exactly... stick the landing.”

He gathers me closer, one arm supporting my back, the other sliding under my knees. “I got you,” he murmurs against my hair. “I got you.”

“The samples,” I manage, fighting to stay conscious.

“Safe.” His grip tightens as he navigates through darkness. “Sent them with Theo’s contact from Sanctuary. They’re already on their way to Mona.”

Relief floods through me, followed quickly by confusion. “You came back.”

“Always will.” The simple truth in his voice breaks something loose in my chest. “Pack means nobody runs alone.”

I want to respond, to thank him, to say any of the thousand things burning in my throat. But the virus surges again, dragging me toward darkness with greedy hands. As my consciousnessfades, I think of all of them—Jinx carrying me through darkness, Finn fighting the same virus that’s consuming me, Theo enduring pre-heat discomfort while waiting for me,

As my consciousness fades, I think of all of them—Jinx carrying me through darkness, Finn fighting the same virus that’s consuming me, Theo enduring pre-heat discomfort while waiting for me, Ryker coordinating our relocation with less than a week remaining. And Mona, calculating probabilities with candy and chaos.

For the first time in my life, I’m not just running toward safety—I’m running home. To my pack. To all of them.

The last thing I register is Jinx’s voice in my ear, fierce with promise:

“Hold on, Glitch. Just hold on.”

Then nothing but merciful black.

Chapter 14

Cayenne

I waketo the rhythm of someone else’s heartbeat, steady and strong beneath my cheek.

Consciousness returns in fragments—warmth against my skin, the weight of an arm draped protectively across my waist, a scent that wraps around me like a security protocol I never knew I needed. Cherry tobacco and leather, gunpowder and sin.Jinx.

Memory filters back through virus-hazed systems—Alexander’s cruel satisfaction, the lab’s clinical chill, the samples secured, running through the forest as my body betrayed me. Then darkness crashing like a system failure.

I open my eyes slowly, performing a cautious diagnostic. We’re in Jinx’s room—not the functional guest quarters where I first arrived, but his actual personal space. The one I’ve never been invited into before. Morning light filters through partially drawn curtains, painting everything in soft gold that feels at odds with the man himself.

His space is... unexpected.

Weapons displayed with reverent precision on one wall, yes—that tracks. But there are also stacks of books that range from tactical manuals to poetry collections. A half-finished crocheting project sits on the nightstand beside a tactical knife. Greenyarn spills across surfaces in organized chaos, like violence and creation locked in eternal standoff. Every contradiction I’ve seen in him manifested in physical space.

And I’m curled against him in his bed, wearing nothing but one of his shirts and my underwear.

The realization should trigger my fight-or-flight response, launch defensive protocols, send me running for safer ground. But the virus has stripped away my firewalls, leaving raw code exposed. I don’t want to run. I want to stay right here, listening to his heart beating beneath my cheek, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest like waves I could drown in willingly.

My enhanced beta senses—courtesy of Sterling’s virus—pick up subtleties I’d have missed before. The slight change in Jinx’s breathing as he wakes, the lingering metallic tang of fever fading from my own scent, the distant sounds of activity elsewhere in the house. My hearing catches Mona’s clinical tones from somewhere below, explaining something aboutviral inhibitor integrationandpromising cellular responsesto someone who must be Finn, his voice still weak but definitely conscious.

“Morning, Glitch,” Jinx’s voice rumbles, the vibration carrying through his chest to my ear like bass notes I can feel in my bones.

I tilt my head up to find him watching me, those feral eyes surprisingly soft in early light. No sign of the barely contained violence that usually simmers beneath his surface. Just... peace. It transforms him from beautiful disaster to something almost transcendent.

“How long was I out?” My voice comes out raspy, throat dry from fever and forest flight.

“About twelve hours.” His fingers trace idle patterns on my arm, each point of contact sending little sparks through my system like gentle electricity. “Had Mona worried for a bit.”

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