13. Cayenne
Chapter 13
Cayenne
“Alright psycho.” I clap my hands together as Jinx leads me through yet another ridiculously ornate hallway in this mansion masquerading as a house. The air here carries that cherry tobacco scent that makes my mouth water, mixed with something darker that speaks to his feral nature. Even with my limited beta senses, his alpha pheromones hit like a drug.
Not that I’d ever tell him that.
“Tell me all about whatever this is.” My fingers trace the wallpaper, mapping the space like I would a new system. Old house bones beneath modern security—the kind of layered protection that begs to be breached. “I’m betting there are secret tunnels behind these walls.”
“Already looking for escape routes?” Jinx unlocks a door that probably costs more than my old apartment’s rent, his movements carrying that predatory grace that makes my body remember exactly how he used those hands in that bathroom. “Ladies first.”
I snort because we both know I’m no lady. “Bold of you to assume I’d tell you my escape plans.”
The staircase ahead looks almost out of place—bare wood worn smooth by years of use, leading up into shadow. Each step creaks under my feet, a symphony of potential tactical disadvantages that my twenty-four hours with Pack Locke has taught me to catalog.
Halfway up, I turn to find Jinx’s eyes fixed on my ass. Fair enough—these leggings are basically tactical gear for my assets. “You’re not planning to murder me, are you?”
His gaze drags up my body with deliberate heat, that devil’s smirk playing on lips I remember tasting. “Baby,” his voice drops to that growl that bypasses my brain and goes straight between my legs, “the last thing I want to do is end you.”
He climbs another step, bringing us close enough that his scent floods my senses. Cherry tobacco and gunpowder, mixed with that dangerous edge that says his control is slipping. Even my beta nose can pick up the way his pheromones shift, turning primal.
“No,” he continues, close enough now that I feel the heat radiating off him. “I want to bring you to your knees right here, right now. Put that pouty little mouth to work.”
Something molten pools in my belly. The beta in me—the part society says should submit to alphas—wars with my natural defiance. I wonder if his cum would taste like cherries.
Damnit Cay, get your mind out of the gutter. Do not go there.
“Thought you boys weren’t allowed to touch the house guest.” My voice comes out raspier than intended.
His laugh echoes through the stairwell, wild and free. “Ryker’s rules don’t apply to me.” Those amber eyes dance with beautiful madness. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
That’s exactly why I turn and continue up the stairs—because I can absolutely see myself getting into all kinds of delicious trouble with this broken alpha. The kind of trouble that ends with bite marks and regrets and complex pack dynamics I’m not equipped to handle.
Though I make sure to put extra sway in my hips, just to remind him what he’s not allowed to touch. His growl follows me up the steps, sending shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the cold draft from above.
“Parkour,” he manages, voice rougher than before. “Is a physical discipline focused on movement through environments using only the human body.” A pause as I reach the top step. “Kind of like what you did jumping between buildings, only with more style and less death wish.”
I hum noncommittally as I enter what has to be an attic space, though calling it that feels like calling a Ferrari a car. The room stretches longer than it has any right to, empty except for a window at the far end that catches the morning light like a promise.
Jinx moves past me toward that window, all coiled power and lethal grace. Before I can question his intentions, he turns with that feral grin that should probably send me running.
Instead, it makes me want to see just how wild he can get.
“That’s what we’re doing today?” I ask as he opens the window, sending a blast of winter air whipping through the attic space. “I don’t think the cuts on my feet have completely healed.” Not that they’re bothering me anymore—calluses have always been my body’s way of adapting to stupid decisions.
Jinx flashes me that smile that straddles the line between thrilling and terrifying. “Trust me, Glitch.”
Before I can decide if I do trust him—with more than just bathroom hookups and adrenaline rushes—he moves with alpha speed. One moment I’m contemplating escape routes, the next I’m over his shoulder, my world tilting as he steps through the window onto the roof.
“Put me down before I make you regret having functional kneecaps.” The threat loses some impact given how my hands automatically grip his leather jacket, taking in the solid muscle beneath.
“Your threats are adorable.” He sets me on my feet with surprising gentleness, those alpha hands lingering at my waist. “Almost as adorable as how your scent spikes when you’re plotting violence.”
I step back before I do something stupid like lean into his warmth. The February wind cuts through my workout clothes, but the view steals my breath for entirely different reasons. “Holy shit.”
