11. Cayenne
Chapter 11
Cayenne
My fingers tremble against my thighs in arrhythmic patterns, tapping out phantom code on non-existent keyboards. Cold sweat beads at my temples despite the comfortable temperature, each drop sliding down like corrupt data through a failing system. Tech withdrawal claws at my insides with physical hooks, my body screaming for the endorphin rush of breaking through firewalls and the steady hum of processors beneath my fingertips.
Four sets of eyes track my movements as I set dinner on the table, the weight of their attention almost as heavy as the silence in my head where keyboard clicks and system hums should be. Thirty-six hours without a single digital connection. I’ve gone longer without food, without sleep, but never without the comforting pulse of electronics beneath my fingers.
“Don’t expect this daily,” I announce, aiming for snark but landing somewhere closer to defensive. The domesticity of the moment makes my skin crawl—or maybe that’s just my nerve endings trying to find signals where there are none.
The pack flows into position around the table with an unspoken choreography perfected through years of shared meals. Ryker claims the head chair with a single fluid motion, shoulders squaring as his presence expands to fill the space—a gravitational force rather than just a person. At the opposite end, Theo slides into place with the deliberate grace of a dancer, his posture a perfect counterbalance to Ryker’s structured power. Finn settles at Ryker’s right hand, angling his body slightly toward his alpha like a compass finding north, while Jinx sprawls beside Theo with deliberate casualness that fails to hide how his eyes track everyone’s movements. They leave me with strategic gaps that reveal more about their hierarchy than words ever could—empty spaces designed to test where I’ll naturally slot into their carefully balanced ecosystem.
I take what I tell myself is the strategic option, placing myself between Finn and Theo. Before I can attempt to manage utensils with my trembling hands, Jinx reaches across and takes my plate. The gesture should piss me off. Instead, something in my chest constricts at the casual kindness.
My fingers find the wine bottle Theo brought up, and I focus on pouring like it’s a hack that could get me killed if I fuck it up. The rich red liquid sloshes against crystal, and I catch myself counting the ripples like verification codes.
Don’t chug it, I warn myself, even as my throat aches for something to replace the bitter taste of forced sobriety. Somewhere out there, Sterling Labs’ servers are probably having a meltdown, and here I am, playing happy families with a pack of beautiful disasters.
Jinx sets my plate down with a gentleness that feels like a security breach in my carefully constructed walls. When did the feral alpha learn to be soft? When did any of this—from Finn’s worried glances to Theo’s knowing smiles to Ryker’s watchful silence—start feeling less like captivity and more like coming home?
God, I hate withdrawal. Makes me think dangerous thoughts.
“I want you in the training room at dawn.” Ryker’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He takes another bite of chicken, his eyes rolling back slightly despite his attempts to maintain his stern alpha facade. Small victories.
“I’m sorry, what?” I arch an eyebrow, deliberately misunderstanding. Because there’s no way he just tried to order me around like some omega princess in need of protection.
Ryker pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. “You heard me. Dawn. Training.”
“And what, pray tell, are we training for?” I inject enough mockery into my voice to make Finn wince. My hands have finally stopped shaking, but now my leg bounces with pent-up energy. Fight or flight with nowhere to go.
“You have assassins on your ass.” Ryker’s bluntness would be refreshing if it didn’t make my stomach clench. “I need to know if shit goes down, you can hold your own.”
Logical. Practical. Infuriating.
“Eight,” I counter, because if he thinks he can just dictate my schedule?—
Is that a smile tugging at his lips? “Seven.”
“Seven forty-five.”
“Seven.”
I point my fork at him like a weapon. “You can show up at seven, but I’ll be there at eight.” A pause. “Where exactly is this happening?”
Jinx nearly chokes on his chicken. “Training room. West wing.”
“See, when you say shit like that, it’s when I realize we are not in the same tax bracket.” I stab another piece of chicken. “The west wing. Who even talks like that?”
“Parkour!” Jinx’s sudden outburst makes me jump.
“Don’t distract me from?—”
“No, Glitch. That’s what I’m teaching you.” His grin holds that edge of beautiful chaos that makes my pulse skip. “Free running. Urban escape. The art of getting the fuck out of dodge with style.”
“I’m taking her to Sanctuary.” Theo’s announcement makes Ryker groan. “Don’t start. It’s happening.”
“We can discuss that later,” Ryker grits out, but there’s something in his tone that makes me wonder exactly what kind of sanctuary has an alpha this worked up.
