Page 8 of Reckless: Corruption

“No.” Roman shakes his head, clinical disappointment evident in every line of his face. “She’d perfume almost instantly. My formula is perfect.”

I hop onto the exam table, letting my feet swing like a child at the doctor’s office. The metal bleeds cold through my clothes as I watch them through the glass, wondering which kind of monster I’ll face next.

“Now what?” Alexander asks, and the hunger in his voice makes my skin crawl.

“I had hoped I could use her as an omega.” Roman’s tone suggests he’s already moving to the next item on his checklist.

“We can kill her.” The eager way Alexander offers this solution tells me exactly where I rank in his worldview.

“No.” Roman’s response carries no mercy, just calculation. “See what she’s made of. Break her.”

Ice floods my veins as warning bells scream in my head.

“Gladly.” Alexander moves toward the door like a predator scenting blood.

Roman’s hand lands on Alexander’s shoulder, the gesture almost paternal. “Don’t kill her. We need her mind strong.” His gaze fixes on me through the glass, clinical and cold. “Break her and rebuild her. Strengthen her.”

“What the hell does that mean?” My voice comes out higher than intended, fear finally cracking through my armor.

“You want to live?” Roman asks, as though offering a choice that isn’t really a choice at all.

“Obviously.” The word snaps out of me, sharp with false bravado.

“Then live.” He turns and walks away, each step measured and unhurried. He doesn’t need to rush—he knows exactly what’s about to happen.

The door opens with a hiss, and Alexander’s smile holds nothing but promises of pain.

“No.” I raise my hand like setting boundaries with a rabid dog might actually work. “Just... no.”

“Go.” He steps aside, giving me a clear path to the door.

“What?”

“Go.” The word carries dark amusement now.

Fear coats my tongue, metallic and sharp. “No.”

The gun appears in his hand like a magic trick, black metal gleaming under fluorescent lights. “Go.”

“Or you’ll shoot me again?” My fingers brush the tender spot where he pistol-whipped me, the memory pulsing with fresh pain.

“I pistol whipped you.” He corrects me like we’re having a normal sibling disagreement about remembered events.

“Well, it still fucking hurt.”

His smile grows teeth. “Run, little red. Run.”

“No.” The word comes out stronger than I feel.

The gunshot cracks through the small room like thunder, the sound bouncing off sterile walls until my ears ring with it. The bullet embeds itself in the wall beside my head, close enough that I feel its passage ruffle my hair.

Message received.

I bolt past him into the corridor, my bare feet slapping against cold concrete as I run without direction or purpose. Each door I pass looks identical to the last, the hallways a maze designed to disorient. My lungs burn as I burst through another set of doors into what seems like an underground garage, but wrong—a liminal space of concrete pillars and empty vastness,like someone forgot to add the cars to this level of the video game.

Perfect. In the way that absolutely nothing about this is perfect.

I duck behind a pillar, trying to control my breathing as Alexander’s footsteps echo through the space. The sound bounces off concrete walls, making it impossible to pinpoint his location.

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