Page 78 of Reckless Consequences

“Sit,” she directs, pointing to a chair in the center of the room. “Need to prepare for the extraction process.”

As I move toward the chair, a shadow shifts in the corner of my vision. My skin prickles with awareness before my conscious mind registers the threat. I turn to find a figure stepping out from behind a partition, and my blood freezes in my veins.

Alexander.

The world narrows to a pinpoint, my vision tunneling as adrenaline floods my system. My body reacts before my brain can process, muscles coiling and releasing with speed I didn’t know I possessed. I don’t think. Don’t hesitate. Just react.

My fist connects with his jaw with satisfying force, the impact jarring up my arm like electricity. He staggers back, surprised by the attack, but doesn’t raise his hands to defend himself.

“You son of a bitch,” I hiss, already swinging again.

The second hit lands on his cheekbone, splitting skin. Blood wells, bright against his pale complexion – the smell of it strangely familiar. Still, he makes no move to block or counter.

“Hello, Cayenne,” he says calmly, as if we’re meeting for coffee instead of violence. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“Deserved it?” I laugh, the sound sharp and bitter as I land a third strike to his solar plexus. “You stabbed me. You held me captive for your sick father. You?—”

This time he blocks, catching my fist mid-swing. “I also helped you escape Aurora,” he points out, his grip firm but not painful. “Gave you the clean formula specs. Held Roman back so you could get to Finn.”

“After months of helping him perfect a virus that almost killed Finn!” I snarl, twisting to break his hold and sweeping his legs in a move Jinx taught me. The connection to Jinx flashes through my mind, my body unconsciously adopting his fighting style.

Alexander’s training shows as he counters, using my momentum to throw me against a nearby table. Equipment crashes to the floor as I roll and come up in fighting stance.

“Left guard drops when you pivot,” he notes, circling cautiously. “Jinx should have corrected that.”

The casual mention of Jinx sends fresh rage coursing through me. “You’ve been working with him, haven’t you? All this time?”

“Not all of it,” Alexander admits, blocking my next attack with practiced efficiency. “He’s been coordinating with me since our first encounter at the Sterling research facility.”

“And neither of you thought to mention it?” I drive forward, landing a solid kick to his ribs that makes him grunt in pain. The first genuine reaction I’ve pulled from him sends a shock of satisfaction through me.

“Intel gathering necessary,” Mona comments from somewhere to my left. The distinct sound of a candy wrapper crinkling punctuates her words. “Infiltration required compartmentalization. Also, strike two inches higher for optimal intercostal impact.”

“Not helping, Mona,” Alexander says, catching my next punch and using the momentum to spin me away from him.

“Wasn’t intended to help you,” she replies cheerfully. “Anatomical advice statistically favors smaller combatant. Basic physics. Also, you deserve punching. Many reasons. Very justified sibling rage.”

I launch a combination that almost breaks through his defense, months of training with the others showing in the fluidity of my movements. He’s good—Sterling-trained good—but I’ve learned tricks from Jinx that no military protocol could anticipate. My awareness has sharpened, tracking Alexander’s micro-expressions and the subtle shifts in his stance that telegraph his next move.

“Throat strike inefficient against current defensive posture,” Mona calls out, now perched cross-legged on a counter eating gummy bears. “Recommend targeting previously injured left knee. Approximately sixty-seven percent chance of structural weakness.”

“Will you stop giving her combat advice?” Alexander snaps, barely avoiding my next attack.

Mona tosses a gummy bear that he instinctively catches in his mouth, the automatic response momentarily distracting him. I use the opening to land a solid hit to his side that makes him stagger back a step.

“Apparently not,” he mutters, wincing.

“Family obligation,” Mona shrugs, popping another gummy bear into her own mouth. “Sisters before misters. Very traditional value system. Also, you stabbed her. Much justified retaliation.”

The absurdity of the situation finally hits me—I’m fighting my brother while our sister provides combat commentary and snacks. A laugh bubbles up despite my anger, unexpected but genuine.

Alexander pauses, watching me warily. “Something amusing?”

“This,” I gesture between the three of us, still maintaining fighting distance. “What the hell kind of twisted family reunion is this?”

“Unconventional,” Mona agrees, nodding sagely. “But statistically appropriate given shared genetic tendencies toward violence and poor communication skills. Sterling family traits. Very consistent manifestation.”

Alexander straightens slightly, maintaining defensive posture but no longer actively engaging. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

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