14. Jinx
Chapter 14
Jinx
The timer clicks softly as I set it—seven minutes, fourteen seconds.
Fibonacci sequence. Mona would like that. I’m not usually this precise, but something about this mission demands it. Like I’m evolving without losing myself.
My fingers work the wires of the explosive charge with practiced ease, moving through the familiar steps. Connect, secure, arm, verify. Violence waiting on my command.
“Fourth charge set,” I whisper.
Ryker nods, eyes fixed on the security feed we hijacked from Sterling’s system. His cedar and steel scent cuts through despite the neutralizer spray. Ryker’s all military precision. I’m not. But we want the same thing. He takes position with his back to the wall, watching the entry points. Alpha through and through, even now.
The production facility sprawls around us, sterile and gleaming—tanks and dispensers and quality control stations. So many beautiful weak points just begging to be exploited. My fingers twitch with anticipation, already imagining the chain reaction when my charges blow.
Mona would appreciate this. She arranges candy like she plots destruction—with weird, perfect patterns. Just like Emma would have, if my sister had lived. Both seeing what others don’t.
It’s what made Alexander a useful ally, reluctant as I was to trust him. That same resistance hidden beneath his perfect soldier act. He created the USB drive in the matryoshka doll I gave Cayenne—six months of secrets from Sterling’s supposedly perfect alpha son.
Something hits through the pack bond—sharp and urgent. Cayenne. My muscles tense instantly. Something’s wrong. My teeth ache, jaw tight. I turn toward her without thinking, even though she’s floors away.
“You feel that?” I ask, suddenly alert.
Ryker’s eyes narrow. “Yes.” He inhales deeply, scenting air that can’t possibly carry her, but trying anyway. His body mirrors mine—both of us turning toward what’s ours.
The bond pulls tight between us. My skin prickles, heart racing. Hunt. Protect. Destroy threats. My scent breaks through the neutralizer. Finn’s with her too—his calm presence next to her chaos.
Another hit through the bond. Not fear exactly. Recognition? My muscles tense, ready to fight. Hair on my neck stands up. Did she find Alexander? The USB inside that doll could burn Sterling’s empire to the ground.
The beast wakes up—the one that painted concrete walls with blood. My head tilts, listening for anything. My cherry tobacco scent breaks through the neutralizer. Metallic. Violent.
“Stay focused,” Ryker warns, reading me instantly. His cedar scent spikes, establishing boundaries between us—not dominating, just directing. “Complete the mission.”
“They’re in trouble.” The words come out as a growl, my throat tight around them. I press my tongue against my canine, feeling the pressure build.
“They’re capable.” His authority holds steady, but underneath I sense his struggle—the same need to protect battling with what needs to be done. His jaw tightens with the same restraint I’m fighting to maintain.
I bare my teeth, not quite a snarl. My shoulders square instinctively. “So am I.”
Ryker holds my gaze, alpha to alpha. Not a battle for dominance—just assessment. The bond between us vibrates with understanding—two predators weighing options, calculating risks. “Fifth charge. Southeast column. Then we extract.”
Not what either of us wanted. Probably the right call. I head for the final target, muscles tight. Longer strides, claiming ground as I move. For once, the violence inside me feels useful.
I push through our bond to Cayenne. We’re coming. The connection runs stronger now. My skin warms thinking of her—her chaos matching mine perfectly. I thought pack bonds would cage me. Now they’re lifelines. I’m coming.
The comms unit in my ear crackles, then goes silent. Radio interference—deliberate or just bad luck, impossible to tell. But the timing seems too perfect for coincidence.
“Comms down,” I say, already thinking of other ways out. “Quinn’s team?”
“Offline.” Ryker doesn’t sound alarmed, just focused. “Original plan holds. Five minutes.”
I set the fifth charge quick and clean. The chaos in my head narrows to a point. Not gone. Aimed. Mona taught me that during our secret meetings. I can still see her sitting cross-legged on a lab table, using Skittles to mark the facility’s weak spots.
