23. Cayenne
Chapter 23
Cayenne
I don’t think before charging back through the door—the decision bypasses my brain entirely, operating on deeper programming like machine code beneath layers of software. My body moves before my mind can catch up with all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
The scene that greets me is straight out of a nightmare. Alexander has Mona pinned against the wall, her normally manic expression replaced with cold calculation despite the blood streaming from a deep gash on her arm, the fabric of her wetsuit torn and saturated with crimson. His gun presses beneath her jaw, tactical team forming a semicircle behind him like cultists awaiting a sacrifice.
My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat. This is my fault. I left her.
“Interesting development,” Mona observes, spotting me first. “Very unexpected. Much poor decision-making.”
Alexander’s head turns, his eyes finding mine with predatory focus—green like mine, like Mona’s, but devoid of anything human. “Back so soon, little sister? I was just explaining to Mona the consequences of her sabotage.”
“Get away from her,” I growl, stepping fully into the room, my voice steadier than the trembling in my chest.
His laugh is cold and precise. “Or what? You’ve lost your leverage, your pack, and your escape route. What exactly do you think you can do?”
The tactical team shifts, weapons trained on me with military precision. One nods toward the case I’ve set down by the door. Fear crawls up my spine like ice water, but beneath it something else burns—rage, purpose, the desperate need to protect what’s mine.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” I say, channeling Ryker’s alpha authority despite my beta status. My heart pounds so hard I’m certain they can hear it across the room. “But then, you never did understand what Mona and I are capable of.”
“Please,” Alexander scoffs. “I’ve been studying you both for years. Every move, every pattern, every weakness.”
“Then you should know better than to turn your back on her,” I reply, desperately trying to buy time while my mind races through escape scenarios.
His lips curl into a smirk. “Mona isn’t a physical threat. She’s all mind games and chemical chaos.”
“True,” Mona agrees, her eyes flicking to mine with silent communication. “Very cerebral. Much intellectual approach. Minimal combat efficiency.”
But I recognize the look—the same one she gave me when demonstrating Sterling combat methodology on the training mats. Everyone underestimates Mona. Including Alexander. My muscles tense, preparing for whatever insanity she’s about to unleash.
“What did father promise you this time?” I ask, taking a careful step forward, drawing his attention away from Mona. “Another medal? Another pat on the head? Or just the satisfaction of being his good little soldier?”
Alexander’s jaw tightens—the first tell I’ve been waiting for. Anger makes him sloppy. Just like it does with Jinx, that careful control slipping when emotions run hot.
“You know nothing about my relationship with father.”
“I know he broke you,” I counter, taking another step, each movement calculated to appear casual. “Remade you into something that forgot it was once left-handed.”
His eyes widen fractionally—surprise that I know this intimate detail of his reprogramming. My palms are slick with sweat, but I don’t let my gaze falter.
“That’s right,” I continue, taking another step. “Mona told me everything. How he forced you to forget yourself. How he erased every trace of the boy you used to be.”
The gun at Mona’s throat trembles slightly. The tactical team exchanges glances, clearly uncomfortable with the family drama unfolding. Good. Uncertainty breeds mistakes.
“Did she also tell you how she shattered my knee? How she smiled while they reset it without anesthesia?” Alexander hisses, raw hate bleeding through his perfect facade.
“Self-defense,” Mona clarifies. “Very justified. Much disproportionate consequence.”
I can’t help the slight smile that forms. Even with a gun to her throat, Mona remains utterly herself. Something warm unfurls in my chest despite the danger—pride, recognition, maybe even love for this chaotic genius I never knew I needed.
“You’re both insane,” Alexander growls.
“No,” I counter. “We’re both survivors. Of Roman Sterling’s particular brand of parenting.”
I take one more step, carefully calculating distance, mentally mapping everyone’s position like Ryker taught me. “The difference is, we chose to fight him. While you chose to become him.”
The words land like precision strikes. Alexander’s control slips—just enough.
“I am nothing like him!” he snarls, attention fully on me.
That’s when Mona makes her move.
It happens fast—her body going limp, throwing off his balance just enough. Her hand snakes up between them, something small and metallic flashing between her fingers. Then Alexander is screaming, staggering backward as electricity courses through him.
