Page 66 of Reckless Consequences

Then I look him in the eye. “Checkmate,” I say through the closing gap, meeting his gaze one final time. “From your disappointment of a daughter.”

The lockdown completes with pneumatic finality, sealing Roman Sterling in the heart of his collapsing empire. I watch his face as the barriers slide shut—calculation giving way to real emotion for the first time. Not fear, but something close: the recognition of failure. I don’t want his death—death would be quick, clean, final. This is better. This is watching everything he built crumble while he remains powerless to stop it.

Finn collapses against me, legs giving out. His breathing comes in shallow gasps, skin burning hotter. “We need to move,” he manages, each word requiring tremendous effort. “Structural... integrity... failing.” Even now, he calculates our odds, prioritizing mission over personal suffering.

“I’ve got you,” I promise, supporting more of his weight. His condition is deteriorating rapidly—the formula attacking his already compromised system with ruthless efficiency. The booster that was keeping the virus at bay is being overwhelmed by the new formula—two Sterling concoctions battling with Finn’s body as the battlefield.

The facility groans around us, emergency lights flickering as power fluctuates. Through our pack bond, I feel the others—Jinx’s controlled chaos vibrating with anticipation, Ryker’s commanding presence steady with relief, Theo’s omega concern flowing warm. All waiting, all reaching for us.

The connection strengthens—pack bond surging now that the blocker is gone and nothing stands between us. Not fear. Not guilt. Just us.

“Which way?” I ask, supporting Finn’s nearly unconscious weight through destabilizing corridors.

“Main extraction... compromised,” he calculates, each word requiring visible effort. “Secondary route... northeast service tunnel. Three hundred meters... bearing one-seven-four.”

I move fast—as fast as I can while half-carrying Finn. The bond between us feels like a lifeline. Where I lunge, he steadies. Where he falters, I drag us forward. We don’t speak. We don’t need to.

“Almost there,” I tell him, feeling the pack growing stronger with each step toward extraction. Their scents reach me before I see them—Jinx’s cherry tobacco sharp with relief, Ryker’s cedar and steel vibrating with command, Theo’s dark vanilla calling us home.

Through our bond, I feel his consciousness flickering. His weight becomes deadweight as his legs give out completely.

“Stay with me,” I beg, fear threading through my voice as his breathing grows labored. “We’re almost there. You can’t check out now, Professor. Not after everything.”

His smile is barely there, eyes fighting to focus on my face. “Interesting... tactical choice.”

“Locking him in?”

“Letting him... live.” The words come between ragged breaths, his mind still processing even as his body fails.

I consider this as we round the final corner. “Death would be too simple. This way he gets to watch everything crumble.” The choice feels right—not mercy, but justice. Not vengeance, but consequence.

Finn’s eyes close, consciousness slipping despite his efforts. His weight becomes impossible to manage alone, his tall frame too heavy for me. Through our bond, I feel his presence dimming—not gone, but retreating, clarity giving way to crisis.

“Finn!” I call, shaking him gently. “Stay with me. The pack is right there.”

The extraction point appears ahead—a maintenance exit where our pack waits. Through the bond, I feel their relief as we come into view, five pieces reconnecting despite everything Roman Sterling designed to keep us apart. Jinx’s expression breaks into feral delight, Ryker’s controlled command softening with satisfaction, Theo’s omega care already reaching for us.

Their expressions shift instantly upon seeing Finn—joy transforming to concern as they register the severity. Jinx moves with predatory speed, reaching us in seconds and lifting Finn’s unconscious form with efficient care. Theo’s omega instincts flood the bond with protective concern as he assesses symptoms. Ryker’s alpha command organizes immediate retreat, tactical mind prioritizing evacuation.

“Roman injected him,” I explain as we rush toward the vehicles. “New formula. It’s attacking the virus already in his system.”

Theo’s hands move efficiently, checking Finn’s vitals. “Temperature 104.5 and rising. Pulse rapid and irregular. We need to get him to Mona immediately.”

Jinx places Finn carefully in the transport, his cherry tobacco scent sharpening with protective rage. “What happened?” The question carries no accusation, just tactical assessment.

“Roman had a syringe meant for me. Finn intercepted it.” My voice breaks slightly, the reality of his sacrifice hitting me now that immediate survival is secured. “It was supposed to be me.”

Ryker’s hand finds my shoulder, his cedar scent wrapping around me with steadying authority. “We’ll get him through this.”

As the facility begins its final collapse behind us, I realize the truth Roman never understood. He engineered my genetics, but he didn’t create me. He contributed code but not character. DNA but not destiny.

The choices that made me weren’t written in helical strands but forged in moments of decision—to run, to fight, to trust, to love.

To stay.

But as I look at Finn’s unconscious form, skin burning with fever, breathing shallow and labored, I wonder if those choices will be enough to save him now. The formula wasn’t meant for him—it was designed for me, for the omega-adjacent markers in my Sterling DNA. His body has no template for processing it, no genetic blueprint to guide the transformation.

His survival isn’t about choice now, but biology—the very battlefield Roman has spent decades corrupting.

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