Page 70 of Reckless: Chaos

“Totally gives me bad ex-boyfriend vibes,” Ginger agrees. “Like that time Brad kept showing up at all my favorite coffee shops because he tracked my Instagram posts.”

“It’s not—” The prisoner catches himself again, but we all hear it. The defensiveness. The need to explain.

“Not like that?” Cayenne’s voice turns silk-soft. Deadly. “Then tell me what it’s like. Tell me how dear old dad keeps finding us. Because either you tell me...” She nods at Aria, who’s moved the nail file dangerously close to his throat. “Or we let the girls get creative.”

“You don’t understand,” he grits out. “The program, it’s not just tracking. It’s...” He swallows hard. “It’s in everything. Every system you’ve touched. Like digital breadcrumbs.”

“A virus?” The sharp intelligence in Cayenne’s eyes burns through any remaining pretense of drunkenness.

“Better.” Something like pride creeps into his voice. “It’s quantum-based. Self-replicating. The more systems you hack, the more it spreads. Every keystroke, every breach—it all leads back to him.”

The implications hit me like a physical blow. Every system she’s touched. Every life she’s tried to save.

She’s been leading him right to them.

“Every system?” Cayenne’s voice drops low, dangerous. “So when I tried to help those betas?—”

The nail file slips. Sort of. If you can call Aria’s precise flick of her wrist a slip.

The prisoner’s howl echoes off concrete as his pinky nail parts ways with its finger.

“Oopsie.” Aria examines her file with professional interest. “Mercury retrograde is really affecting my hand-eye coordination.”

Something hot and hungry unfurls in my chest watching her work. Been a while since I’ve seen someone weaponize a beauty routine.

“Oh no,” Willow’s counselor voice carries perfectly feigned concern. “We should probably clean that. I have this great new sanitizer. Only burns a little.”

“You’re insane,” the prisoner gasps. “All of you.”

“Rude.” Ginger doesn’t look up from her phone. “I’m just documenting your spa day. Speaking of which, that cuticle damage is definitely going viral.”

I catch Cayenne watching me, probably waiting for me to intervene. Instead, I give her my best feral grin. The one that makes most people run.

She grins back.

“Now,” Aria shifts to his next finger, nail file catching light like a blade. “Let’s talk more about this quantum program. Unless you want the full mani-pedi experience?”

The prisoner’s gaze flicks rapidly between Aria’s perfectly manicured hands and my expression, his pupils dilating with the same recognition prey shows when it realizes the flashy movement was never the predator—it was merely herding them toward the real threat lying in wait.

“You know what’s really trending right now?” Ginger scrolls through her phone. “True crime podcasts. Especially ones about corporate coverups.”

“Ooh, we should start one!” Willow claps her hands. “I’m thinkingManicures and Murderfor the title.”

Anotherslipof the nail file. Another howl.

“Mercury retrograde, am I right?” Aria tsks at the mess. “But look how much better that nail bed looks without all that damaged tissue.”

My grin probably isn’t helping the prisoner’s comfort level, but I can’t help it. There’s something poetic about torture by beauty routine.

“The program,” Cayenne prompts, looking supremely unbothered by the small spots of blood now staining concrete. “How does it work?”

“I can’t—” He breaks off with a whimper as Aria examines his next finger with professional interest.

“You know what this reminds me of?” She pulls another implement from her kit. “That time I had to remove Mrs. Henderson’s acrylics. Remember that, Cayenne? When she didn’t want to tell us who was harassing the omegas at her country club?”

“Hard to forget.” Cayenne’s smile carries teeth. “Didn’t she lose three nails before she started naming names?”

“Four,” Willow corrects. “The fourth one was an accident though.”

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