“Pocket taser,” Mona explains cheerfully, blood still streaming down her arm. “Very compact. Much voltage.”
The tactical team surges forward, but adrenaline hits my system like rocket fuel. Jinx’s lessons flow through my muscles—use momentum, create chaos, target weak points. I slide beneath the first guard’s reach, using his own weight to topple him into his companion. My body remembers even if my mind can’t process the blur of motion.
Mona deploys something that fills the corridor with acrid smoke, buying us precious seconds of confusion. The smell burns my nose and eyes, but I push through it, finding her in the chaos.
When the tactical team reorganizes, they find us standing back-to-back in the center of the room, Alexander’s gun in my hand, Mona’s bizarre collection of chemical weapons ready in hers.
“Stand down,” I order, channeling Ryker’s command presence though my insides are liquid with terror.
“Fascinating combat integration,” Mona observes. “Very complementary styles. Much Sterling-Locke synthesis.”
Alexander struggles to his feet, rage transforming his handsome features into something feral. “This changes nothing. You’re still outnumbered, outgunned, and out of options.”
“Are we though?” I ask, feeling oddly calm despite everything. “Because it seems to me we’ve got enough bargaining power to have a conversation.”
“What could you possibly offer?”
I nod toward the case I set down. “The one thing Roman wants more than anything. The key to his designation research.”
Alexander’s eyes narrow. “What do you know about that?”
“Enough to understand what he’s really planning.” I keep the gun trained on him while Mona edges toward the case. “It’s not about eliminating betas, is it? It’s about controlling who gets to be what designation.”
A flicker of surprise crosses his face before he schools his expression. “You’ve put together some interesting theories.”
“Not theories,” Mona interjects, flipping open the case to reveal vials of iridescent liquid. “Facts. Daddy’s ultimate goal was never elimination. Very wasteful approach. Much inefficiency.”
“It’s about redesigning the designation hierarchy,” I continue, the terrible truth crystallizing as I speak it. “Creating a world where he controls who gets to be alpha, who remains beta, who becomes omega.”
Alexander’s laugh holds no humor. “You’re even smarter than he gave you credit for.”
“What I don’t understand is why?” I press, needing answers while maintaining our temporary advantage. My hand trembles slightly on the gun, but I steady it with sheer force of will. “Why rewrite biology itself?”
“Control,” Alexander states simply. “The ultimate form of control. Imagine it—governments paying billions for alpha soldiers, for omega diplomats, for specialized beta workers. A world where designation is a commodity to be purchased, not a biological lottery.”
My stomach turns at the clinical detachment in his voice. “And the beta virus?” I demand. “The deaths?”
“A necessary phase. Test subjects to perfect the formula.” His clinical detachment chills me to the bone. “Besides, the new version is far more efficient.”
“New version?” Mona’s head snaps up, genuine alarm replacing her usual calculated chaos.
Alexander’s smile turns predatory. “Father brought in Whitmore. Fixed your little sabotage problem. The improved virus is already being deployed in select cities.”
“Impossible,” Mona whispers, genuine fear breaking through her facade for the first time. “The enzymatic inhibitors?—”
“Bypassed. The new formula targets junk DNA sequences you didn’t even know existed.” Pride colors his voice. “It’s beautiful, really. It identifies genetic potential for transformation, then rewrites designation markers accordingly. Those with compatible genetics transform. Those without...” his eyes flick to where Mona’s case rests, “suffer rejection symptoms.”
Mona’s expression cycles through shock, calculation, and finally grim understanding. She knew some of this, but clearly not all of it.
“What does that even mean? Compatible genetics?” I demand, cold dread spreading through me as I think of Finn, his relapse suddenly making terrible sense. The virus isn’t just making him sick—it’s trying to rewrite him, and his body is fighting back because it lacks the genetic structure to survive the change.
“Whatever father decides is compatible,” Alexander replies. “Alphas with certain markers can be reduced to betas. Omegas reprogrammed to present as alpha. And betas...” his eyes rake over me, “well, that depends on their genetic potential. Like you—presenting as beta-plus rather than fully transforming.”