I turn to my safest bet. “What about you, Finn? What trust fall do you have planned?”
Finn finishes chewing thoughtfully, and something about his measured pause sets off warning bells.
Jinx chuckles. “You think we’re the adrenaline junkies? You have no idea.”
“Base jumping,” Finn says simply, like he hasn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of dinner.
“Come again?” My voice definitely doesn’t squeak.
“Not yet,” Jinx mutters, and I pretend not to hear him.
“Zip lining is second,” Finn continues, pushing up those adorable glasses. “But I honestly prefer base jumping. Though we could start with a hike to check out the points where we can jump.”
“You are out of your ever-loving mind.” This time I definitely squeak.
“Told you.” Jinx’s grin widens. “Finn likes to jump.”
A blush creeps up Finn’s neck, and damn if that combination of shy and deadly isn’t doing things to me. “It’s a trust fall.”
“I didn’t think you meant literally falling!” The tremor in my hands is back, but for entirely different reasons now.
“We could always dive out of a plane.” Finn’s voice carries a thread of excitement that shouldn’t be sexy. “You’d have to be strapped to me for the first few jumps.”
Oh hell. My brain short-circuits at the image—Finn’s body pressed against mine, nothing but sky around us. The withdrawal symptoms definitely aren’t helping my self-control.
“Base jump.” Ryker’s tone brooks no argument. “It’s come in handy for us before, and considering you jumped between high-rises, I’d bet money you’ll try something like that again. But what if you slip?”
“Don’t come at me with logic.” I hate that he has a point. Hate even more how my traitorous body remembers the rush of that leap between buildings, how the adrenaline filled the void where my tech addiction usually lives.
“He’s right.” Finn’s quiet agreement feels like betrayal.
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“That’s not going to happen.” The finality in his voice sends an inappropriate shiver down my spine.
“Can I get out of this?”
“No.” Finn’s smirk is positively wicked. “You agreed.”
“Did I? Because I don’t actually recall agreeing. Pretty sure I’d remember signing up for suicide by mountain.” I focus on my food even as my heart pounds at the thought. One hell of a trust fall indeed.
“We can discuss details tomorrow.” Ryker leans back in his chair, his posture relaxing slightly. “Thank you.”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. “Can you repeat that? I’m pretty sure I just had a seizure.”
“You heard me.” He pushes back from the table. “I’m going to bed. Put your dishes in the dishwasher.”
The alpha command in his voice sets my teeth on edge, but he’s gone before I can craft a properly scathing response.
“Is he really going to bed?”
“He’s an early riser.” Jinx’s tone suggests there’s more to it. “Anyone want to watch a movie?”
For a moment, I’m tempted. The thought of curling up on that ridiculous circular couch, letting their presence fill the static in my head... “No,” I say instead, because it’s too much.
Too cozy. Too domestic. Too damn close to something I can’t afford to want.
My appetite vanishes like a corrupted file. “I think I’ll head to bed too.”
Three sets of knowing eyes follow me as I stand, and their understanding burns worse than their judgment would. I can’t look at them as I head to the kitchen, methodically rinsing my plate and loading the dishwasher like this is normal. Like I belong here.
The moment I shut my basement door, I slide down to sit on the top step, head in my hands.
“What are you doing here, Cay?” I rub my temples where a headache builds. “Making them dinner and planning what are probably dates.” Trust fall my ass. It’s spending time with them.
Quality fucking time.
The friendship bracelet on my wrist catches the light, a reminder of simpler times. Of craft nights and wine and friends who didn’t know they were about to become collateral damage in my crusade.
The memory slams into me without warning—sounds and colors suddenly cranked to maximum fidelity, overwhelming my senses. My pulse accelerates to match the rhythm of that night, body temperature rising 1.2 degrees as my muscles tense in exact replication of how I sat then. The taste of cheap wine floods my mouth while phantom laughter echoes in my ears with such precision I actually turn toward the sound before realizing it’s coming from inside my own head.
“You’re serious?” My laughter echoes through my apartment as I snatch the canvas bag from Ginger’s dainty hands. Inside, tackle boxes overflow with string in every color of the rainbow. “Ginger, you little craft child, you.”
She steals it back, platinum blonde hair swinging. “Shut your whore mouth.” But she’s grinning as she breezes past me into my apartment, Aria and Willow on her heels.
“I for one love the idea.” Willow practically bounces with excitement.
“Me too.” Aria shuts the door, juggling wine and what looks like enough snacks to survive an apocalypse. Mating suits her—she glows with it, radiates contentment like a perfectly optimized system.
