2. Cayenne
Chapter 2
Cayenne
“Wake up, sunshine.”
The whispered words pierce my skull, scattering the cotton wool stuffed between my ears. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, coated in the memory of last night’s whiskey and confessions. Finn. Even with my eyes closed, I’d know that lilting accent anywhere—intelligence wrapped in velvet, books and binary code given voice.
I crack one eye open, immediately regretting every life choice that led to my current state of dying. But then Finn swims into focus, and suddenly my hangover seems like a minor inconvenience. He’s wearing contacts instead of his usual glasses, and Christ on a cracker—how have I never noticed how his eyes hold entire universes? Arctic blue shot through with darker streams of midnight, like code running through processors. His usual professor-chic is replaced with tactical gear that transforms him from intellectual to predator, all lean muscle and contained power. His golden-brown hair has that perfectly imperfect mess that screams I tried to look like I didn’t try, and my fingers itch to find out if it’s as soft as it looks.
“Brought you hangover salvation.” He holds up a bottle of soda and pills like a peace offering, his movements calculated and quiet. “Try not to wake our resident artist. He gets bitchy without his beauty sleep.”
The warm weight pressed against my back reminds me exactly where I am—in Theo’s nest, surrounded by stolen clothes and omega comfort. It also reminds me that I’m wearing nothing but last night’s underwear, a fact that Finn’s gaze catalogues with beta precision. The slight dilation of his pupils, the almost imperceptible catch in his breath—details I might miss if I hadn’t spent weeks learning to read this man’s micro-expressions over chess matches.
“What ungodly hour did you drag yourself out of bed?” My voice catches like sandpaper, threatening to split my skull. The events of last night crash through my mind—the mission, the confrontation, the truths I shared.
“Early enough that even our alpha hasn’t started his military-precise morning routine.” His smile carries secrets beneath the scholarly exterior, reminding me that for all his intellectual presentation, Finn is just as much predator as the others. “Come on. Got something to show you that’s worth the hangover.”
He backs away from the bed with a grace that belongs more in Theo’s world of performance than behind computer screens. I extract myself from the omega’s embrace, trying not to notice how Theo immediately curls around the warm spot I leave behind, his face peaceful in sleep in a way it never is awake.
The cool air hits my bare skin like a system shock, making me hyper-aware of Finn’s presence. Of how the tactical gear transforms him from professor to operator. Of how different he looks without his glasses acting as a shield between him and the world. Of how his eyes track my movements with the same precision he uses to analyze code.
“Here.” He hands me the aspirin and soda first—practical solutions to immediate problems, so very Finn. The backpack comes next, offering with a hint of heat in his voice, “Clothes. Unless you’re trying to distract me from my carefully calculated timeline?”
The words carry layers of meaning, like encrypted data waiting to be decoded. Something warm unfurls in my stomach that has nothing to do with the hangover and everything to do with how he’s looking at me—like I’m a puzzle he wants to take apart piece by piece.
“Trying to get me alone, beta?” I tease back, but take the bag, recognizing clothes that definitely came from my room, not Theo’s collection. “Breaking and entering now?”
His smile turns sphinx-like, all hidden knowledge and dangerous promises. “Maybe I just want to show you that every system has its weaknesses. Even one designed by yours truly.”
Now that—that gets my attention. Because Finn designed the mansion’s security himself, a fact he’s lorded over me since my arrival. The idea that he’s willing to show me the holes in his own creation? That’s better than aspirin for clearing my head.
“You had me at system weaknesses,” I tell him, already pulling out clothes that are suspiciously perfect for whatever he has planned. Dark, fitted, practical. “Turn around, unless you want more of a show than you’ve already gotten.”
His laugh is soft but carries heat. “Don’t tempt me to calculate those odds.” But he turns, ever the gentleman despite the predator lurking beneath his beta exterior.
I dress quickly, hyperaware of Finn’s presence even with his back turned. The clothes feel deliberate—fitted black cargo pants, a long-sleeve compression shirt, sturdy boots. The kind of outfit you wear when you need to move without restriction.
“Going to tell me what kind of sunrise viewing requires tactical gear?” I ask, zipping up the boots that definitely came from my room.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He turns back, and something flashes in his eyes as he takes in the outfit. “Ready to learn some tricks, little hacker?”
“From you?” I shoulder the backpack, noticing how it’s perfectly balanced. Another deliberate choice. “Always.”
