Page 48 of Reckless: Chaos

“Sunday.” Quinn’s reply is clipped. “Don’t forget to actually tell her instead of keeping it from her and bringing Finn.”

Ryker’s laugh holds no humor. “I mean, he could probably make it work.”

“We need her.”

“No.” Ryker’s response is immediate, final. “You don’t.”

I slip away before I can hear more, my head spinning with revelations. The fresh air that felt so liberating minutes ago now seems thin, insufficient. Two facts circle my mind like predators:

Ryker doesn’t want me at Theo’s heat.

He doesn’t want me anywhere near my own drive.

Well, fuck.

Chapter 11

Cayenne

Indecision isa special kind of hell. The kind that turns your stomach into a mosh pit and your brain into a badly coded loop. Stay or go. Go or stay. The options chase each other through my mind like corrupted data, never reaching a resolution.

My reflection stares back at me from the bathroom mirror for the hundredth time tonight, accusation in its eyes. I’ve been stress-plucking my eyebrows, and now one has that stupid little notch all the TikTok kids are doing on purpose. Great. Nothing saysemotional stabilitylike anxiety-induced cosmetic modifications at 3 AM.

I am not some dumb kid making impulsive decisions. I am a woman with... who am I kidding, I’m absolutely making impulsive decisions.

Back in my room—not my room, the room they gave me—I glare at my belongings scattered across the floor in precise piles. Each item exactly where I placed it, a visual representation of my paralysis. Pack them away or put them in drawers. Commit or run.

The need for my girls hits like a denial of service attack, sudden and devastating. They’re not just my friends, they’remy firewall against bad decisions, my backup system when everything goes sideways.

My eyes land on the emerald beanie, soft as a whispered secret. I clutch it to my chest like a lifeline, breathing in traces of Jinx’s scent still lingering in the wool. The hat represents everything I’m afraid to want—pack, belonging, connection.

Fuck it.

I march upstairs before I can overthink it, right to Theo’s door. My knuckles hit wood before my brain catches up with my body. The floor creaks on the other side and my heart seems to stutter-stop before launching into triple-time, each beat hitting so hard I half-expect to see my shirt moving with the impact.

I’m a bad bitch. I hack corporate giants and take bullets for pack members. I do not chicken out at omega’s doors at 3 AM.

Much.

When Theo opens the door, he’s shirtless in grey sweats because apparently the universe has decided I haven’t suffered enough tonight. Celtic knots dance across his chest, begging to be traced with fingers. Or tongue.

“Jinx made this?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, hat still crushed to my chest like a shield.

“Do you know it’s three in the morning?” He leans against the doorframe with that omega grace that makes my mouth go dry. His scent wraps around me—vanilla and night-blooming jasmine with an undertone that whispers of secrets.

“Also no, I have no fucking idea what time it is.” I clutch the beanie tighter, using it to anchor myself against the wave of his scent. “Time is a social construct invented by people who aren’t having emotional crises.”

“You know you could just ask him.” Theo nods toward Jinx’s door across the hall, where soft light bleeds under the frame like a beckoning finger.

“I...” The word sticks in my throat. Why can’t I? The answer probably requires therapy and a six-pack to unpack. “Can’t.”

“Come on.” He tugs me into his nest, the door clicking shut behind us with quiet finality. “What’s going on?”

“Can’t sleep.” The answer is both truth and deflection.

“That much is apparent.” Amusement colors his tone as I face-plant into his nest.

Last time I was here, the mingled pack scents knocked me out like the world’s most effective sedative. Tonight, they just make my skin crawl with awareness, with wanting, with wondering if I’ll ever truly belong among them.

---