Page 93 of Reckless: Corruption

“Mona,” I say, catching my breath. “Taking a break from science?”

“Science never breaks,” she replies, popping the lollipop in. “Just shifting parameters. Very important methodology update. Much cross-disciplinary potential.”

“She’s been watching the security feeds,” Finn calls from his corner. “Analyzing our training methods.”

“Stalker much?” I mutter, but there’s no bite in it. Privacy doesn’t exist in this house.

“Your combat integration is inefficient,” Mona says, ignoring me completely. “Very suboptimal. Much wasted energy.”

Jinx bristles. “We’ve been doing just fine.”

“Fine is mediocre. Mediocre is fatal when facing Daddy.”

The room quiets. For all her eccentricities, Mona knows Sterling’s methods better than any of us. Grew up in his shadow. Studied under his control. Survived him.

“Show us,” Ryker says, stepping forward. “If we’re doing it wrong—teach us.”

Mona’s grin is all teeth. “With pleasure.”

What happens next feels like watching someone slip into a different skin. She hands me her lollipop—an oddly intimate gesture from someone who treats human contact like a communicable disease—kicks off her boots, and moves to the center of the training mat. Gone is the manic energy, the artificial sweetness, the calculated chaos. In its place stands a Sterling in all but name, balanced and precise in a stance I recognize immediately.

“Attack me,” she instructs Jinx, all whimsy evaporated from her voice. “Your standard approach. Full speed.”

Jinx glances at Ryker, who nods once, curiosity edging out caution. With a feral grin, our chaos alpha launches himself at Mona with the controlled violence that makes him so lethal—fast, unpredictable, overwhelming.

Or it should be overwhelming. Instead, Mona dismantles his attack with surgical precision, each movement alignedto redirect his force. She doesn’t just defend. She exposes the pattern underlying his seemingly random assault. Within seconds, she has him on the mat, arm locked behind his back, her knee positioned for maximum control with minimum effort.

“Predictable,” she informs him, releasing the hold and stepping back. “Your chaos has patterns. Daddy would see them immediately.”

“How did you—” Jinx starts, genuine surprise evident as he rolls to his feet.

“I counted,” she says simply. “Your attack sequences follow mathematical progressions. Very consistent intervals. Much rhythmic predictability.”

She turns to Ryker next. “Your tactical approach uses standard military patterns. Effective against conventional opponents. Useless against Alexander’s hybrid system.” She gestures for him to attack. “Demonstrate.”

Ryker’s assault is different from Jinx’s—controlled, precise, each movement flowing logically from the last. Yet Mona counters with the same disturbing efficiency, exposing weaknesses with the clinical detachment of someone dismantling a machine. When she puts him on the mat beside Jinx, the flash of genuine concern in our alpha’s expression sends a chill down my spine.

Fuck.

“Sterling combat methodology is based on pattern recognition and exploitation,” she explains, helping Ryker up with unexpected courtesy. “Alexander has been training since age four. Daddy since military school. They catalog opponent behaviors, identify mathematical consistencies, then exploit predictive algorithms.”

“So how do we counter that?” I ask, morbid fascination overriding the sick feeling in my stomach. This is the most coherent I’ve ever seen my sister, her usual chaotic presentationstripped away to reveal the cold, calculating mind beneath. The family resemblance has never been more apparent or more terrifying.

Why do I love her more for this?

“Disruption of expected patterns,” she answers, eyes meeting mine with unexpected clarity. “Deliberate mathematical inconsistency. Controlled randomness.” She gestures for me to join her on the mat. “I’ll show you.”

For the next hour, Mona transforms our training session into something entirely new. She demonstrates Sterling’s combat principles—not just techniques, but the underlying philosophy that makes Alexander so lethal. The precision of movement, the calculated efficiency, the systematic exploitation of opponent patterns.

But more importantly, she shows us how to counter it.

“The key is disruption,” she explains, using me to demonstrate. “Sterling expects conventional combat logic. By introducing pattern breaks, you become mathematically unpredictable.”

She adjusts my stance slightly, shifting weight distribution in ways that feel strange but immediately more effective. “See? This changes your center of gravity by seven degrees. Doesn’t seem significant, but it alters every subsequent movement calculation.”

The shift feels wrong but right, like learning to code in a new language with unfamiliar syntax but recognizing the underlying logic. My body resists the change even as my brain recognizes its potential. The same cognitive dissonance I’ve felt since returning to the pack—belonging and not belonging simultaneously.

To my surprise, the pack absorbs her instruction with growing appreciation. Even Jinx, initially skeptical, begins implementing her suggestions into his natural fighting style.The result is remarkable—his chaotic approach gaining a layer of calculated unpredictability that makes him even more dangerous.

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