7. Finn
Chapter 7
Finn
She’s going to run.
The certainty settles into my bones with the same inevitability as my morning anxiety attacks. I don’t need our surveillance system or behavioral algorithms to predict this—not when Ryker just locked her in a basement like some fairy tale princess in need of protection. As if concrete walls and steel locks could contain someone like Cayenne Sterling.
I remove my glasses, pinching the bridge of my nose as I survey the chaos masquerading as our living room. The space looks like a feral pack of alphas decided to play demolition crew—which, considering my packmates, isn’t far from reality. Pizza boxes from last week’s late-night strategy session compete with Ryker’s discarded tactical gear and what appears to be Jinx’s newest collection of throwing knives embedded in the drywall. Theo’s sheet music drifts like autumn leaves across the floor, dotted with my own shameful collection of empty energy drink cans.
The basement door lock clicks with finality, and I start my mental countdown. She’ll make her first escape attempt in under ten minutes—less, given that Ryker just effectively challenged her entire sense of autonomy with his alpha posturing.
I grab my tablet, pulling up the property’s security feed while reaching for my coat. March in Puritan City means potential snowfall and temperatures that make my Irish bones ache in protest. Not that weather has ever deterred someone like Cayenne.
And there she is—a blur of red hair and determination already making her way toward the tree line. At least she’s wearing proper clothes this time. The unicorn pajama incident will haunt our incident reports forever.
I should alert Ryker. That would be the proper protocol. The safe choice.
Instead, I grab a spare jacket, hat, and gloves. Because sometimes the best way to handle a runner isn’t to chase them—it’s to walk beside them until they decide to stay.
Though I sincerely hope she doesn’t make me actually run. My cardigan-wearing lifestyle hasn’t exactly prepared me for pursuit scenarios.
I try to rehearse what I’ll say to her as I follow at a distance, each word getting lost in the crisp March air. In my head, I’m suave and collected.
I understand your need for freedom, but perhaps we could find a compromise that doesn’t involve potential hypothermia.
Or maybe, Your skills are impressive—we could use them to keep you safe rather than planning escapes.
But those carefully practiced lines dissolve like snowflakes on my tongue. In reality, I’ll probably stammer something about statistical probability and proper safety protocols. Or worse, blurt out how the way she moves reminds me of code breaking free of constraints.
I don’t take the main path. Years of tracking Jinx’s manic episodes have taught me every shortcut through these woods. The crunch of dead leaves under my feet sounds impossibly loud, but Cayenne is too focused on her goal to notice my approach. She’s standing at the corner of the property where the fence makes a perfect ninety-degree angle, hands on her hips like she’s personally offended by its existence.
Let me show you there are better options than running. Another perfect line that will die unspoken in my throat.
“Who the fuck has a fence all around a property?” she mutters, tilting her head back to study the barrier before her.
I open my mouth to explain the complex security measures integrated into the fence’s design, but the words die in my throat as she moves. One moment she’s on the ground, the next she’s launching herself between the fence posts like gravity is merely a suggestion. Each push takes her higher, a deadly dance of momentum and precision that makes my analytical mind short-circuit.
Three-quarters of the way up, her foot slips.
Time stretches like cold honey as she falls. My body moves before my brain can calculate trajectory or impact force, the pack bonds flaring with shared alarm. Through them, I feel Ryker’s sudden spike of protective rage, Jinx’s instinctive surge forward even though he’s nowhere near, Theo’s musical anxiety—all of it hitting me at once through connections that shouldn’t react this strongly to a beta.
But they do. They have since she walked into that conference room in unicorn pajamas and turned our carefully calculated world upside down.
I’m too far away to do anything but watch as she hits the ground with a thud that steals the air from my lungs, the pack bonds humming with a relief that feels too intense for mere duty. Too personal. Too much like recognition.
“Knew you were there,” she says casually, staring up at the grey sky like she didn’t just nearly give me cardiac arrest.
Are you alright? That impact could have caused serious injury. Please don’t scare me like that again.
I say none of those words. “Fucking hell, woman.” The words come out more breathless than I intend, betraying how fast I ran to her side. “That fence is fifteen feet high.”
“Just a bruised ego.” Her eyes catch on the extra jacket in my hands. “That for me?”
