Page 76 of Reckless: Corruption

The word hangs between us—torture—raw and ugly and impossible to ignore. My breath hitches, memories of Alexander’s knife flashing through my mind like corrupted image files.

“Let me see your form,” Ryker says after a moment, shifting tactics. “Basic defensive position.”

I mirror his stance, weight balanced just as he taught me before everything went to hell. The familiarity of it settles something in my chest—this dance we started but never finished, this knowledge he wanted to give me before I ran.

“Better than I expected,” he admits, circling me slowly. “Now block.”

His strike comes without warning—not full speed, not full strength, but faster than before, carrying an edge of challenge that wasn’t there in our previous sessions. I manage to deflect rather than block, the impact jolting up my arm.

“Again.”

Another strike, this one from a different angle, harder, sharper. Block, deflect, step back.

“Again.”

We fall into a rhythm, his attacks increasing in speed and complexity, carrying something that feels almost like frustration. Each successful block earns a curt nod; each mistake a correction delivered in that precise, tactical voice that somehow cuts deeper than Alexander’s knife ever could.

“You’re still fighting me,” he says after my third mistake, impatience bleeding into his tone.

“I’m trying to learn?—”

“No, you’re trying to prove something.” He knocks my arm aside with more force than necessary. “Stop thinking and trust the training.”

“Like I trusted you before?” The words escape before I can debug them, the argument we’ve been circling finally finding network access. “When you kept me in the dark about Sterling’s virus? When you all decided I was too fragile to handle the truth?”

His next strike comes faster, pushing me back a step. “When we were trying to protect you.”

“I didn’t need protection,” I counter, blocking his blow with enough force to make my palm sting. “I needed information. I needed to be trusted with the reality of what we were facing.”

“So you could what? Run straight into Sterling’s arms?” His control slips further, movements becoming less instructional, more combat-ready. “That was your protection strategy?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” I block, counter, my breathing quickening with exertion and rising anger. “He was focused on me, not you.”

“It worked,” he agrees, voice dangerously soft, “if your definition of worked includes being tortured, infected with an experimental virus, and nearly dying.”

“Better me than all of you.” I land a hit on his shoulder—barely, not enough force to do damage—before he redirects my momentum. “I made a tactical decision.”

“No.” He moves faster than I can track, sweeping my legs out from under me. I hit the mat hard, air rushing from my lungs, and find him looming over me, alpha authority rolling off him in waves. “You made an emotional one. There’s a difference.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” I kick out, aiming for his knee, but he sidesteps with infuriating ease.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you gave me the drive back.” The accusation bursts from me as I scramble to my feet, weeks of unspoken tension finally finding voice. “You put it in my room. You knew what it meant, what I would do with it.”

His eyes darken. “I gave you a choice.”

“No, you gave me a test. One you knew I would fail.”

“I didn’t think you would actually go.” For the first time, something raw breaks through his controlled facade. “I thoughtyou would come to me. Talk to me. Trust me enough to make a plan together.”

“Then why give me the means to leave at all?” I demand, frustration building with each word. “Why not just keep the drive? Why the mind games?”

“Because I wanted to be wrong!” The words explode from him, his control finally fracturing. “I wanted to believe that what we had—what we were building—meant enough that you would choose us. Choose me.”

The confession lands like a DDoS attack, overloading my system. In all our time together, all our careful circling, I’ve never heard him admit vulnerability so plainly.

“I did choose you,” I whisper. “By leaving. By keeping Sterling’s attention on me instead of the pack. That was my choice.”

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