I look away, focusing on my hosting duties. My apartment is the smallest of our group—a tech cave masquerading as living space. Usually it doesn’t bother me. I don’t need much room for my equipment. But times like these, watching my friends spread out in my cramped living room, I wish I had more to offer.
They don’t seem to mind, piling pillows on the floor, spreading blankets like we’re teenagers at a sleepover. The tackle boxes take over my coffee table, a rainbow arsenal of string and beads.
“So, friendship bracelets.” I eye the setup from my tiny kitchen where I’ve arranged a charcuterie board of all our favorites. Bread, jam, fancy crackers—the works.
Ginger looks up, pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Crafts,” she wiggles her fingers like casting a spell, “brings us closer. Come sit.”
“I’m horrible at crafts.”
“With that attitude, you will be.” She pats the floor beside her.
“Fine.” I flop down, immediately grabbing the green box because if I’m going to fail at this, I’m doing it with my favorite color.
“I figured we’d all work on the same pattern,” Ginger explains, “just in case anyone gets lost.”
“How’s pack life?” Willow asks Aria as we begin, and something in my chest tightens.
Fuck, this is going to take forever.
“Amazing.” Aria’s voice carries that dreamy quality of the truly content. “It’s everything I could have asked for and more.” She nudges Willow. “How’s dating?”
“You’re dating?” My head snaps up. Willow’s dark hair falls forward, trying to hide the blush creeping up her neck.
“I downloaded a few apps.” She shifts, uncomfortable under our collective attention.
“Are you looking for a pack or a guy?” The question comes out sharper than I intend, but fuck—I need to know my friend is being safe.
Trust no man.
Willow shrugs, the movement small and uncertain. “I don’t know if I’m pack material.”
“Did you get tested?” Aria asks the question we’re all thinking.
“For what?” I battle with a knot that refuses to cooperate.
“Latent omega genes.” Ginger supplies the answer like it’s not a bomb in the middle of craft night.
Willow blushes harder, her usually confident demeanor cracking. “I didn’t.” A sigh escapes as her shoulders slump. “I can’t decide if I want to know or not. Did you two get tested?”
Ginger answers first, wrinkling her nose. “I did. All beta, all day.”
“I didn’t.” I finally free the stubborn knot, focusing on the new row like it holds the secrets of the universe. “I know I’m a beta, and I’m okay with that.”
Though having a super sniffer would be nice. The thought slips through before I can catch it.
“Ugh.” Willow’s grunt carries years of pain. When I look up, the sadness in her eyes hits like a system crash.
It doesn’t take a genius hacker to decode that kind of hurt. “You loved an alpha and didn’t present.”
“Cayenne!” Aria’s hand connects with my arm.
“I’m not trying to be cruel.” I drop my half-formed bracelet, suddenly tired of pretending. “I’m just reading her.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to be a bitch.” Ginger’s words cut deep.
Shame burns across my face. My mouth running faster than my brain—a fatal flaw in both coding and friendship.
“It’s okay.” Willow’s voice comes soft, measured. “I fell in love with an alpha and the pack he was forming in college.” Her gaze drifts to the window, seeing something beyond the city lights. “It was long before we knew latent omega genes were a thing. But,” her eyes find mine, carrying a weight I’m not sure I deserve, “it doesn’t matter now because I spent four years with them. And not once did I magically turn into an omega.”
“I’m sorry.” The words feel inadequate, but I mean them. “That’s why I’ll never choose pack life.” Emotions I thought I’d encrypted and buried try to force their way through my firewalls. “I’m a beta. Falling in love with a pack means always living with the fear that I’ll be kicked out for an omega. And I won’t willingly choose that life.”
I choose me. Every time.
The memory fades, leaving me alone in my basement prison. My head falls back against the door with a thud that echoes my heartbeat.
“What are you doing, Cayenne?” My whisper fills the empty space where my friends should be. Friends I put in danger. Friends who had to kick me out of my own apartment to protect themselves.
Because you gave them no choice.
Guilt rises like corrupt code, threatening to overflow my emotional buffer. I won’t let it. I made my choices. I have to own them.
But playing house with Pack Locke? Training sessions and trust falls and family dinners? I can’t. I have to remember why I’m here—to survive, to expose Sterling Labs, to protect other betas.
Not to fall for a pack of broken alphas and their beautiful omega.
I can let them keep me safe.
But I can never let myself love them.