Page 24 of Reckless: Chaos

Another crash above, closer this time. Deliberate. Like someone’s making sure we hear them coming.

“They might as well send up flares and a brass band,” Cayenne mutters, adjusting her grip on our omega’s waist as the girl’s feet drag against the concrete. Another crash echoes above us, this one deliberately louder than the last.

“No.” The realization hits cold. “They want us to run. Want us to take this exact path.”

Because what better way to catch your prey than to guide them right where you want them?

I pull them to a stop, pressing against the wall as I check the feeds again. The hunter’s movements have changed—no longer searching, but heading with purpose toward the service exit. Like they know exactly where we’re going.

“Theo?” Cayenne’s voice carries an edge of understanding. “Tell me we have a plan B.”

“I always have a plan B, piccola.” I flash her my stage smile, the one that makes alphas lose their minds. “It’s just usually more about costume changes than escape routes.”

A laugh catches in her throat, sharp with adrenaline. “Good thing I look amazing in anything.”

“That’s the spirit.” I key in a code to a maintenance panel, revealing another hidden door. “Although this mightinvolve more crawling through dusty spaces than my usual performances.”

“Your secret tunnels have secret tunnels?” She helps guide our omega friend through first. “Very on brand.”

“Wait until you see the trap doors.”

But the joke dies as another sound reaches us—the soft scuff of expensive shoes on concrete. Too close. Far too close.

“Go.” I push Cayenne toward the opening. “I’ll seal it behind you.”

“Like hell.” Her eyes flash. “I’m not leaving you to play bait.”

“No?” I raise an eyebrow, letting my omega presence fill the space. “Then how about letting me play what I do best?”

Create a distraction. Put on a show. Keep their hunter’s attention while my beta gets to safety.

Because that’s what this all comes down to—protecting what’s mine. What’s ours. Even if Ryker really does kill me for it later.

“Theo...” The protest dies on her lips as more footsteps join the first set above.

“Trust the performance, beautiful.” I press a kiss to her forehead, swift and fierce. “And run like hell when I give the signal.”

Some performances require perfect timing. Others require pure chaos.

I’m aiming for both.

“When the music changes,” I whisper to Cayenne, already pulling up the club’s sound system on my phone, “take the tunnel straight down. No turns. It’ll put you right under Quinn’s surveillance radius.”

“And you?”

“I’m going to remind everyone why I own this stage.”

Before she can argue, I trigger the system. The bass cuts out above, replaced by something darker, heavier. The kind of musicthat makes blood pump and inhibitions fade. The kind that turns a club into a riot.

“Three,” I start the countdown, watching shadows move at the end of our corridor. “Two...”

The hunter’s footsteps pause, probably trying to assess the change in atmosphere.

“One.”

I slam my palm against the emergency strobe trigger, flooding the space with disorienting pulses of light. In the same moment, I push Cayenne toward the tunnel and step into the corridor, letting my omega presence spiral out like perfume.

“Looking for someone?” I pitch my voice to carry, to command attention. Every performance trick I know wrapped in omega allure.

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