Understanding dawns like ice in my veins. “That’s why my scent has been changing. The virus is tampering with my designation markers.” The pack’s confusion, the mixed signals, the omega-adjacent responses—all of it suddenly clicking into focus.
“Smart girl,” Alexander mocks. “Though from what I hear, you’re still stubbornly beta. Just... enhanced. Father will be disappointed.”
Mona steps forward, something dangerous flashing in her eyes. “The virus was never meant to kill. Just identify potential for reprogramming. Very precise genetic targeting. Much designation manipulation.”
“And if the subject isn’t compatible?” I ask, already knowing the answer from the sick lump in my stomach.
Alexander shrugs. “System failure. Organ shutdown. Basically what’s happening to your beta friend right now.”
My hand tightens on the gun, fury burning away fear. Finn’s deterioration, the way the vaccine helped before he relapsed—it’s killing him because he’s fighting the transformation.
“And you knew,” I accuse Mona, betrayal bitter on my tongue. “You’ve known all along.”
Something unreadable flashes across her face—regret, perhaps, or calculation. “Suspected. Not confirmed. Daddy compartmentalizes research. Very deliberate information restriction. Much need-to-know basis.” She takes a breath. “But yes. Primary purpose always designation control. Why do you think I’ve been sabotaging his research for fourteen years? Very morally objectionable. Much ethical violation.”
Alexander laughs. “Morality from the omega who once poisoned an entire pack council? How rich.”
“Self-defense,” Mona repeats primly. “Also they deserved it.”
I keep my weapon trained on Alexander, mind racing. “So the vaccine you’ve been developing?—”
“Prevents designation manipulation,” Mona confirms. “Stabilizes existing markers. Much genetic protection. Not complete yet. Still needs refinement.”
“Which is why father wants it so badly,” Alexander adds. “The only thing standing between him and complete control over designation biology.”
The tactical team has been repositioning during our conversation—subtle movements that wouldn’t be noticeable to someone without Ryker’s training. But I see them. And from Mona’s slight tension, she does too.
“Well,” I say casually, “this has been an enlightening family reunion, but I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”
Alexander’s smile is all teeth. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, brother.” I adjust my stance, channeling everything the pack has taught me. “See, I’ve spent weeks learning from alphas who actually care about their pack. Not just command presence, but protection instincts.”
“Very touching,” he mocks, but his eyes track the movement of my finger on the trigger.
“And you know what else I learned? That family isn’t about biology or designation.”
“Spare me the sentimental lecture?—”
“It’s about choice,” I finish. “And I choose Mona.”
Everything happens at once. Mona throws something that explodes in a cloud of acrid smoke. I fire two shots—not at Alexander, but at the fire suppression system overhead. Water crashes down, adding to the confusion.
Alexander lunges through the chaos, but we’re already moving. My body remembers the training—Jinx’s fluid parkour, Ryker’s tactical precision, even Alexander’s own lessons in Sterling combat methodology.
When his fist connects with my jaw, pain explodes through my skull like a system crash, but I use the momentum to carry through with a counterattack. My elbow finds that sweet spot behind his ear, just as Mona taught me.
Forty-three seconds of disorientation.
He staggers, equilibrium shattered, while Mona grabs the case and pulls me toward an emergency exit I didn’t notice before.
“Fascinating combat application,” she pants, blood still seeping from her deepening arm wound. “Very effective synthesis. Much style integration.”
We’re almost to the door when Alexander recovers, rage transforming his movements into something feral and unpredictable. He slams into me with the force of a freight train, sending us both crashing into equipment carts.
“You think you can beat me?” he snarls, hands closing around my throat. “I’ve been training for this my entire life!”
His fingers dig into my windpipe, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision. This is it, I think distantly. This is how I die—at the hands of the brother I never knew, while my pack waits somewhere without me. After everything, after finding them, after choosing them, I’m going to die here.
Then Alexander’s weight is suddenly gone. I gasp for air, spots dancing across my vision, to find Mona standing over him with a fire extinguisher gripped in her hands.
“Very predictable blind spot,” she informs his dazed form. “Much sibling knowledge. Specific vulnerability exploitation.” She taps the spot behind his ear where she struck. “Always your weakness. Since age seven. Very consistent vulnerability.”
