Page 70 of Reckless: Corruption

“I know where to get supplies,” I interrupt, voice cutting through argument like perfect high note piercing silence.

Ryker’s expression softens when he looks at me, control momentarily yielding to concern as he scents deepening heat pheromones. “Theo, you should be resting. Your heat?—”

“Is under control for now,” I counter, gesturing toward Mona, whose scientific pride visibly swells like balloon animal. “And my underground network at Sanctuary has connections we need. Medical supplies, equipment, information.”

“Sanctuary has been compromised before,” Finn reminds gently, his voice pitched in that specific key of kindness he uses when delivering unpleasant truths.

“Not the club. The network.” I meet Ryker’s eyes directly, challenging him despite biological instinct screaming for submission. “I’ve been building it for years. People who’ve escaped situations like mine—omegas with skills, with connections.”

His jaw tightens, muscles working beneath skin. It’s not just alpha protectiveness—it’s Ryker specifically, the man who’s held me through countless heats, who knows exactly how my control fractures as heat progresses. His concern isn’t designation instinct but intimate knowledge of my vulnerabilities.

“I’ll go with him,” Cayenne offers, pushing away from the tree with determination that belies her recovering body. “I know exactly what equipment Mona needs.”

“Absolutely not,” Ryker growls, alpha command thickening the air between us. “You’re still recovering, and Theo’s pre-heat?—”

“Makes him the perfect cover,” Cayenne interrupts, hacker mind finding patterns where others see chaos. “No one looks closely at omega in pre-heat with beta companion. They assume we’re heading somewhere private.”

Jinx makes strangled sound, eyes darting between us like confused puppy. “She smells like omega. Wrong-omega. It’s... confusing.”

“Good,” I say decisively, injecting voice with same authority I use when orchestrating underground escapes. “Confusion is protection. No one will look twice at us.”

Ryker clearly wants to argue, but pragmatism wins over protectiveness, logic harmonizing with instinct. Still, I see what concession costs him—tension in his jaw, almost imperceptible tightening of grip before he releases me. This isn’t just alpha instinct but deeper concern from man who knows my most vulnerable moments.

“Fine,” he concedes, each syllable tight with reluctance. His eyes lock with mine, silent message passing between us. “But you take comms, check in every thirty minutes, and return before midnight.”

“I’ll drive,” Jinx offers, keys already dangling from finger like deadly promise.

“No,” four voices chorus in perfect unison.

Jinx pouts, expression incongruous on predator’s features. “Why not?”

“Because you keep sniffing me like confusing dessert you can’t decide whether to eat,” Cayenne points out, sarcasm sharp as switchblade.

“Also, you drive like you’re auditioning for Fast and Furious,” Finn adds, calm concern crackling beneath words.

“Also, last time you drove near Sanctuary, you caused six-car pileup avoiding a squirrel,” I remind him, memory vivid despite months passed.

“It was very innocent squirrel,” Jinx mutters defensively, lethal hands gentling at memory.

Twenty minutes later, Cayenne and I sit in my Mustang, windows cracked despite chill to manage my intensifying symptoms. Before we leave, Ryker pulls me aside, expression grave with concern transcending alpha duty.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks quietly, hand cupping my face with gentleness belying his strength, thumb brushing fevered cheek. “Mona’s injection is experimental at best.”

“I need to do this,” I tell him, leaning into his touch. “For all of us.”

His eyes search mine, finding whatever reassurance he needs. Then, with quick glance ensuring momentary privacy, he captures my lips in kiss carrying equal parts concern and promise—reminder of connection beyond pack dynamics.

“Be careful,” he whispers against my lips. “And come back to me.”

I nod, understanding everything unspoken—his fear for my safety, concern about my heat, trust in my capabilities despite both.

In the car, cool night air provides temporary relief against fever-flushed skin. The list of supplies Mona needs rests between us, annotated with Finn’s precise handwriting identifying potential sources.

“You doing okay?” Cayenne asks, gaze flickering between me and road ahead. “You’re looking a little... glowy.”

I adjust air conditioning, directing cool flow toward overheated skin though it barely touches internal fire. “Pre-heat is manageable with Mona’s injection. Just... heightened.” The word doesn’t begin to capture transformation—leather seats both torture and pleasure against sensitized skin, engine vibration thrumming through bones like bassline, Cayenne’saltered scent beside me melody I can’t quite grasp but can’t stop trying to understand.

“Do I really smell different?” She shifts uncomfortably, discreetly sniffing her own arm with confused expression that would be funny under different circumstances.

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