Page 9 of Reckless Consequences

I’m relieved to find them unchanged—not better, but not worse either. Stable for now.

“His fever’s holding,” Ryker reports, brushing damp hair from Finn’s forehead. “Respiration steady.”

Theo’s eyes are clearer now, the heat-haze temporarily lifted by satisfaction, though I know it won’t last long. My knot will go down, and the cycle will begin again—the relentless drive of biology demanding more until his heat is fully satisfied. “How much time?”

Ryker checks his watch. “Quinn’s last estimate put them at ninety minutes out.”

“Too long,” I mutter, the chaos in my blood already stirring again, the beast not satisfied despite release. “If Alexander’s found them?—”

“She’ll make it,” Theo interrupts with omega certainty. “She’s survived worse than Alexander.”

I want to believe him, but the pack bond connecting me to Cayenne pulses with sudden urgency—like a warning light flashing red in the darkness. Something’s happening. Something that makes my alpha instincts roar to life despite post-satisfaction lethargy.

“Jinx?” Ryker’s voice sharpens, reading my sudden tension like a book he’s memorized.

“Something’s wrong,” I manage, focusing on that thin thread of connection. “Cayenne—she’s in trouble.”

The bond stretches between us, thinner than it should be but still intact. Through it, I feel her—adrenaline and determination and something that tastes like iron and fear.

“How far?” Ryker asks, already reaching for his gear, his body shifting seamlessly from lover to soldier.

I close my eyes, focusing on the fragile connection. It buzzes against my consciousness with an electric signature that only Cayenne has—like code translating directly into my bloodstream. “Close. Closer than Quinn’s last report indicated. Fifteen miles, maybe less.”

“Then we meet them halfway,” Ryker decides, the alpha command in his voice brooking no argument. “You stay with Theo and Finn. I’ll bring her home.”

I want to protest—the chaos in my blood demands action, movement, violence on behalf of our missing beta. But the strategist in me recognizes the logic. Someone needs to protect our vulnerable packmates here. Someone needs to create a safe place for her to return to.

“Bring her back,” I say instead, the words carrying all the feral protectiveness I can’t physically express. “Whatever it takes.”

As Ryker disappears into the night, I settle deeper into guard position, one hand on Theo’s cooling skin, eyes fixed on Finn’s labored breathing. My knot still ties me to our omega, a physical manifestation of the bonds that hold our pack together even when we’re apart. The chaos in my blood transforms into perfect clarity of purpose—I will keep them safe until our pack is complete again.

Because that’s the truth Roman Sterling never understood about the psycho squad. We’re not just dangerous together. We’re lethal when separated, then reunited with purpose.

And our purpose now is crystal clear: bring our beta home, heal our beta’s body, and make Roman Sterling regret the day he ever touched what belongs to Pack Locke.

Chapter3

Cayenne

I joltawake to Mona’s hand clamped over my mouth, my mind snapping to alertness. For one disoriented second, I think I’m back with the pack—but the hand is too small, the scent all wrong, lacking the cedar-pine-leather mix that means safety.

“They’re here,” Mona whispers, her usual manic energy focused to a dangerous point. “Six-man tactical team. Converging on our position. Much quicker than anticipated.”

The red glow of the vacancy sign filters through the threadbare curtains, casting blood-colored shadows across Mona’s face. Her eyes gleam with calculation, reflecting the crimson light. I nod once, and she removes her hand, both of us shifting into silent mode.

No need to ask who they are. Sterling’s men have found us. Again.

I retrieve my gun from beneath the pillow, the metal cool and reassuring against my palm. Meanwhile, Mona crouches by the window, peering through a tiny gap in the curtains. The candy wrapper early warning system she arranged earlier vibrates slightly—Skittles trembling against the windowsill as someone moves past. Another example of her bizarre methods proving unexpectedly effective.

“Tactical formation,” she confirms, her voice so low it barely registers. “Alpha-focused. Primarily non-lethal weapons. Night vision equipment. Tranquilizer guns with three spotters carrying backup firearms.”

“They want us alive,” I conclude, checking my ammunition. Four rounds left. Not enough for six men, barely enough to buy us seconds. My mind runs probability calculations that would make Finn proud.

“Obviously,” Mona replies. “Experimental subjects are more valuable intact. Much data collection potential.”

I join her at the window, keeping to the shadows where the nauseating red light can’t reach. The parking lot has transformed into a coordinated military operation—black-clad figures moving with practiced precision, flanking our room from multiple angles. Their efficiency reminds me of Sterling’s style—elegant, ruthless, and utterly predictable if you know what to look for.

My senses suddenly sharpen in a way that feels foreign to my beta body—I can detect the difference between individual alpha scents in the tactical team, can hear whispered commands that should be inaudible at this distance. The sensation is disorienting, like suddenly having access to senses I never knew existed. I shake my head, trying to refocus on the immediate threat rather than this new evidence of my changing biology.

---