His smile turns sharp as he leads me into the hallway, every movement calculated and silent. This isn’t the Finn I’m used to—the one who spends hours explaining coding theory over chess matches. This is an operator, someone who knows exactly how to move through shadows.
“First lesson,” he whispers, pressing close as we reach the main security hub. His breath ghosts over my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “Every system has a rhythm. The key isn’t breaking it—it’s becoming part of it.”
His fingers fly over a keypad I never even noticed, hidden behind a panel that looks like ordinary wall. Numbers that make my cybersecurity brain itch with recognition.
“Fibonacci sequence?” I guess, watching how the numbers spiral in a pattern.
“Very good.” His praise hits something primal in my chest. “But that’s just the first layer. Watch.”
He guides me through a series of movements that feel more like a dance than a security bypass. Timing each step to the sweep of cameras, each pause to the pulse of motion sensors. It’s beautiful in its complexity, like watching code come alive.
“The system doesn’t just watch,” he explains as we slip through blind spots I never knew existed. “It learns. Adapts. But if you move with it instead of against it...”
“You become part of its baseline.” I finish, understanding dawning. “It reads you as normal background noise instead of an intrusion.”
“Exactly.” The pride in his voice makes me warm despite the pre-dawn chill as we finally reach a side door I’ve never seen used. “Last piece of the puzzle.”
His hands frame mine as he guides them over another hidden panel, teaching my muscle memory the pattern. The door clicks open silently, and cool morning air rushes in.
“That’s how you do it,” I breathe, pieces clicking into place. “How you come and go without anyone knowing. You’re not breaking the security—you’re dancing with it.”
“Smart girl.” His words carry heat that has nothing to do with intellectual appreciation. “Now, ready to see what else I can teach you?”
He steps into the darkness beyond the door, holding out his hand in invitation. Everything about this screams terrible idea —following a predator into the dark, letting him lead me who knows where, trusting him with my safety.
I take his hand without hesitation.
“Gate house is the real challenge,” Finn murmurs as we move through pre-dawn shadows. “Not just systems to bypass, but a very human element to consider.”
I follow his lead, noting how he keeps to the tree line, using the landscape itself as cover. The guard house looms ahead, warm light spilling from its windows. Movement inside suggests the guard is very much awake.
“Marcus likes his routines,” Finn continues, voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. “Every morning at 4:45, he makes his coffee. Takes exactly six minutes. During which he?—”
“Steps out for a smoke.” I finish, remembering the pattern I’ve observed but could never exploit. “The cameras?—”
“Overlap in a fibonacci spiral, just like inside.” His hand finds my lower back, guiding me into a deeper patch of shadows. “But they have a lag of 2.3 seconds between sweeps. Not much, unless...”
“Unless you know exactly when to move.” Understanding clicks. “You timed everything—the guard’s habits, the camera sweeps, even the ambient light levels—to create a perfect window.”
His smile flashes in the darkness. “Now you’re thinking like an operator instead of just a hacker. Systems aren’t just digital. They’re human. Environmental. Mathematical. Dance with all of them...”
Right on cue, the guard house door opens. Marcus steps out, cigarette already between his lips. The cameras sweep right, then left, creating that 2.3-second gap.
“Now,” Finn breathes against my ear.
We move as one unit, his hand still on my back, guiding my pace. Not running—running draws attention—but flowing from shadow to shadow with precise timing. The gate itself should be impossible to bypass without triggering alarms, but Finn leads me to what looks like a maintenance panel.
“Count it down,” he instructs, fingers hovering over the panel’s edge.
I track the camera sweeps, the guard’s position, the rhythms Finn taught me. “Three. Two. One...”
The panel opens silently, revealing a space barely big enough to squeeze through. In the distance, Marcus flicks his lighter.
“Ladies first.” Finn’s eyes gleam with challenge.
I slide through the gap, understanding now why the clothes had to be fitted. Finn follows with liquid grace, closing the panel just as Marcus takes his first drag.
We emerge on the other side of the gate, and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “That was...”
“Elegant?” Finn suggests, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “A perfect marriage of digital and physical security penetration?”
“Hot,” I correct, watching his eyes darken at my honesty. “That was hot as fuck.”
He takes my hand again, leading me deeper into the woods beyond the property. “Oh, sunshine. You haven’t seen anything yet.”
The car appears like a ghost through the trees—sleek, black, and definitely not standard PCA issue.
