Page 6 of Reckless: Corruption

“I will do my very best.” But I make no promises because my heart is already seizing around the unspoken word hovering between us.

Torture.

The footsteps grow louder, echoing off stone walls like drumbeats. As Mona melts back into shadows, my heart hammers so hard I can feel my pulse in my fingertips, my eardrums, the tender spot at my temple where Alexander’s gun left its mark.

But beneath the fear, something else burns—the same electric focus that used to keep me coding for forty-eight hours straight. Mona’s given me more than water and conversation, she’s given me intelligence about Sterling’s methods, about his obsessions, about possible weaknesses. My sister may be broken, but she’s transformed every jagged piece into a blade.And I’m about to do the same with every scrap of information she’s let slip.

And something tells me I’m going to need all the weapons I can get.

The door slams shut, the sound reverberating through my bones, leaving me alone with the drip of water and the growing certainty that whatever comes next will test exactly how far a beta can bend before breaking.

Game on, daddy dearest. Game fucking on.

Chapter 2

Cayenne

Mona’s absenceleaves a void filled only by the steady drip of water and my thundering pulse. I count seconds like computer code—each digit a futile attempt to measure the time between now and whatever comes next.

Another door creaks open somewhere in the labyrinth beyond my prison, the sound echoing through concrete corridors. I should have asked Mona more questions—about escape routes, about the facility’s layout, about how she moves through these shadows like a ghost. But something tells me I’ll get another chance.

Just not right now.

Footsteps approach, each click against concrete sending ice through my veins. Clipped. Uniform. Consistent. Military precision in every step. My body recognizes the threat before my mind processes it—muscle memory from a lifetime of fighting or fleeing.

When Alexander Sterling steps into view, something uncoils inside me like a serpent waking. He’s beautiful in the way apex predators are beautiful—all sleek danger and lethal grace. We share the same green eyes, but where mine hold fire, his are frozen lakes hiding drowning depths. Looking at him islike seeing a mirror image twisted by darkness, every familiar feature rendered wrong by the void behind them.

His scent hits me next—clean and sharp like winter air, but wrong somehow. Empty. Where most alphas’ scents carry emotional markers, his carries nothing but cold precision. No rage, no excitement, no anticipation—just the clinical absence of feeling that makes him infinitely more terrifying.

Sadness hits unexpectedly.

Where Mona’s damage created calculated chaos—a weapon forged from her cage—Alexander radiates pure sociopathy. There’s nothing left to save in those eyes. No warmth. No humanity. Just cold calculation and the promise of violence.

“Brother.” I inject false cheer into the greeting, armor against his winter-cold stare. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Get up.” He crosses his arms, black fatigues emphasizing the coiled strength in his frame. His stance suggests he’s ready for me to attack, though we both know I’m smart enough not to try.

Not yet.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” I force myself to stand on shaky legs, mirroring his posture despite the way my muscles scream in protest. The concrete floor has left me stiff, each movement taking far more energy than necessary.

“No funny business.” He tilts his head, studying me like a scientist observing a particularly interesting specimen. “Or try. I don’t care.”

The casual menace in his tone makes it clear he’s hoping I’ll give him an excuse. I’ve never been one to give men what they want.

He unlocks the door, the metal groaning like something dying. When he steps back, suspicion crawls up my spine like spider legs.

“Is this a trick?” The question escapes before I can stop it, fear making me honest.

“Go.” He points down the corridor, darkness yawning beyond the dim lights.

“Not a talker?” Unlike Mona, but I keep that observation locked behind my teeth. Whatever game my sister is playing, I won’t be the one to expose her hand.

“Go.” The baton jabs my shoulder, cold metal through thin fabric serving as a pointed reminder of who holds the power here.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Every survival instinct screams as I step in front of him. Having him at my back feels like inviting a knife between my ribs, but I force my chin up and my steps steady. His gaze burns between my shoulder blades, making my skin crawl with anticipation of the blow I know is coming.

The overhead fluorescents flicker and buzz, casting unstable shadows that dance along grimy walls. My eyes dart around, cataloging details. One camera near the exit, its red light a baleful eye watching our progression. No other visible surveillance, which sets off warning bells.

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