Page 25 of Reckless: Chaos

A figure stands at the corridor’s end—tall, dangerous, dressed in tactical gear that probably costs more than my monthly liquor order. But what catches my attention is the way they move. Fluid. Precise. Like violence turned into ballet.

“Actually,” their voice carries cultured edges, “I was rather hoping to speak with your companion.”

“Funny.” I shift my weight, making sure to draw their eye as Cayenne helps our injured omega through the hidden door. “I don’t recall sending out invitations for this particular show.”

“No?” They take a step closer, and something about their movement sets off every warning bell I have. This isn’t just a professional—this is someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. “I could have sworn I had a standing reservation.”

The words carry meaning I can’t quite grasp, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is buying time, keeping their attention firmly on me while my beta makes her escape.

“I’m afraid,” I let a smile curve my lips, one that’s caught the attention of far more dangerous predators than this, “tonight’s performance is invitation only.”

Three more steps and they’ll be close enough to see the tunnel. Two more and they’ll be in striking distance.

One more and?—

The lights cut out completely, plunging us into darkness so complete it feels solid against my skin. A hand finds my shoulder, fingers gripping with calculated pressure. “Like hell I’m leaving you,” Cayenne’s voice materializes at my ear, warm breath carrying the scent of adrenaline and defiance.

God damn stubborn, beautiful beta.

The emergency lights flicker back, painting everything in stuttered snapshots that my performer’s eye catalogs with precision:

Tactical gear that costs more than my seasonal wardrobe.

Lean build that speaks of deliberate training rather than brute strength.

A black balaclava hiding most of their features.

But it’s the eyes that catch me—green with flecks of gold, startlingly familiar in a way that tugs at my memory. I’ve seen those eyes before, watching me with that same predatory focus. But where?

“Two against one?” The hunter’s cultured voice carries amusement. “How uncivilized.”

“Says the man crashing my private party.” I shift slightly, keeping myself between those dangerous eyes and Cayenne. “I’d say that’s the height of poor manners.”

“Theo.” Cayenne’s hand finds my shoulder, and I feel her tension through the touch. “We need to move.”

She’s right. Every second we stand here is another second for backup to arrive—theirs or ours, and I’m not willing to bet on which gets here first.

But those eyes...

Something about them sets off warning bells that have nothing to do with the immediate threat. Something important. Something I’m missing.

“Movement at the north entrance,” Cayenne whispers, and I realize she’s watching the security feed on my phone. Clever girl. “Multiple targets.”

The hunter takes another step forward, and the emergency lights catch a glimpse of skin between mask and collar. A tattoo, small and precise—binary code, maybe, or some kind of equation, rendered in stark black lines against pale skin.

My lungs seize mid-inhale, the air catching painfully in my throat. Not from recognition, but from the deliberate precision of those lines—mathematical in their perfection, too purposeful to be mere decoration. This isn’t some random mercenary with tribal art. This is someone who wears their purpose like a brand.

Those eyes. That tattoo. The way they move like violence turned to art.

This isn’t just any professional. This is someone trained specifically for this kind of work. Someone who treats hunting like a science.

And suddenly, I’m very, very glad my beta didn’t listen when I told her to run.

“Interesting choice of ink,” I say, letting my omega voice carry those seductive notes that usually make alphas lose focus. The hunter doesn’t even blink. Another warning bell. “Let me guess—corporate loyalty taken a bit too far?”

“Let me guess,” they counter, that cultured voice carrying edges of amusement, “deflection through performance? How very... omega of you.”

The slight pause beforeomegacarries weight. Meaning. Like they know exactly what buttons to push.

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