“You’ve been planning this,” I accuse as he opens the passenger door with a flourish. “How long?”
“Since you first tried to run.” He slides into the driver’s seat with that same liquid grace. “Figured anyone that determined to run deserved to learn how to do it properly.”
I hear what he isn’t saying.
If you are going to do it, do it right. He is giving me an out and wants me to choose them. Damn him.
The engine purrs to life, quiet enough to avoid attention. We pull away from the mansion’s looming presence, and something in my chest loosens. Even knowing we’ll return, even knowing this is temporary, the freedom tastes sweet.
The comfortable silence lasts until we hit the highway. Then Finn’s playful demeanor shifts, becomes something more serious.
“Quinn sent me the latest data.” He doesn’t look at me, but I feel the weight of his words. “About the virus.”
My breath catches. Because of course—of course this wasn’t just about sunrises and security systems. This is about beta survival.
“Show me.”
He pulls his tablet from a compartment between the seats, managing to make even that look graceful. “They’re calling it the Hollow Plague.”
The name hits like a physical blow. I take the tablet with shaking hands, reading through data that confirms our worst fears.
“Because it hollows you out,” I whisper, scanning mortality rates that make my stomach turn. “Organ by organ. System by system.”
“Started in major tech hubs,” Finn’s voice carries careful control. “Places where betas concentrate. Places where we make a difference.”
The implications turn my blood to ice. “They’re targeting centers of innovation. Of resistance.”
“Yes.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “But that’s not why I brought you out here.”
I look up from the horror on the screen. “No?”
A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes remain serious. “I brought you out here because sometimes the only way to face darkness is to remember how to live first.”
The car turns onto a smaller road, heading toward what looks like a private airstrip.
“Finn.” Suspicion creeps into my voice. “What exactly does this sunrise viewing entail?”
His smile turns wicked. “How do you feel about seeing it from 10,000 feet?”
The tablet nearly slips from my fingers. “You’re not serious.”
“Very serious.” He pulls into the airstrip where a small plane waits, its pilot already doing pre-flight checks. “Sometimes you need to fall before you can fight.”
“You want me to jump out of a perfectly good airplane?”
“With me.” His eyes meet mine, carrying challenge and promise in equal measure. “Trust me?”
And that’s the real question, isn’t it? Trust. After everything—the virus, the secrets, the weight of what we’re facing—do I trust this man enough to jump into nothing but air with him?
“Yes,” I say, surprising us both with my certainty. “God help me, but yes.”
He puts the car in park, but before he can open his door, I grab his wrist. “Wait.”
His skin is warm under my fingers, pulse steady and strong. Always so controlled, our Finn.
“If I’m going to plummet to my death?—”
“You’re not going to?—”
“If,” I press on, “I’m going to trust you enough to jump out of a plane, I want something real first. Something that’s just yours. Something the others don’t know.”
The playfulness fades from his face, replaced by something more raw. For a moment, I think he’ll deflect, maintain that careful distance he keeps even while letting us close.
“My brother,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper, “he lives in Dublin. Haven’t spoken to him since our mum died.”
The admission hangs between us, heavy with unspoken pain.
“What happened?”
His laugh holds no humor. “I was supposed to be there. Had a flight booked and everything. But there was a pack emergency—one of Jinx’s episodes. I chose the pack over being with her in her final hours.” His accent thickens with memory. “Connor, my brother, he never forgave me. Said I chose strangers over blood.”
“But they weren’t strangers,” I say softly, understanding the weight of chosen family.
“No.” His eyes meet mine, carrying years of guilt and certainty. “They weren’t. Still aren’t. But sometimes, late at night, I wonder if Connor was right. If I made the wrong choice.”
The confession sits between us, rare and precious. A piece of Finn that even his pack doesn’t see.
“Your turn,” he says, turning his hand to catch mine. “Something real. Something that’s yours alone.”
I swallow hard, because fair is fair, but some truths are harder to voice than others.
“I know who my father is.”
His fingers tighten on mine, but he stays silent, letting me find the words.
“My mom... she didn’t just give me his name. She left me a letter, telling me everything. Who he is, what he did, why she ran.” The truth burns coming up. “I’ve never opened it. It’s still sealed, hidden away where no one can find it. Because sometimes... sometimes I think not knowing is better than confirming your worst fears.”
“When did she give it to you?”
“On her deathbed.” The memory still aches. “Made me promise to only open it if I absolutely had to know. If the truth became more important than the mystery.”