She offers me a hand up, her manic smile tinged with something like genuine concern. “Fascinating combat resilience. Very Sterling genetics. Much stubborn survival instinct.”
The sound of heavy boots approaching pulls us back to reality. Alexander is already struggling to his knees, shaking his head to clear it, as his backup arrives.
“Time to go,” Mona announces, pulling me toward the exit.
We burst through emergency doors into utility tunnels, tactical team members shouting commands behind us. My mind maps the layout, recognizing the pattern—these connect to the same system I used during my ill-fated escape weeks ago.
“Left here,” I direct, taking the lead. “Then second right. It leads to the forest edge.”
Mona follows without question, case clutched against her chest. Behind us, angry voices echo, growing closer. My lungs burn, throat still aching from Alexander’s grip, but the need to survive—to get back to the pack—drives me forward.
We reach a security door, and I slam my palm against the scanner. For a terrible moment, nothing happens. Then green light bathes my hand.
“Sterling genetics,” Mona observes as the door unlocks. “Very convenient. Much security bypass.”
Once through, I key in the lockdown code Ryker taught me. Steel reinforcements slide into place, sealing the exit behind us.
“That won’t hold them long,” I warn, voice rough from Alexander’s attack. “Especially not Alexander.”
“Sufficient delay. Approximately seven minutes. Very predictable response time.” She examines the wound on her arm, which has continued bleeding steadily. “Unless he’s sustained concussion. Probability approximately sixty-three percent. Then perhaps nine minutes.”
“He won’t stay down,” I say, pulling off my outer shirt to wrap around her arm. “Trust me.”
We continue through the tunnels, each turn bringing us closer to the extraction point where the pack should be waiting. My lungs burn, muscles screaming from the fight, but I push forward.
“You knew about some of it,” I say between breaths. “About the designation manipulation. About what was happening to me. But not all of it.”
“Fragmented knowledge. Daddy compartmentalizes everything. Intentional security mechanism.” Her eyes flick to me. “Suspected virus purpose. Confirmed scent changes. Knew vaccine stabilized markers. Did not know about Whitmore’s enhancements.”
“And Finn? Is he dying because the virus is trying to rewrite him?”
Her expression turns grim. “Probable. Beta genetic structure less adaptable than yours. Rejection of viral recoding causes system failure. Very concerning prognosis. Much need for updated vaccine.”
“Updated?”
“Based on original virus. Not Whitmore’s version.” Her voice carries rare gravity. “Booster might help stabilize. Buy time. No guarantees.”
Fear claws at my chest, sharper than Alexander’s hands had been. The thought of losing Finn, of watching the virus slowly kill him because he’s fighting the transformation—it’s unbearable.
“And me?” I ask. “Why am I different?”
Her smile carries the weight of scientific certainty. “Genetic anomaly. Very interesting mutation. Much evolutionary potential.”
“I’m still beta,” I remind her.
“Yes. And no.” She glances at me, something like admiration in her gaze. “The virus was designed to identify designation potential, then manipulate it. Very precise genetic targeting. But you...”
“What about me?”
“You adapted. Instead of being rewritten, you... evolved.” Her usual frantic speech slows, each word deliberate. “Beta plus. Enhanced designation without full transformation. Neither pure beta nor omega nor alpha, but something carrying elements of all three. Very rare genetic resilience. Much scientific significance.”
The words sink in slowly. The strange reactions from the pack, the way my scent has changed, the “omega-adjacent” comments—all taking on new meaning.
“So I’m some sort of designation hybrid?” I ask, mind reeling.
“Oversimplification, but essentially correct. Your body recognized the virus as a threat but adapted to it rather than rejecting it entirely. Very fascinating immunological response.”
Before I can process this revelation, we round the final corner. Daylight streams through an exit up ahead, the promise of escape so close I can taste it.
That’s when Mona stumbles, the blood loss from her arm wound finally taking its toll. I catch her before she falls, supporting her weight against my side. For once, she feels human—warm, vulnerable, needing protection rather than calculating it.
“Knew you’d come back,” she mumbles, fatigue breaking through her usual precision. “Very predictable alpha-adjacent behavior. Much protection instinct.”