The first sign of trouble comes as vibration through the floor—security moving with purpose, not the usual patrol pattern. Their footsteps have military precision. Not Sterling’s regular guards.
“Company,” I murmur, noting Ryker has already spotted the threat. He shifts slightly, positioning for defense while staying hidden. His scent changes—cedar sharpening with combat readiness.
“Eleven,” he counts by sound alone. “Southeast corridor.”
I smile, feeling it stretch like a predator’s grin. My pulse quickens, blood running hot as the hunt presents itself. “Perfect.”
“Jinx,” Ryker warns, his scent spiking with authority—not dominating but directing. “Controlled response.”
My laugh comes soft and dark. “Always controlled. Just not always gentle.” I run my tongue over my teeth, skin prickling with anticipation.
I’ve felt this before, when the beast slips free. But this time it’s different—not blind rage, but cold precision. The chaos in my head crystallizing into perfect, deadly focus.
I remember standing on that rooftop edge months ago, wanting to fall. My alpha side just wanted to burn everything. The fire behind my eyes left nothing but ashes.
Now that fire’s got a use. I still burn, but for something. The beast is leashed by choice now—by my pack. By Cayenne showing me that fire can heal. By Theo taking my broken edges. By Finn seeing patterns in my chaos. By Ryker believing I’m more than just violence.
Through the pack bond, Cayenne’s presence pulses suddenly—surprise, confusion, realization. The sensation hits like a shot straight to my heart, body tensing, senses sharpening. A growl builds in my throat, muscles bunching in preparation to move. Something important has happened, but we’re too far apart for details. The feel of her has changed—like she’s learned something that changes everything.
“She’s okay,” I tell Ryker, reading the signals. “Different, but okay.” My body stays oriented toward her, drawn like a compass to north.
He nods, relief flashing beneath his focus. His concern for her matches my own, though we show it differently. He protects through structure where I protect through chaos. Both necessary. His scent shifts briefly with relief before steel focus returns.
The first shot comes without warning—a silenced round that misses Ryker’s head by millimeters. We drop instantly, combat reflexes taking over. My heartbeat speeds up, not from fear—from focus, the hunt now real instead of abstract.
“Eight o’clock,” I hiss, already tracing the shooter’s position. “Southeast catwalk.” My upper lip curls slightly, exposing the edge of my canine.
Ryker signals acknowledgment, combat training replacing words. We separate, creating divided targets, moving in perfect sync. Though our styles differ, years together have made us a seamless team.
I catch a glimpse of our attacker—black tactical gear, professional stance, Sterling Industries insignia missing. Not regular security. Something else. Their scent lacks the Sterling-specific patterns I’ve learned to recognize—mercenaries, not company men.
“Sterling’s private team,” I say, catching their scent despite the neutralizer. Their movements have that distinctive pattern—rigid, over-trained, confident from lack of real challenge. Their movements lack the fluidity of true pack coordination, relying on programmed responses.
I remember Mona’s breakdown of Sterling’s elite forces. Seven-person units, extensive training, modified combat patterns.
And predictable.
“Remember what Mona said,” I call to Ryker. “They lead with right-dominant patterns. Seven-count rotations.”
He adjusts his position, exploiting the weakness Mona identified. My dangerous sister with her brilliant mind. So much like Emma would have been, if she’d had the chance. The same vicious intelligence beneath that fragile exterior.
I count silently—one, two, three movements, anticipating the fourth with perfect certainty. When it comes, I’m already countering, turning Sterling’s choreographed violence against itself. My fighting style is direct and claiming—taking space through physical dominance rather than the evasive techniques their beta-dominant squad uses.
The first attacker goes down silently, throat crushed beneath precise pressure. Not cruel, just efficient. My body moves with practiced grace, muscles responding to years of combat experience. Fear-scent rises around me—prey recognizing predator on a level deeper than thought.
