Page 87 of Reckless: Corruption

“Moving your direction,” he responds, relief evident. “They’ve disengaged and are proceeding through the west corridor.”

I watch the facility’s exit, counting seconds that feel like hours. Every instinct screams to go back in, to find them, to fight alongside them. But the data I’m carrying is too important, the risk too great. My fingers tap restless patterns against my thigh—binary for calm down, breathe, wait.

Just as I’m about to ignore orders and return for them, two shadows detach from the building’s darker edges. Ryker moves with his usual controlled precision, but there’s a hitch in his gait that suggests injury. Jinx follows, supporting what appears to be a dislocated shoulder but grinning like he’s had the time of his life.

Relief hits me like a successful system restore, knees almost buckling with the intensity of it. “About time,” I call softly as they reach me. “I was about to stage a very dramatic rescue.”

“Unnecessary,” Ryker responds, though his eyes warm slightly at the sight of me. “Though I appreciate the thought.”

“You okay?” I ask, noting the blood staining his tactical gear.

“Not mine,” he assures me, already moving to the driver’s side. “Jinx had fun.”

“So much fun,” Jinx agrees, sliding into the back seat with a wince that belies his cheerful tone. “We should do this more often. Team bonding and all that.”

“You’re insane,” I inform him, but there’s no heat in it. Just relief that we’re all together, all whole, all alive. My hand finds his knee, squeezing briefly—an uncharacteristic gesture of affection that surfaces before I can think better of it.

“Obviously,” he agrees, covering my hand with his for a moment. “It’s part of my charm.”

As Ryker drives us away from the facility—no lights, no speed, nothing to draw attention—the tension finally begins to ebb. In my backpack is data that could change everything. In my chest, the warmth of successful mission, of pack working in perfect synchronicity despite separation. Rain streaks the windows, blurring the world outside into an impressionist painting of shadows and distant lights.

“Finn, Theo, we’re clear,” Ryker reports. “ETA twenty minutes.”

“Copy that,” Finn responds, exhaustion evident now that the immediate danger has passed. “Theo’s already prepping medical for Jinx’s shoulder.”

“It’s fine,” Jinx protests half-heartedly. “Just a little dislocated.”

“A little dislocated is like a little pregnant,” I point out, turning to check his injury more thoroughly. The joint sits at an angle that makes my own shoulder ache in sympathy. “It either is or isn’t.”

“Fine, it’s completely dislocated,” he concedes with a dramatic sigh. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” I deadpan, turning to check his injury more thoroughly. “What happened?”

“Threw a guy through a door,” Jinx explains, as though this is perfectly reasonable behavior. “But he was heavier than expected. Physics and all that.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I inform him, but my hands are gentle as I help stabilize the injury for transport.

The drive back passes in comfortable silence, the adrenaline crash leaving us all in that strange liminal space between hyper-alertness and exhaustion. Despite Jinx’s injury and Ryker’s obvious frustration with him, there’s a sense of accomplishment humming between us—mission complete, data secured, pack intact. The rain intensifies, drumming on the roof in a soothing rhythm that matches the quiet certainty building in my chest.

“We did good,” I offer quietly as the mansion comes into view. “All of us.”

Ryker’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, something approving in his gaze. “Yes. We did.”

The simple acknowledgment carries more weight than flowery praise might have. We functioned as a unit tonight—separated physically but connected through purpose and trust. The realization settles warm in my chest, displacing some of the horror from what we discovered.

As we pull into the garage, Theo already waits at the door, worry and relief warring in his expression. Despite his obvious struggle with heat symptoms—skin flushed, eyes too bright, movements slightly unsteady—he’s there for us, for pack. Finn stands beside him, leaning heavily against the doorframe, face pale but determined. Beyond them, I catch a glimpse of Mona, pacing impatiently in the hallway, already anticipating the data we’ve brought.

“You should be resting,” I scold as we exit the vehicle, but there’s no heat in it.

“Like I could sleep while you three were playing commando,” Finn retorts, his smile tight but genuine. “Besides, someone had to keep Theo from climbing the walls.”

“I was perfectly calm,” Theo protests, though his scent carries notes of distress and lingering fear. His eyes scan each of us, cataloging injuries with the precision of someone too familiar with assessing damage. “Jinx, you’re an idiot.”

“Love you too, piccolo,” Jinx responds cheerfully, wincing as movement jostles his shoulder.

Before I can follow them inside, Jinx catches my hand, tugging me back into the shadows of the garage. His good arm loops around my waist, pulling me against him with surprising gentleness.

“You were worried,” he says, not a question but an observation, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

---