3. Jinx
Chapter 3
Jinx
The screaming stopped twenty minutes ago.
I watch the newest addition to our collection through monitors, tracking his breathing patterns like I used to track targets. My fingers tap an uneven rhythm against the desk—three quick, two slow—counting exits, counting breaths, counting the hours since we lost her. The familiar static builds behind my eyes, that warning buzz that says the beast is getting hungry.
Control. Focus. Channel it into the hunt.
Slow, steady inhales followed by shuddering exhales. The good news? He’s still alive. The bad news—for him? He’s about to wish he wasn’t.
I reach through the pack bond, searching for her. The other connections burn bright and steady—Ryker’s iron will radiating like heated steel, Finn’s razor-sharp mind calculating probabilities, Theo’s artistic soul pulsing with harmonious warmth—but where Cayenne should be, there’s only a thin, stretched thread, fraying but not broken.
The emptiness aches like a physical wound, worse than any torture I’ve ever endured. I push against it, sending rage and determination through that fragile connection, hoping some part of her feels us reaching for her.
Each of us deals with her absence differently. Ryker throws himself into tactical planning, Finn analyzes every data point until his eyes are bloodshot, and Theo... Theo’s pre-heat symptoms have intensified from the stress, his scent shifting toward something darker, more volatile. The omega in him calling for his missing pack member.
“Status?” Ryker’s voice carries through my earpiece, steady as a metronome.
“Subject Four is ready for processing.” The clinical terms help, give structure to the chaos burning under my skin. Like the way Ryker taught me to catalog my episodes—rate the violence thrumming through my blood on a scale of one to nuclear.
Right now? We’re hovering somewhere around thermonuclear, but I’m holding it together. Mostly.
Seventy-two hours since Cayenne disappeared, and we’re finally getting somewhere. For a moment, I see her face as it was that last morning—hair tied up in that messy bun, coffee mug cradled between her palms, lemon-bright scent mingling with the warmth of her skin as she laughed at something stupid I said before everything went to hell.
The memory burns hotter than any rage. I force it down, back to business. “Three’s intel checks out. The service entrance has blind spots in the camera coverage.”
Finn appears in the doorway of our command center, his usual pristine appearance touched by darkness. Blood stains his collar—not his own. “Two broke. Confirmed the ventilation weakness Theo identified. They’re using an older system, separate from the main building.”
On the screens before me, Subject Four stirs. Sterling’s head of external security, caught taking a piss at his favorite bar. Amazing how vulnerable men are with their dicks in their hands.
“How’s One holding up?” I ask, though the answer shows on another monitor. Our first catch rocks in his cell, mumbling prayers to whatever god abandoned him here.
“Theo’s working on him.” Ryker joins us, studying the feeds. “The omega withdrawal is... effective.”
“How’s he holding up with the pre-heat?” I ask, because we’re all pretending not to notice how his scent has been intensifying, how he’s fighting his biology to stay focused on finding Cayenne.
“He’s managing,” Ryker says, but the tension in his jaw tells a different story. “Says he can hold it off a little longer.”
“He shouldn’t have to,” I mutter, the beast in my blood growing hungrier at the thought of our omega suffering. “One more reason to find her quickly.”
I remember how One begged when Theo left, how he offered everything he knew just to have our omega return. Who knew designation addiction could be weaponized so beautifully?
“Four’s physical conditioning suggests combat training,” Finn observes, adjusting his blood-spotted glasses. “Royal Marines, maybe Swedish Special Forces.”
“You broke his fingers while checking his calluses, didn’t you?”
“Waste not, want not.” Finn’s smile holds no warmth. This is why I love him—the scientist who turns torture into elegant experimentation.
Movement on another screen draws my attention. Two thrashes in his restraints, probably remembering how it felt when Ryker demonstrated advanced water boarding techniques. Three just stares at the ceiling, courtesy of my own special brand of conversation.
“We’re missing something.” Ryker’s frustration bleeds through his control. “Four facilities, four different security protocols. Why?”
“Because it’s not four facilities.” Theo materializes like smoke, his usual grace shadowed by purpose. “It’s five. One let it slip during his last... session. Sterling has them compartmentalized. No one knows the whole picture.”