The second and third fall to Ryker’s methodical approach—disarm, disable, secure. Together, we’ve cut their advantage nearly in half. With each one down, I feel my territory expand—alpha instinct claiming conquered ground.
Then the pattern breaks. Someone improvises.
The shot catches Ryker in the shoulder, spinning him partially around. Not fatal, but bad. Blood blooms across his tactical gear, bright against black. The scent hits me instantly—pack blood, alpha injured. His cedar and steel sharpened with pain and determination.
Something inside me shifts.
My body temperature spikes, heart racing, muscles flooding with strength. Copper floods my mouth, vision sharpening until I can count the sweat beads on my opponents’ faces. My cherry tobacco scent explodes through the neutralizer, making weaker men step back. A growl vibrates through my chest, deep enough to rattle bone.
I move.
The remaining attackers never stand a chance. I flow through their formation like water through cracks, exploiting every weakness Mona identified. They expect resistance. They receive annihilation.
My scent breaks through completely. Full predator. Their beta squad has tactics and numbers, but not the territorial drive of a pissed-off alpha. They defend. I take.
One tries to retreat, reaching for his comms. My knife finds his throat before the call connects. Blood sprays hot across my skin, triggering something deeper—not disgust but satisfaction. Threat eliminated, pack protected, territory secured.
The last stands his ground, weapon raised, eyes calculating odds. He’s good—military bearing, extensive training clear in every muscle. But he’s been taught to fight soldiers.
I am not a soldier.
I am chaos with purpose.
When it ends, I stand amid the aftermath, breathing steady, heart rate elevated but controlled. No blank stare, no lost time. Just satisfaction in threats eliminated. My scent fills the area, marking territory claimed through combat—an alpha response that pushes through any chemical mask.
Progress.
“Ryker.” I move to check his wound, assessing with clinical eyes. But beneath that, genuine concern pulses through our bond. His injury echoes in my own body—alpha recognizing alpha pain, my own shoulder tightening in sympathy. “Status?”
“Functional.” His grimace says otherwise, but it’s not life-threatening. Through our bond, I feel his pain like a distant echo, his cedar scent now laced with copper. His pupils stay steady despite the blood loss—alpha biology compensating.
“Can you move?”
“Yes.” He gets up, favoring his good side. His scent stabilizes quickly—cedar reasserting control despite the injury. “Mission status?”
“Completed.” I check the detonator, confirming the sequence. “Seven minutes until the charges start the chain reaction.”
He nods, already moving toward our exit. His stride deliberately normal despite the wound—alpha refusing to show weakness, even with pack. “Find Theo. Start evacuation.”
“Not without Cayenne and Finn.” It comes out as a growl. The bond with Cayenne pulses hard in my blood—her chaos like a beacon I can’t ignore. Necessary as breathing. My body turns toward her. My teeth ache again, needing to mark, to claim.
“Jinx—”
“Not. Without. Them.” My voice leaves no room for argument. My body tenses, ready to move, to hunt, to find what’s ours. I drop my chin, chest expanding—not challenging Ryker’s leadership but standing firm on this one point. The need to bring our scattered pack together rises like a tide.
His expression shifts as cedar scent spikes with momentary alpha challenge. Our eyes lock longer than necessary—communication happening in tiny shifts of expression. Then he settles into reluctant agreement. “Five minutes. Then we all leave. Together.”
The compromise works for neither of us completely. But it’s right.
Through our bond, I feel Cayenne moving—no longer in one place, heading with purpose through the facility corridors. Away from where the danger registered before. She and Finn are on the move, but not toward us yet. The connection carries urgency but not terror, not the panic of being hunted. Something else drives her—revelation, maybe. Whatever she found in Alexander’s USB has changed her plans.
“They’re mobile,” I tell Ryker, still trying to catch their scent despite the distance. “But not heading our way yet.”
His jaw tightens, decision warring with necessity. “Extraction point. We secure it for their arrival.” His scent shifts—steel strengthening as tactics override alpha instinct.