The mansion’s roof stretches out like an urban explorer’s wet dream—multiple levels and peaks creating a vertical playground that would make safety inspectors cry. Metal beams span gaps between sections, clearly reinforced but still daunting. Guard rails and climbing holds have been added with precise calculation, turning architecture into opportunity.
“This is incredible.” The words slip out before I can mask my enthusiasm with snark.
“You should see it in the rain.” Jinx’s voice carries that edge of beautiful instability that makes my pulse race. “Everything gets slick, dangerous. One wrong move and...” He trails off, eyes going distant in a way that says he’s remembering something I probably don’t want to know about.
“Let me guess, Ryker got tired of you trashing his fancy house?”
His laugh sounds more stable this time. “Something like that.” He gestures to a particularly wicked-looking section where metal poles create a monkey-bars setup over a steep drop. “Pack bonds are stronger when forged in adrenaline.”
“Good thing I’m not pack then.” The words come out sharper than intended.
Something flashes in his eyes—hunger or violence, maybe both. “Yet.”
Before I can unpack that loaded response, he’s moving across the roof with inhuman grace. “The whole structure is reinforced, so don’t worry about falling through. Though the landing might still kill you.”
“Your safety briefings need work.” But I’m already analyzing routes, my mind mapping paths like network diagrams. Each gap becomes a firewall, each handhold a potential exploit.
“You’re doing it now,” he observes, head tilted like a predator scenting prey. “Reading the environment like you read code.”
“Old habits.” I test my weight on a beam, remembering similar calculations from that night on the high-rise. “Though usually my systems don’t try to actively murder me.”
His grin turns feral. “Don’t they though?”
“Shit.” The word escapes as Jinx suddenly launches into motion, his body moving with a fluid violence that shouldn’t be possible. He takes a running leap at one of the steeper sections, using momentum to scale what looks like a sheer face. His hands find invisible holds, each movement precise despite looking wild.
The morning sun catches his profile as he balances on a peak, all coiled power and barely contained chaos. Show-off.
“First principle of parkour,” he calls down, not even winded, “is turning obstacles into opportunities.” He drops to a lower section, rolling to absorb the impact before springing up with predatory grace. “The path isn’t always what it seems.”
I track his movement, cataloging techniques like I would security vulnerabilities. The way he uses his body’s momentum, how he reads surfaces for grip points, each calculated risk that looks reckless but isn’t.
“Second principle,” he continues, now moving across a series of metal poles that definitely weren’t part of the original architecture, “is efficiency.” His body flows from point to point, making impossible jumps look easy. “Why go around when you can go through?”
“Pretty sure that’s my life motto.” I move closer to watch his technique, analyzing angles and trajectories. “Though usually with less chance of death.”
He laughs, the sound carrying that edge of beautiful madness that shouldn’t be hot but absolutely is. “You sure about that, Glitch?” With a move that defies several laws of physics, he swings around a pole and lands beside me. “Because I seem to remember you jumping between buildings.”
His scent slams into me with physical force, making my knees actually buckle for a microsecond before I compensate. Cherry tobacco wraps around my throat like phantom hands, while underneath lurks something darker—gunpowder and adrenaline and pure alpha dominance. The combination bypasses my conscious mind and activates muscle memory instead; my back arches slightly, thighs pressing together as my body recalls with perfect clarity how those hands felt pinning me against cool bathroom tiles, how those teeth scraped paths of electricity down my neck, how that perfect weight crushed resistance into surrender.
“That was different.” I step back before I do something stupid like taste the sweat on his neck. “That was survival.”
“No.” His eyes hold that feral gleam that says he’s riding the edge between control and chaos. “That was freedom. Same thing that calls to you now.” He gestures to the course he just ran. “Your turn.”
“You are out of your gorgeous mind.”
“Gorgeous, huh?” His smirk should be illegal in at least three states. “Flattery won’t get you out of this.”
“Fine.” I eye the section he just ran, mentally mapping each point of contact like network nodes. “But when I die, make sure my eulogy mentions how hot I looked doing it.”
“Deal.” His grin widens as I approach the first obstacle—a steep section with barely-there handholds. “Though maybe start with something easier?”
“Fuck easier.” The words come out sharper than intended, my natural defiance rising at his doubting alpha tone. “I got this.”
I take a running start, channeling every parkour video I’ve ever watched while procrastinating actual work. My first jump actually catches the hold I was aiming for, sending a surge of triumph through my system.