I lean back, letting the pieces click together. “So we keep collecting the pieces until we have a complete puzzle.”
“And then?” Finn asks, though we all know the answer.
I bare my teeth in what might be a smile. “Then we burn it all down. Find Cayenne. Extract her. And make Sterling regret the day he ever heard the name Locke.”
The intercom crackles. Four’s voice, hoarse but steady: “I know you’re watching. I know what you did to the others. I won’t break.”
“That’s cute.” I stand, rolling my shoulders as the familiar ice settles in my veins. “He thinks he has a choice.”
Ryker’s hand lands on my shoulder, grounding me. “Remember—we need him functional. Get the IP addresses for their secure servers, the proxy chain locations, and his biometric overrides.”
“Define functional.” But I’m already moving, the beast in my blood recognizing it’s feeding time.
Behind me, Finn’s voice carries a smile: “Try not to have too much fun.”
But that’s the thing about fun—like pain, it’s all about perspective. And I’m about to adjust Four’s perspective considerably.
Time to show him why they called us the psycho squad.
I’m halfway to Four’s cell when Finn’s voice cuts through my earpiece: “Movement at the main lab. Guard just left through the west exit. Solo, on foot. RealSight thermal imaging shows he’s carrying a Class-4 encrypted device in his pocket.”
My hand freezes on the door handle as competing instincts war in my blood. The familiar tremor starts in my fingers—the one that says I’m walking that razor’s edge between precision and frenzy.
A muscle in my jaw locks tight enough to make my teeth ache, the same tension that always precedes the violence. My skin feels two sizes too small, stretched thin over bones that want to break free.
Breathe. Focus. Don’t let the red haze take over. Not yet. Save it for when it counts.
The prisoner behind this door is a sure thing, already caged and waiting. But fresh prey in the wild? That sings to the monster under my skin.
“He’s heading toward the industrial district.” Finn’s typing creates a rapid-fire backdrop to his words. “CCTV shows him checking over his shoulder every thirty seconds. Sloppy. Like watching a Black Mirror episode where the victim doesn’t know they’re already dead.”
Too sloppy.
“It’s a trap.” Ryker’s voice carries the same certainty I feel in my bones.
A laugh builds in my chest, wild and sharp. “Of course it is.” I release the door handle, already tasting the hunt. “That’s what makes it fun.”
“Jinx.” Theo’s warning carries layers of concern. “Four can wait. If this guard is running scared?—”
“He’s not.” The pieces click together like a weapon assembling itself. “Sterling’s trying to draw us out. Testing our reach.”
My smile grows teeth. “Let’s show him exactly how far we can stretch.”
“Parameters?” Ryker asks, because even in this, we maintain precision.
“If it’s a trap, spring it.” I’m already moving, muscle memory taking me through weapon checks. “Let’s see what daddy dearest has planned for us.”
“Be careful,” Theo murmurs. “We can’t help Cayenne if we’re compromised.”
“Oh, piccolo,” I purr, using his native tongue just to hear his breath catch. “I’m counting on being compromised. That’s when they make mistakes.”
Finn’s voice carries equal parts amusement and calculation: “Target’s path suggests he’s heading toward the abandoned textile factory on Brunswick. Lot of blind spots in that area. I’ve deployed our quadcopter drones for aerial surveillance and hacked the traffic cams for a digital breadcrumb trail.”
“Perfect.” I pause at our arsenal, considering options. “How long until he reaches the kill zone?”
“Twelve minutes at current pace.”
I select my favorites—piano wire that sings like Theo’s music, knives that balance like Finn’s equations, tactical gear that would make Ryker proud. “I only need ten.”
“Jinx.” Ryker’s tone holds no alpha command, just understanding. “Make it look random. We can’t tip our hand yet.”
“When have I ever been predictable?” I check my reflection in a blade’s surface. The beast grins back, ready to play.
“Comms check,” Finn insists, ever our meticulous guardian. “I’ve activated the biometric monitoring so we can track your vitals. Any signs of compromised state and we initiate Protocol Delta.”
I tap my earpiece twice, already tasting copper and chaos. “Try to keep up, boys. Daddy’s going hunting.”
