Page 92 of Reckless: Corruption

“We’re going to stop him,” she whispers. “Aurora Facility, the database, all of it. We’re going to burn Sterling’s plans to the ground.”

“Yes,” I agree, clarity cutting through the haze. “We are.”

The pack will move when ready—recon, strategy, precision. My mind already maps the angles, the approach, the timing. But for now, in this moment of shared vulnerability, the planning can wait.

What matters is the connection rebuilt between us—not through grand gestures, but through trust and understanding. Through the realization that our greatest strength has always been how we function together.

“I forgive you,” I say quietly. “For leaving. I understand why you did it.”

She tenses, then exhales—relief in the shape of a sigh. “Thank you.”

“But don’t do it again.” I tighten my hold slightly. “Next time you decide to take on homicidal billionaires with god complexes, take your pack with you.”

“Deal.” Her fingers intertwine with mine again, firm and deliberate. “Though let’s hope there isn’t a next time.”

“With our luck? There’s always a next time.” No bitterness, just pragmatic truth.

She laughs, the sound reverberating through both of us. “Fair point. But next time, we face it together. Beta brain trust against the world.”

“Beta brain trust,” I repeat, testing the phrase. It fits perfectly. “I like that.”

As exhaustion finally claims us, the data secure and the fire inside me momentarily quiet, I hold on to that idea like a talisman.

Beta brain trust.

Chapter 19

Cayenne

Sweat stingsmy eyes as I duck beneath Ryker’s swing, slipping into his space where his longer reach works against him. My counter hits his solar plexus—not full force, but enough to make him grunt in acknowledgment of a solid strike.

“Better,” he says, resetting his stance. “Your footwork’s improving.”

“I had a good teacher,” I reply, not meaning him. The flash in his eyes tells me he caught the reference to Alexander. Some wounds are still too fresh not to poke.

The training room’s become my sanctuary these past couple days—the rhythmic violence of combat drowning out the screaming in my head every time I think about what Sterling’s planning.

The mats are covered in echoes of our evolving dance. Countless falls, bruises blooming like toxic flowers beneath my skin. All of it welcome. All of it distraction.

Even Finn joins us now. Shorter sessions, but progress. He’s propped against the wall, fever-flushed but alert, analytical gaze tracking our movements. The gray cast to his skin still makes something twist in my chest every time I see it.

“Again,” Ryker barks, nodding to Jinx. “Two-on-one. Uneven ground. Cayenne, defensive position.”

I center myself as they circle—two alphas radiating intent, predator energy coiling in the air around me. I’m the prey in the scenario, sure. But the truth is more complicated. My body registers threat and safety in the same breath, tangled in a chemical confusion that mirrors the chaos in my head.

And yeah—it’s arousing. All that alpha heat, zeroed in on little beta me.

Jinx moves first, feinting left before dropping into a low sweep. I jump, expecting it, but Ryker’s already there. The combo should work—would work on most. But Alexander’s training runs like malware in my body, overriding instinct with programmed response.

Instead of dodging, I lean into Ryker’s movement, using his shoulder as a springboard to flip over both of them. Alexander’s precision. Jinx’s chaos. All tangled into something new. A metaphor for my life.

“Holy shit,” Jinx laughs, genuine delight in his voice. “That was beautiful, Glitch.”

“Effective,” Ryker agrees, nodding. “Sterling’s training has some merit.”

“Sterling’s training is comprehensive but predictable,” a voice announces from the doorway. “Very systematic. Much patterns. Also boring.”

Mona stands there like a demented cartoon host lost on a military base—scrubs, tutu, combat boots, and a lollipop she unwraps like it’s mission-critical. Don’t let the look fool you. Her eyes are sharp and calculating as always.

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