Page 87 of Reckless: Chaos

Color floods her cheeks. “You’re worse than an alpha sometimes, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I move my bishop into what appears to be a vulnerable position. “Your move.”

Her eyes narrow at the board, at the trap she thinks I’m laying. But I’m not playing chess anymore—not really. I’m playing something far more dangerous.

I’m playing for keeps.

“Your move,” I say again when she hesitates too long. “Unless you’re distracted by thoughts of Theo’s other plans.”

“What other plans?” She moves her rook, still favoring caution.

“The nursery designs.” My voice warms with genuine hope as I advance my queen. “Third floor, east wing. Best natural light in the house.”

She freezes, piece hovering mid-move. “He didn’t.”

“He did. Mapped it out the day after you took that bullet for him.” Something tight catches in my throat. “Complete with a connecting office so you can work while watching the little ones. Binary code mixed with fairy tales on the walls—he says it represents the perfect blend of pack and technology.”

“That’s...” Her voice catches. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” I capture her bishop. “Or is it just another variable you’re trying not to calculate?”

“A nursery,” she whispers, like the word might break something. “He really...”

“Plans for three, actually. Says the pack feels incomplete without the sound of little feet.” I watch her face carefully. “Jinx already started picking out motorcycles for them. Don’t worry—age appropriate ones.”

“Jinx with kids.” But her smile holds something painful. “That would be something.”

“It would be everything.” I move my queen into position. “Check.”

She stares at the board like it might hold answers to questions she hasn’t even let herself ask. “You really don’t fight fair, Finn.”

“No,” I agree softly. “I fight to win. Your move.”

“Your move,” I say again, but we both know we’re not talking about chess anymore.

She stares at the board between us—this battlefield of black and white where we’ve been waging a different kind of war. Her fingers trace the edge of her queen, and I catch the slight tremor that betrays more than words ever could.

“You know what gives me hope?” She finally moves her piece, a defensive play that speaks of protection rather than surrender. “When I think about it—the nursery, the kids, the future—it makes me want to fight harder. Find a way to end this without leading him to more victims.”

“We’ll find it together.” I make my final move, gentle but determined. “Checkmate. But in chess, as in life, there’s always another game.”

She tips her king over, watching it fall. The soft thud against the board echoes with something that feels too much like goodbye.

“Thank you, Finn.” She starts resetting the pieces, each one finding its place with precise care. “For never lying to me.”

“Even when the truth hurts?”

“Especially then.” She hands me my chess set, and I pretend not to notice how her hands shake. “That’s what makes you different from him. From Sterling.”

I stand, tucking the board under my arm. At the door, I pause. “You know, the thing about chess is... sometimes protecting one piece means understanding when to move the whole board. We’ll find a new secure location, Cayenne. One where we can finally end this game with Sterling.”

Her soft laugh follows me up the stairs, carrying equal parts warmth and resignation. We both know our next game won’t be played with carved pieces on a wooden board.

I just hope she remembers that in chess, every piece matters—even the ones that think they’re expendable.

Chapter 19

Cayenne

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