The night air hits my face like a lover’s kiss as I slip out into darkness. Behind me, Four can wait in his cell, marinating in the sounds that echo through our playground. Right now, I have prettier prey to stalk.
And if Sterling wants to play games?
Well, that’s what the psycho squad does best.
The factory looms ahead, a perfect box of broken windows and rusted dreams. My prey moves like someone who thinks they know what fear is. Amateur. I’m about to give him a master class.
“Target’s wearing body armor under his jacket,” Finn observes through my earpiece. “Left shoulder holster, right ankle backup. And... interesting.”
“Define interesting.” I scale a fire escape without sound, muscle memory from a thousand hunts taking over.
“He’s got an earpiece too. Better tech than standard Sterling security. Military grade. Neural interface connector at the base—one of those new BrainSync models everyone’s been reverse-engineering since the leak.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat. “Daddy bought his decoy some fancy toys.”
“Two heat signatures on the roof,” Theo cuts in, probably watching through thermal imaging. “Sniper team.”
“Three more in the building,” Ryker adds. “Standard tactical formation.”
Oh, they really went all out. How thoughtful.
“Watch me make them dance.” I move across rooftops like the shadows they think they’re hiding in. Below, our decoy maintains his carefully panicked pace.
The way he checks his corners is textbook perfect—which is exactly the problem. Real fear is messier.
I time my descent with his footsteps, piano wire humming between my fingers.
The first sniper dies quietly, piano wire kissing his throat. His partner deserves a show—I let him see what’s coming, the fear flooding his face when he spots my smile.
“Hi there. Want to see a trick?”
His hand moves to his radio. I’m on him before he can key the mic.
“Marco,” I sing into their comm line.
Below, our decoy frantically whispers into his radio. I time my descent with his panicked breathing.
“Boo,” I whisper against his neck. He spins, weapon drawn. My knife finds his gun hand, pinning it to the wall.
“Shhh. You’ll wake the neighbors.”
“Three tangos moving to your position,” Finn warns.
“Good. I was hoping for a party.”
The first tactical team member rounds the corner just as I swing their friend into his line of fire.
“Marco!” I call again. “Come on, guys. Polo isn’t that hard to say.”
A burst of gunfire answers. Sloppy. Scared.
“You’re fucking insane,” my human shield whimpers.
“No, darling. I’m just really, really good at my job.”
I spin our decoy around. “Tell Sterling something for me?”
He shudders. “What?”
“The psycho squad sends their regards.”
The dance begins—a neat slice behind one knee, a precise strike to disable without killing. Like conducting an orchestra of agony.
“That’s it,” I purr, spinning between their clumsy return fire. “Dance for me.”
I keep them all alive—mostly. A few missing fingers, some artistic knee work. Sterling needs to see my artistry, understand exactly what kind of monster he’s invited to play.
When I finish, they look like a living art installation. I key their radio one last time: “Polo.”
“Status?” Ryker asks.
“Five down, all breathing. Mostly. Ready for collection and questioning.”
“Clean?”
“Please. When am I not?”
As I melt into shadows, leaving our prizes for collection, my hands shake with leftover adrenaline and barely contained rage. The beast in my blood howls for more, but I cage it behind my ribs. Let Sterling see what happens when you take something from the psycho squad.
I reach again for that fraying thread of pack bond that leads to Cayenne. It’s still there—weaker than before, pulsing with something that might be pain or fear, but definitely alive.
We’re coming for you, Glitch. Just hold on.
When I return to base, I find Theo waiting by the door, his artistic hands fidgeting with worry. The pre-heat scent rolling off him hits my system like a freight train—dark vanilla deepening to something that makes my blood burn. The alpha in me reacts instantly, protective instincts warring with possessive hunger.
He doesn’t say anything, just steps closer until his jasmine scent wraps around me, calming the beast. Ryker and Finn will handle the interrogations tonight. For now, our omega needs reassurance that his alphas haven’t abandoned him too.
“Did it help?” Theo asks, his voice rough with strain as we walk toward his nest, my body hyper-aware of his heat-tinged presence beside me.
“It will,” I promise, both to him and myself, fighting the urge to pull him close and drown in his scent. Not now. Not until we’re all together again. “Tomorrow, we find her.”