I don’t like it, but it makes sense. Ryker needs medical attention, and securing our exit improves everyone’s chances. The urge to hunt still burns in my blood, but I bank it beneath practical need. Still, my body stays oriented toward Cayenne’s direction even as we move away.
We navigate maintenance corridors, following Finn’s planned route. The facility rumbles beneath us—normal operations or something worse? I think of Alexander, wondering if he’s kept his cover after helping Cayenne and Finn. His quiet rebellion reminds me of Emma in her final days—refusing to bend despite knowing the cost. The same steel I see in Mona, just wrapped differently.
The comm unit in my ear suddenly crackles to life. “—epeat, all teams evacuate immediately. Facility security compromised. This is not a drill.”
Not Sterling’s voice. Someone else has taken control.
The first explosion comes seconds later—not our charges, something else. The floor shudders beneath us, destruction sending tremors through steel and concrete.
“Secondary systems failing,” the voice continues, clinical and detached. Familiar.
“Mona,” I laugh, recognizing the blend of chaos and precision. Satisfaction rumbles through my chest—pack ally executing her part perfectly.
The announcement continues: “Containment failure in laboratory sections three through seven. Toxic exposure imminent. Evacuation protocols initiated.”
“She’s covering our tracks,” Ryker realizes.
“And creating perfect chaos.” My appreciation for Sterling’s broken omega grows. Like Emma would have done—turning weakness into weapon. I can almost see Mona orchestrating this from Omega Guardian headquarters, arranging candy in patterns while calculating precise system failures.
Through our bond, Cayenne’s presence gains urgency—she and Finn moving faster now, responding to the alarms. Still not directly toward us, but on a path that should eventually meet ours. The connection grows stronger each minute—her fierce energy flowing through our bond like electric current. My skin warms with her approach, ready to mark her when we reunite.
“They’re heading toward extraction,” I tell Ryker. “Different path. Something happened with Alexander—I can feel traces of it through her.” The bond carries recognition and revelation—emotional patterns different from fear or threat.
He nods, processing this. “Quinn’s team?”
I reach through the bond for Theo’s presence. Our omega registers clearly now—closer than before, surrounded by unfamiliar energies. The extraction team and their charges. His dark vanilla scent reaches me before I see him.
“Operational. Northeast quadrant.”
Ryker checks his watch, measuring time against distance and injury. Always the commander, even bleeding. His cedar scent carries pain beneath determination, his face betraying nothing.
We reach the extraction point—a secondary maintenance exit where Quinn’s vehicles should be waiting. Through the pack bond, I feel Theo getting closer. My skin prickles with anticipation, already responding to our omega’s approach despite the neutralizer.
The moment Theo spots us, his eyes widen. “Ryker!” He rushes forward, medical instincts taking over. His scent spikes with concern—vanilla intensifying with protective response. “Sit. Now.”
Ryker obeys reluctantly, letting Theo examine the wound. “Status report.” His cedar scent steadies with proximity to his omega—their pheromones interacting even before treatment begins.
“Six subjects extracted safely.” Theo’s hands move efficiently, applying pressure to Ryker’s shoulder. His omega touch releases healing compounds through his fingertips while his vanilla scent eases alpha pain responses. “Quinn’s team is securing transport. We’re just waiting on?—”
“Cayenne and Finn,” I finish, eyes fixed on the entrance where they should appear. My body thrums with anticipation, muscles tight with readiness. I shift my weight toward their expected arrival, already claiming the space where they’ll be. “They’re close.”
The pack bond vibrates stronger—Cayenne and Finn moving through corridors, getting closer but hitting obstacles. Their path feels erratic, diverted. My skin prickles with awareness of her approaching energy, my scent intensifying with protective anticipation.
“Something’s slowing them down,” I mutter, instinct rising with each second. The beast inside me paces restlessly, desperate to hunt, to find, to protect. My fingers flex repeatedly, nails digging into palms. “I should go after them.”