“Yes.” My glasses are sliding down my nose again, but I’m too focused on checking for injuries to fix them. “What were you thinking would happen?”
“Is it not obvious?”
“Escape. Yes.” I finally push my glasses back up, trying to slow my racing heart. “Walk with me?”
“My legs are broken.”
Pure panic floods my system. I drop to my knees, hands hovering over her legs as medical knowledge fights with blind terror in my brain. It’s not until I hear her giggling that I realize I’ve been played.
“I’m fucking with you,” she sits up, swatting my hands away.
The adrenaline crash hits hard. My chest constricts as anxiety claws its way up my throat, familiar and unwelcome. Brilliant. Nothing says competent protection detail like having a panic attack in front of your charge.
“Hey.” The amusement drops from her voice as I wheeze.
My watch starts beeping—heart rate elevated, it warns uselessly. As if I couldn’t tell from the way my pulse pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
Warm fingers wrap around my wrist, and Cayenne’s face swims into focus. “Your heart rate is high.” Those green eyes lock onto mine with surprising intensity. “Breathe. You wanted to take a walk?”
I should say something. Anything. Instead, I manage to think very loudly about how I’d rather die than continue being this awkward.
“Still very much alive,” she smirks.
“I said that out loud.” Of course I did. Because apparently, my mouth has declared independence from my brain. *I’m usually more composed than this. Though statistically speaking, my social awkwardness increases by 47% when dealing with attractive women.*
She leans in, pushing my glasses up my nose with a gentleness that makes my heart stutter for entirely different reasons. “Not awkward,” she says, though we both know that’s a lie. She grabs the jacket and hauls me to my feet like I’m not having an existential crisis. “Come on. Talk to me.”
“I...” Would you like to hear about the statistical improbability of successful escapes from this property? Or perhaps we could discuss the fascinating correlation between beta autonomy and pack dynamics?
Words. I know words. I have multiple degrees that prove I can string sentences together.
“Good start.” She links her arm through mine, steering us away from the house. “The fence is overkill.”
“Ah...” Actually, the fence height was calculated based on optimal security parameters while accounting for various escape vectors . But those words stay locked behind my teeth as she adjusts our direction away from the front of the house.
“Though this hill here,” she points to the slope that leads to the very back of the property, “looks like an incredible sledding hill. But I need to know the likelihood of death if my sled hits the fence.”
“High.” I finally find my voice, and now my heart is racing for an entirely different reason. I could tell you about the exact trajectory calculations Jinx and I worked out to avoid fence collisions. “Though there is a spot that you can sled without imminent death.”
“I’m going to need to know exactly where that is.”
“Naturally.” I could show you all the safe places here. All the spots where even chaos feels like home. “It’s on the other side.” I point in a direction I know by heart because it’s where I’ve found Jinx many times after a snowfall, when his demons drive him to seek the rush of speed and cold.
“Perfect.” She leads me in that direction but we have to pass the pool and back patio first. “You know keeping me locked up won’t work.”
I sigh because the hard conversations are necessary. I could explain the complex risk assessment matrices we’ve developed. “I’m starting to notice that.”
“It’s important to me you know.” She pauses and turns to face me. “What I was working on.”
“I know.” And I do because if I’d been stripped of all my devices, all my data, all my ways of making sense of the world, I would probably act the exact same way. We’re not so different, you and I. Both trying to decode the world in our own ways.
“You’ll have to come up with an alternative.” She crosses her arms defiantly. “I’m not going back in there to a locked basement. I won’t do it. I’d rather die out here in the cold.”
Let me show you something that might change your mind . “Come on.” I sigh, leading her away from the house. I’m about to share my secret place, my own escape from the chaos of pack life. The words I’ve practiced for sharing this special spot die unspoken, replaced by the hope that maybe actions will speak louder than my fumbling attempts at communication.
“Are you going to kill me out there?” She asks before running to catch up. “Scratch that, I’d be able to take you.”
“I wouldn’t argue that.” I huff out a partial laugh. “You know, we’re not so different, you and I. Both trying to decode the world in our own ways.” The words slip out before I can overthink them, probably because she makes me feel less guarded than I usually am.