See? Easy. Just like hacking—read the system, find the exploit, execute with?—
My foot slips.
Time stretches like corrupted data as I scramble for a grip that isn’t there. The ground suddenly seems much further away, winter air whipping past as gravity reminds me why I usually stick to digital dangers.
Then solid warmth slams into me from behind. Jinx’s arms lock around my waist, his body curling around mine as we roll across the roof’s surface. We hit a guard rail with enough force to knock the air from my lungs, but his grip never loosens.
“Fucking alpha reflexes,” I wheeze, fighting the way my body wants to melt into his protection. “I had that.”
“Sure you did.” His laugh rumbles through his chest where I’m pressed against him. “You were totally about to execute a perfect recovery roll, right?”
I elbow him in the ribs, ignoring how his cherry tobacco scent makes my head spin. “Let go before I show you exactly what I can execute.”
“Make me.” The words come out more growl than speech, his alpha nature bleeding through. His hands flex at my waist, and for a moment I think he might actually?—
“Get off.” I twist in his grip, pushing away from temptation wrapped in leather and danger. “I don’t need your hero complex.”
He lets me go, but that feral grin says he’s enjoying this way too much. “Not trying to be a hero, Glitch. Just don’t want to explain to Ryker how I let his new favorite toy splatter on the lawn.”
“I am nobody’s toy.” The snarl surprises even me with its intensity.
Something shifts in his eyes—recognition maybe, or understanding. “No,” he says softer, that beautiful madness temporarily contained. “You’re not. But you are going to learn this right before you break something I can’t fix.”
“I don’t need?—”
“Smaller jumps first.” He cuts me off, moving toward a lower section. “Build the muscle memory before you try the shit that took me years to master.”
“Years?” I cross my arms, hating how my legs still shake from the near fall. “What, did you live up here or something?”
His laugh holds no humor this time. “Sometimes. When the voices get too loud, when the beast needs out...” He trails off, that darkness I glimpsed in the gatehouse bleeding through. “Movement helps. Keeps me human. Most days.”
The raw honesty in his voice hits harder than the fall would have. Before I can stop myself, I reach for him. “Jinx?—”
“First lesson.” He moves just out of reach, all predatory grace again. “How to fall without dying. Because you will fall, Glitch. The trick is getting back up.”
Looking at him—this beautiful disaster of an alpha trying to teach me his coping mechanisms—I wonder if we’re still talking about parkour.
“You want me to purposely fall?” I eye the lower section of roof he’s indicating, mentally calculating impact forces and trying not to think about how my heart rate spikes every time he moves like that—all lethal grace barely contained.
“I want you to learn how to save yourself.” He drops into a crouch beside me, close enough that his heat bleeds through my clothes. “Since you’re so opposed to letting anyone else do it.”
“Bold of you to assume I need saving.” But I mirror his position, studying the way he distributes his weight. Not that I’m noticing how his leather pants stretch across his thighs. Definitely not.
“Show me a roll.” His voice drops to that growl that bypasses my brain and goes straight between my legs. “Unless you need hands-on instruction?”
“In your dreams, Havoc.” I shift my weight, preparing to demonstrate exactly how not-helpless I am. “I’ve watched enough parkour videos to?—”
“Videos?” He barks out a laugh. “That’s like saying you learned to hack by watching CSI.”
Oh, that’s just offensive.
I launch into motion without warning, tucking into what I think is a proper roll. The impact jolts through me harder than expected, and I come up decidedly less gracefully than intended.
“Wow.” Jinx slow claps, because he’s an asshole. “That was...”
“Shut up.”
“Educational.” His grin turns wicked as he stalks toward me. “Want to see how it’s actually done?”
“No, I want to try again.” I brush off my leggings, ignoring the sting in my shoulder. “I almost had it.”
“Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.” He closes the distance between us, and suddenly he’s right there, his chest brushing my back. “Here.”
His hands settle on my hips, burning through the thin fabric of my workout clothes. “Tuck tighter,” he murmurs against my ear. “Roll across your shoulder, not straight over.”
My body betrays me, leaning back into his warmth even as my mouth runs on autopilot. “Are we still talking about parkour?”
His laugh ghosts across my neck. “Focus, Glitch. Unless you want me to demonstrate more... hands-on techniques?”
I elbow him in the ribs, using the motion to break away from temptation. “Show me the damn roll before I demonstrate some hands-on violence.”