He studies me for a long moment, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Thank you,” he says finally. “For trusting me with that.”
“Thank you for trusting me first.”
The moment stretches between us, intimate in a way that has nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with shared secrets.
Then he smiles, and the heaviness lifts. “Ready to fall?”
I look toward the waiting plane, heart pounding. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
His eyes meet mine, carrying challenge and promise. “With you? Always.”
“Just so we’re clear,” I say as we walk toward the plane, my heart already trying to escape my chest, “Ryker is going to actually murder us when he finds out we broke quarantine.”
“Probably.” Finn looks far too pleased with himself. “But I planned this weeks ago. Called in favors. Set up the timing. Not letting a little thing like house arrest ruin my grand gesture.”
“Grand gesture?” I pause halfway up the steps to the plane. “Is that what this is?”
He just winks, guiding me inside where an instructor waits with equipment that looks way too flimsy to trust my life to.
“Finn’s been practicing for weeks to get certified to jump tandem,” the instructor says as he helps me into a harness. “Man’s determined, I’ll give him that.”
I spin to face Finn, who’s already suiting up with practiced ease. “Weeks?”
“Told you.” His grin is both sheepish and proud. “Been planning this. Wanted to show you that sometimes the scariest falls are worth taking.”
The metaphor isn’t lost on me.
The pre-jump briefing passes in a blur of instructions and safety checks. Soon we’re airborne, the sunrise painting the sky in colors that make my breath catch.
“Having second thoughts?” Finn asks as we reach jump altitude, his body solid and warm against my back as he checks our connections one final time.
“About jumping out of a perfectly good airplane with a man who’s been secretly taking skydiving lessons just to prove a point?” I laugh, but it comes out shaky. “Only about a thousand of them.”
“Good thing you only need one thought to override them all.” His breath tickles my ear.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Trust.” His arms tighten around me as the door opens, wind and dawn light rushing in. “Remember the mansion? Same principle. Don’t fight it. Dance with it.”
The instructor gives us the signal. My heartbeat drums against my ribs so violently I wonder if Finn can feel it vibrating through the harness connecting us, my pulse broadcasting fear in Morse code against his chest.
“Ready?” he asks, and I hear all the layers in that question. Ready to fall. Ready to trust. Ready to face whatever comes next.
“With you?” I echo his words from earlier. “Always.”
We jump.
The world explodes into sensation—wind tearing at my clothes, heart trying to escape my chest, the solid warmth of Finn against my back the only thing keeping me from pure panic. For one eternal moment, we hang suspended between earth and sky, between fear and freedom.
Then something shifts.
Fear transforms into pure exhilaration as we cut through dawn-painted clouds. The sun breaks over the horizon, turning the world into fire and glory. Finn’s presence anchors me as we spin through heaven, his controlled movements guiding our dance with gravity.
I’m screaming. Or laughing. Or both. The sound tears from my throat, primal and pure, carrying away weeks of tension and secrets and fear.
When the chute opens, the sudden quiet feels holy. We float like ancient gods through a sky that belongs only to us, suspended in a moment of perfect beauty. The sunrise paints everything in shades of gold and promise, making my chest ache with the perfection of it.
“Worth Ryker’s wrath?” Finn’s voice carries notes I’ve never heard before—joy and pride and something deeper.
“Worth everything.”
We land in a field kissed by morning dew, the grass sparkling like scattered diamonds. My legs shake with adrenaline as we unhook from each other, every nerve ending alive with sensation. Finn helps me out of the harness with those steady hands that have guided me through security systems and sky falls alike.
But before he can step back, before this moment can shatter into reality, I grab his tactical vest and pull him close. The material is rough under my fingers, his heart pounding strong enough that I can feel it through the layers.
“Thank you,” I whisper, watching his pupils dilate at our proximity. “For making me fall.”
His eyes drop to my lips, and the intent in them makes my breath catch. Gone is the controlled intellectual, replaced by something far more primal. “My pleasure.”
When he kisses me, it’s everything a first kiss should be—soft but insistent, careful but hungry. He tastes like adrenaline and dawn light, like secrets shared in parked cars and trust earned in midnight escapes. His hands frame my face with a gentleness that belies the strength I know they possess.
I melt into him, letting myself fall one more time. Because this? This moment wrapped in morning glory and newfound trust? This is worth any punishment Ryker can devise. Worth any consequence that comes our way.
Worth absolutely everything.