Theo’s hand finds mine, vanilla scent strengthening as he reads my building feral response. Unlike Ryker’s alpha command, Theo’s omega influence feels like cool water on burning skin—not weakening me but directing my strength. His fingers curl around mine, squeezing once in our established pattern—our silent contract between omega and fractured alpha.
“No.” Ryker’s command comes sharp and certain, cedar scent rising with authority. “Too risky. They’re moving toward us. Trust them.”
Trust doesn’t come naturally to me—except with pack. And even then, I prefer action over patience. But he’s right. Splitting up further creates more risk. The beast inside me paces, but I leash it with effort—Cayenne’s influence again, teaching me that sometimes chaos can wait.
The facility shudders again, violently this time. Warning alarms blare through the corridors, emergency lights bathing everything in blood-red.
I push through our bond to Cayenne. Come to us. We’re here. The bond pulses hard, my body locked to hers across the distance—heart racing, muscles tight. My scent pushes out, marking a path for her to follow.
Our charges will detonate in less than four minutes. The window for clean escape narrows with each second. Sweat runs down my spine, not from effort but from the strain of staying still when every instinct screams to move, to hunt, to find.
Theo’s hand finds mine, omega instinct seeing what I need. His scent shifts—vanilla sweetening with comfort. His touch calms without making me weak. He should be focused on Ryker’s injury, but he knows my control is hanging by a thread too. “They’ll make it.”
I nod, trust fighting instinct. The beast inside me paces, demanding action, protection, violence. But I hold position, trusting pack bonds over feral need. My body stays ready—muscles primed, senses sharp—but I don’t move.
The facility trembles with growing instability—not just our charges, but systems failing throughout. Mona’s work, spreading like beautiful contagion through Sterling’s perfect creation.
Three minutes.
Quinn approaches, face grim. “We need to move. Now.”
“Not without them,” I growl, barely human. My scent spikes with warning despite the neutralizer—claiming territory and refusing to abandon pack. My posture shifts automatically—shoulders back, chest expanded, chin lowered with direct eye contact. Not aggression but absolute refusal to yield.
“Two more minutes,” Ryker decides, voice allowing no argument. His cedar scent spikes briefly with authority before settling. “Then we evacuate.”
Two minutes to reunite our pack. Two minutes before Sterling’s temple to twisted science begins to collapse under precision charges.
The beast inside me slams against its cage, demanding release. My skin prickles, muscles coiling tight. The feral instinct that once ruled me now tests the boundaries I’ve built. I breathe through it, focusing on pack bonds—Theo’s nurturing warmth, Ryker’s steady command, Finn’s quiet precision, Cayenne’s brilliant chaos. Four points that give my destruction purpose.
One minute. Fifty-nine seconds. Fifty-eight.
The anticipation builds in my blood, a countdown more accurate than any timer. When our first charge detonates, it will send shockwaves through the facility, failing exactly as planned. My pulse speeds up with the countdown—body preparing for what comes next.
The bond snaps awake. Cayenne’s close. I feel her like a jolt to my spine. My body moves before my brain—head turning, nostrils flaring, muscles tight. I step forward without thinking. My pulse kicks hard.
Her bright chaos crashes through first, wild and alive... and then Finn follows, steady and sharp, like a lock clicking into place. Their scents reach me before I see them—Cayenne’s lemon-ozone carrying something new, something almost omega-like that makes my alpha senses spark with confusion and interest.
They’re almost here. I feel it in my bones.
As the facility groans around us, beginning its transformation from marvel to ruin, I feel something settle inside me—my chaos aligning into something like harmony. The beast that once felt like curse now feels like nature. Not something to cage, but something to channel. My throat rumbles with sound—not warning but welcome, calling pack home.
Forty seconds. Thirty-nine. Thirty-eight.
The truth crystallizes with perfect clarity—this is what I was made for. Not mindless destruction, but precise dismantling of what threatens what’s mine. My alpha nature not a program but a purpose.
Chaos, unleashed with purpose.