“Promises, promises.” But he drops into position, his movements liquid smooth as he demonstrates a perfect shoulder roll. “See the difference? It’s all about controlling the impact, distributing force.”
I analyze his technique, cataloging the precise sequence of muscle contractions—how his trapezius bunches before release, the way his forearms cord with tension just before impact, definitely not focusing on how his back forms a perfect arc mid-motion. “Again. Slower this time.”
“Bossy.” The word rumbles from his chest, but he drops back into position, breaking the movement into fragments like code being deconstructed. With each deliberate motion, the air between us grows thicker, harder to breathe. “The trick is committing.” His voice drops lower, muscles rippling beneath tattoos as he demonstrates again. Sweat traces the contours of his spine in a path my fingers itch to follow. “Hesitation will get you hurt worse than any mistake.”
Like so many things in my life.
This time when I try it, I focus on the mechanics rather than proving myself. The roll comes smoother, my body finally understanding what it’s supposed to do.
“Better.” Jinx’s approval shouldn’t make my stomach flutter. “Now do it again. And again. Until your body remembers even when your brain shorts out.”
“Is that what happened to you?” The words slip out before I can catch them. “Your brain shorting out?”
His eyes go distant for a moment, that beautiful madness bleeding through. “Sometimes the only way to quiet the chaos is to embrace it.”
Something in his tone makes me want to reach for him again. Instead, I drop into another roll, focusing on the burn in my muscles rather than the way his broken edges match mine.
“Your form’s improving.” He moves closer, radiating heat and danger. “Ready to try something more challenging?”
“Always.” I rise to face him, closer than strictly necessary. “Though if you try to catch me again, I’ll hack your credit score into oblivion.”
His grin turns feral. “What makes you think you’ll see me coming next time?”
The promise in his voice sends hunger to burn through me. “What makes you think you’ll get a next time?”
“Because.” He leans in, his scent flooding my senses. “You like the rush as much as I do. The edge between control and chaos. The moment right before the fall.”
God help me, he’s right.
“Higher ground.” He gestures to one of the lower peaks, mercifully backing out of my personal space. “Let’s see if you can get up there without breaking anything important.”
“Define important.” But I’m already reading the route, seeing the path like lines of code. Handholds become access points, angles transform into security gaps waiting to be exploited.
This time when I move, I let muscle memory guide me rather than pride. Each grip point flows into the next, my body finally understanding the language Jinx is teaching. It’s not about power or speed—it’s about reading the system, finding the path of least resistance.
Just like hacking.
I reach the peak breathing hard but victorious, adrenaline singing through my veins better than any caffeine buzz. The view stretches for miles, morning sun painting the mountains in shades of possibility.
“Not bad.” Jinx appears beside me with that liquid grace that makes my stomach flip. “For a beginner.”
“Please.” I roll my eyes, but can’t quite contain my grin. “I’m a natural.”
“At getting into trouble? Definitely.”
The wind whips around us, carrying his cherry tobacco scent mixed with something darker. Something that speaks to the wild thing living under his skin, the beast he keeps chained with movement and madness.
“Your turn to teach me something,” he says suddenly.
“What?”
“Fair trade.” He settles cross-legged on the peak, patting the space beside him. “Show me how you see the world. How you read systems like I read surfaces.”
For a moment, I’m tempted. To share my language of ones and zeros, to show him how I dance through digital landscapes the way he flows across physical ones. To let someone else see the poetry in perfectly crafted code.
But that way lies trust. Connection. Things I can’t afford when Sterling Labs is hunting me, when betas are dying, when I’m temporary by design.
“Maybe next time.” I rise, brushing off my leggings. “Assuming I survive your crash course in gravitational defiance.”
Something flickers in his eyes—understanding maybe, or recognition of defensive walls he knows too well. “Next time then.”
As we make our way back to the attic window, I catch him watching me with that predatory focus that makes my pulse skip. “What?”
“Just thinking how right you look up here.” His voice carries that edge of beautiful instability that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is. “On the edge between sky and earth. Between order and chaos.”
“Careful.” I slip past him through the window, definitely not noting how his body heat makes me want to lean in. “Almost sounds like you like me.”
His laugh follows me down the stairs, wild and free. “Wouldn’t that be interesting?”
Yes. Yes it would.
And that’s exactly why I can’t let it happen.
No matter how tempting the fall might be.