“Alpha-adjacent,” I repeat, adjusting my grip to support her better.
“Your evolution. The emergence of latent traits. Very unexpected outcome.” She leans more heavily against me, her usual frantic energy fading. “Only you could spite daddy’s virus into creating something completely new.”
I adjust my grip, pulling her more securely against me. “Save the scientific lecture for when we’re safe.”
“Safe is relative. Very situational concept. Much contextual variability.”
Despite everything, I find myself laughing. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
Her smile is genuine, if tired. “Obviously. Very deliberate personality construction. Much strategic chaos.”
We reach the exit, bright sunshine momentarily blinding after the dim tunnels. The extraction point is visible just beyond the treeline, where I can make out the shape of vehicles waiting. My heart leaps at the silhouettes of figures moving there—the pack, waiting for us.
“Almost there,” I encourage her, heart racing with a strange mix of fear and hope. Part of me can’t believe they waited, can’t believe they didn’t leave us behind when the five-minute window closed.
Behind us, something crashes—Alexander’s team breaking through the security door sooner than expected.
“Run,” Mona urges, trying to push away from me. “Very important mission. Much survival priority.”
“Not without you,” I say firmly, tightening my grip around her waist. “We’re doing this together.”
Her eyes widen with something that might be surprise. Or respect.
“Together,” she agrees. “Very unprecedented. Much family redefinition.”
As we break from the tunnel’s cover, moving toward the extraction point, my heart sinks into my stomach. The vehicles are there, but they’re already pulling away—dark SUVs disappearing into the treeline.
They left. They actually left.
The betrayal hits me like a physical blow, drawing a sound from my throat that’s more animal than human. After everything—after I finally chose to stay, to trust, to belong—they’ve abandoned us.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, picking up speed and dragging Mona with me. “We’re so close!”
The rumble of engines behind us signals Alexander’s team has broken through. They’ll be on us in seconds.
“Probability of capture increasing exponentially,” Mona observes, her usual clinical detachment returning despite the blood loss. “Alternative strategy required.”
I scan the area frantically, looking for anything—another exit, a hiding place, a miracle.
That’s when I see it—a flash of silver through the trees. Jinx’s Ducati, partially concealed by foliage, keys still in the ignition.
“There,” I direct, changing course. “They left us an exit strategy.”
Mona’s eyes widen with something like respect. “Very pack-adjacent thinking. Much tactical consideration.”
We reach the motorcycle just as the first tactical team members emerge from the tunnel. I throw my leg over the seat, yanking Mona up behind me.
“Hold the case with one hand, me with the other,” I instruct, kickstarting the engine.
The Ducati roars to life, and I feel Mona’s arm circle my waist, her other clutching our precious cargo. Alexander appears at the tunnel entrance, blood still trickling from where the fire extinguisher connected with his temple, rage transforming his features as he raises his weapon.
I gun the engine, the motorcycle shooting forward as bullets tear into the ground where we were seconds before.
“Evasive patterns recommended,” Mona shouts over the engine. “Sixty-seven percent increased survival probability.”
“I know how to lose a tail,” I yell back, channeling every lesson Jinx ever taught me about motorcycle handling.
We weave through the forest, the sounds of pursuit fading behind us. My mind races with possibilities—the pack is gone, Alexander is in pursuit, and Finn needs the booster in Mona’s case.
“Where to?” I shout over my shoulder.
“Secondary extraction point,” Mona replies. “Backup protocol. Very thorough planning. Much contingency consideration.”
Of course they had a backup plan. They’re Pack Locke, after all—the same people who taught me that running doesn’t always mean escaping. Sometimes it means redirecting. Repositioning. Surviving to fight another day.
“Tell me where,” I say, a different kind of certainty settling in my bones.
As the motorcycle carries us deeper into unfamiliar territory, I realize I’ve crossed some invisible line. Six months ago, I would have gone rogue, cut all connections, disappeared into the digital underground without looking back. But now? Now I’m risking everything to get back to a pack I never asked for, with a sister I never knew I needed.
The fear is still there—sharp and real—but something stronger burns alongside it.
Determination.
The kind that comes from knowing exactly what you’re fighting for.