Page 57 of Reckless: Chaos

“Move!” I order as debris rains from the ceiling. Finn grabs his laptop while Jinx takes point, that feral energy finally finding purpose.

Another explosion hits closer, making the emergency lights strobe. Through the chaos, I catch the scent—alphas, at least six of them. Professional hunters by the smell of their gear.

“Back exit,” Finn calls out, already pulling up building schematics on his phone. “Through the old server room.”

We make it halfway there before the first gunshot rings out. The bullet embeds in concrete inches from my head.

“They’re using suppressors.” Jinx’s grin turns feral. “How considerate.”

“Not now,” I growl, pushing him forward. The drive feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket. Whatever’s on it, it’s worth killing for.

The old server room is a maze of abandoned equipment. Perfect for cover, terrible for quick escapes. Finn leads us through with precise efficiency—he probably memorized the layout before we even arrived.

More shots, closer this time. The hunters are good, moving in coordinated pairs. Professional. Expensive.

“Car’s on the east side,” Finn whispers as we crouch behind a defunct mainframe. “Two hundred meters once we clear the building.”

A bullet sparks off metal near his head. I drag him down, catching movement in my peripheral vision.

“Change of plans.” I press the keys into Finn’s hand. “Get the drive home.”

A bullet sparks off metal near his head, and instead of running, our beta drops into a defensive crouch. “I’m not leaving you two to have all the fun.”

“Finn—” My protest cuts off as Jinx launches himself over the server bank with predatory grace.

The sounds that follow remind me why he earned the namepsycho squad—crashes, grunts of pain, and one very distinct snap that better not be a neck. When I round the corner, he has one of the hunters pinned, arm twisted at an angle nature never intended.

“Look what I caught,” he purrs, eyes wild with that dangerous light. “Want to tell us who sent you?”

The hunter spits blood. Professional grade tactical gear, military bearing—definitely not Sterling Labs’ usual muscle.

“Finn.” I nod toward the exit. “Last chance.”

“Alpha.” His voice carries steel beneath the calm. “They knew we were coming. That means we have a leak. I’m not leaving until we find out who.”

He has a point. These hunters were too prepared, too precise in their timing. Someone knew we’d be here tonight.

Jinx increases pressure on his captive’s arm, drawing a bitten-off cry. “Tick tock. Some of these bones are getting awful fragile.”

“He’s right.” I crouch in front of our guest. “You’re good. Professional. Which means you’re expensive. So let’s talk about who’s signing those checks.”

He spits on my clean boots.

“We’re taking him with us,” I decide as another explosion rocks the building. “Jinx, make sure he can’t fight back. Finn?—”

“Already on it.” He’s pulling zip ties from his tactical vest because of course he came prepared. “The others are regrouping at the north entrance. We have maybe two minutes.”

Jinx executes a precise series of strikes that leaves our guest limp but conscious. “Just pressure points,” he says with that manic grin. “He’ll start feeling his legs again in about an hour.”

“Perfect timing for a chat.” I help secure the hunter while Finn keeps watch. The man’s dead weight is awkward, but between Jinx and me, we manage.

The trip to the car is tense—all of us aware that his team could be regrouping. But either Jinx’s display of force gave them pause, or they’re waiting for a better opportunity.

“Trunk?” Jinx asks, already moving that direction.

“Trunk.” I pop it open, noting with grim satisfaction that Finn’s analytical mind even planned for this—there’s a dark tarp already laid out.

Our guest tries to speak through his zip-tied gag as we arrange him. Probably complaints about the rough handling or threats about who he works for.

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