“A beta in an alpha pack.” She pokes at me. “Isn’t that like, not normal?”
“Define normal.” The challenge in my voice surprises even me as I find the path I’ve worn into the earth. It’s a bit whimsical, and I really hope she doesn’t judge me too harshly. “The statistical probability of beta inclusion in alpha packs is actually higher than most people realize.”
God, I’m talking statistics. Kill me now.
But she just grins. “Well, a pack usually consists of one omega,” she ticks off on her fingers, “and a bunch of horny alphas.”
“I won’t deny that.” I wrinkle my nose, thinking of our pack’s unique dynamic. “You don’t have a lot of experience with packs, do you?”
She looks affronted. “Of course I do.” Her eye twitches.
“That’s a lie.” The words come easier now as we walk. “Not every pack is all alphas. Some of us find our families in unexpected places.” I pause, wondering if I should share more. “Like how I found mine—or rather, how Jinx found me.”
“This doesn’t at all surprise me.” She deadpans, but there’s genuine curiosity in her eyes.
“Here we are.” I say instead, leading her to the bottom of the hill. The words I want to share about Jinx, about how a broken man found another broken man, stick in my throat.
“Where are we?” She looks around, confusion clear on her face.
“Here.” I clear my throat and walk over to where the hidden door is carved into the hillside. I’m about to reveal my inner nerd status. My sanctuary. “I could explain the complex risk assessment matrices we’ve developed for keeping you safe,” I find myself saying, “or I could show you that sometimes the best security isn’t about locks and fences.”
I open the wooden door and gesture for her to go in.
“What. Is. This?” She punctuates each word as she steps into my little hobbit home.
“It is exactly what you think it is.” I head over to the fireplace that has long since gone out as Cayenne looks around with wide eyes. “Sometimes we all need a place where we can just... be. No alphas. No omega dynamics. No expectations.”
“You nerd you.” She giggles before flopping on the couch, a crooked smile on her face.
“Busted.” I wiggle my glasses up my nose as she watches me start the fire. Something about her presence here, in my private space, makes me brave enough to continue. “Jinx found me in a really vulnerable place. A broken man found a broken man.” The words come out softer than intended, my accent slipping through.
“You have an accent.” She leans forward, interest sparking in her eyes.
I huff because I tried so hard to hide that accent. But maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to let some things show.
“It slips out sometimes,” I admit, focusing on getting the fire started. “Usually when I’m nervous. Or comfortable.” I’m not sure which one applies right now.
She settles deeper into the couch, watching me with those sharp eyes that seem to catch everything. The same eyes that probably see right through firewalls and security systems. “So which is it?”
“Both.” The honesty surprises me. “You make me nervous because you remind me of how I used to be. Before the pack. Always looking for the next system to break, the next puzzle to solve.”
“And the comfortable part?”
The fire catches, casting warm light across the small space. I stand, dusting off my hands and finally meeting her gaze. “Because you also remind me of what I found instead. Sometimes the best security isn’t a fence or a locked door. Sometimes it’s having people who understand why you need to run, but give you reasons to stay.”
Her expression softens just slightly, and for a moment, I see past the fierce hacker who tried to scale our fence. I see someone like me—someone looking for their own version of a hobbit hole in the hillside.
“You know,” I say, my voice quiet but steady, “the thing about coding is that even the most complex systems can be rewritten.”
I pause, feeling the pack bonds pulse with awareness. Through them, I can sense Ryker’s restless pacing, Jinx’s simmering need, Theo’s musical curiosity—all of them hyperaware of her presence, even from a distance. And me? I feel it too, but differently. Not the primal pull of a scent bond, but something equally powerful. Something that makes my analytical mind want to solve the puzzle of her, to understand how one beta could inadvertently slot into all our broken places.
“Maybe instead of trying to break out,” I continue, choosing my words carefully, “you could help us rewrite the parameters of what keeping you safe looks like. Because sometimes the most complex codes aren’t meant to be broken—they’re meant to be completed.”
She tilts her head, studying me with those sharp green eyes that see too much. “You’re not like other betas.”
I smile, thinking of how the pack bonds let me feel what they feel, how I experience their scent recognition through our connection even though I can’t scent it myself. “No. And you’re not either.”