Page 7 of Reckless: Corruption

A facility this secure should have better coverage unless?—

The baton cracks against the back of my legs with surgical precision. My knees buckle and I slam forward, barely getting my palms up in time to catch myself. Concrete bites into my skin as the impact jars through my arms and into my teeth.

“Get up.” His boot finds my calf, preventing me from rising even as he demands it. The casual cruelty of it—the game of it—makes bile rise in my throat.

Blood fills my mouth, copper-sharp and nauseating, as I dig deep for that hidden reservoir of fuck-you strength that’s kept me alive this long. I push to my feet, teeth grinding against the pain. Each step toward the door feels like walking through quicksand, my muscles tensed for the next attack.

He waits until we clear the threshold before knocking me down again.

“What is your problem?” I spin to face him, the sterile white hallway spinning with me. The fluorescent lights here are steady, unforgiving in their brightness. No shadows to hide in, nowhere to run.

“No problem.” He spits at my feet, the gesture calculated to degrade.

I cross my arms, planting my feet. If this sadistic bastard wants me to move, he’ll have to work for it.

“Walk.” The command comes out in a growl before his lips twist into something cruel. “Walk,” he repeats, infusing the word with alpha command.

Every muscle in my body vibrates with the command, but I hold my ground. A small, vicious smile plays at my lips as his power slides off me like water. That’s the thing about being a beta—we might not have fancy designations or biological imperatives, but we also don’t have to bow to anyone’s authority but our own.

“Walk, bitch.” He gets in my face, flooding the command with enough power to make the air crackle.

“Fuck. You.” I grind each word out like broken glass.

The backhand isn’t surprising, but it still rocks my head back. Stars explode behind my eyes as copper floods my mouth again.

“Alexander.” A new voice cuts through the ringing in my ears, cultured tones carrying notes of disappointment. “Cayenne.”

My body hums with fresh tension as I adjust my stance to keep both men in view. There at the end of the sterile corridor stands Roman Sterling, flanked by two stone-faced guards. He radiates alpha confidence like a poison, every inch of him engineered to command respect. Dark hair perfectly styled, patrician features arranged in an expression of mild interest, and those familiar eyes—my eyes—studying me like I’m a particularly complex equation he’s trying to solve.

“Father.” I load the word with all the venom I can muster, satisfaction flaring at the tiny tick in his expression.

Alexander’s grip bruises my bicep as he drags me toward an open door. The room beyond hits me like a punch to the gut—antiseptic white and gleaming steel, medical precision twisted into something nightmarish. Not quite a doctor’s office, not quite a lab, but somehow worse than either.

One wall holds observation windows, and that’s where Roman positions himself with his sentinels, looking down at me like a king surveying his domain. I press myself into a corner as Alexander exits, the lock engaging with a fatal-sounding click.

“What the fuck is this?” Fear creeps into my voice despite my best efforts to cage it.

Roman’s finger hovers over an intercom button. “Checking for omega latency.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Rage burns through my veins as a fine mist begins to spray from overhead vents. The droplets catch light like diamonds, beautiful and deadly.

Is that what this is about? Testing if I might have some hidden omega potential beneath my beta markers? The very idea is absurd—designations are fixed at birth.

Or at least, that’s what everyone believes.

“No.” His voice carries the same detachment he might use to discuss the weather. “I’d like to know if you’re worth saving.”

In that moment, watching him watch me through bullet-proof glass, I make a promise to myself. Iwillkill this man. Not quickly, not cleanly, but with the same methodical precision he’s using to destroy me.

I inhale deliberately, letting the mist coat my lungs. Then I step forward and spit on the window, marking the barrier between us.

He just blinks, unmoved by my defiance.

“Now what?” I spin in a slow circle, arms spread wide. “No omega presentation. Shocking.”

“Pity.” The word falls like a death sentence.

“Won’t it take time, father?” Alexander’s eagerness bleeds through the intercom.

---