In the bathroom, I flick on the harsh overhead light and stare at my reflection. My face is pale, dark circles under my eyes, jaw clenched tight. I look like someone barely hanging on, because I am.
One thing is painfully clear—I can’t trust Rodriguez. He’s not helping me, and he’s sure as hell not interested in justice. He’s setting up the men for something, maybe worse than I realized. And if I want to survive this—if I want any hope for myself, for the baby, or for the guys—I have to find out what he’s really after.
I press my palms to the sink, forcing myself to breathe. Whatever comes next, I’m on my own. But I’m done being a pawn.
22
WRECKER
The yard is a mess of noise and bodies—half the block cheering for the annual rec league basketball game, the other half pretending to care just for an excuse to be outside. I’m not one of them. I lean against the fence, arms crossed, watching the game without seeing it. Sweat runs down my back, but I barely notice. My mind’s on Wilson, and the three straight appointments he’s blown off.
Two months. That’s how long we’ve been in here, waiting for a lawyer who’s supposed to be fighting for us. Two months of promises, delays, and empty excuses. The first time, I thought maybe he was sick. The second, I figured he got tied up in court. Now, after the third no-show, I’m out of patience—and almost out of hope.
Jace stands nearby, hands shoved deep in his pockets, jaw clenched. “You really think Wilson’s coming today?” he mutters, not looking at me.
I shake my head. “No. At this point, he’s probably not coming at all. He knows we’re stuck. Either that, or someone made him disappear.”
Nico flicks a rock across the court, eyes narrowed. “You think Jinn got to him?”
I chew on the thought, the possibility sour in my gut. “Wouldn’t be the first time he pulled strings from the outside. Wilson’s scared of something—he wasn’t always this flaky.”
Jace lets out a bitter laugh. “So we’re just supposed to sit here and hope? Hope Wilson suddenly grows a spine, hope Jinn stops gunning for us, hope someone gives a shit?”
No one answers. The crowd erupts as someone sinks a three-pointer, but I barely hear it. My nerves are shot, tension wound so tight I might snap. I scan the yard, looking for trouble, or maybe just a sign that someone out there still remembers we exist.
I turn back to the guys, forcing a shrug. “We can’t count on anyone but us. That’s always been the rule.”
The sun is high, making the whole yard shimmer with heat. I’m just about to turn away when something catches at the edge of my vision—something that doesn’t fit the usual prison drab.
Jace is in the middle of a rant about lawyers and snakes when Nico goes quiet, nudging me hard in the ribs. “Look,” he mutters, chin jerking toward the far side of the yard.
She’s dressed up in a fitted, dark green dress that flatters her curves instead of hiding them. Her hair is pulled back, the ends curled softly around her face. She looks polished, but not like she’s trying too hard—just confident and put together, in a way I’ve never seen her before inside these walls.
Even from a distance, I notice she looks different. Lighter, somehow, but also stronger. For once, she’s not shrinking into herself or trying to disappear behind a clipboard. She’s standing a little taller, her posture straight, the kind of presence that turns heads whether she means to or not.
Jace nudges me, quiet but surprised. “She cleans up nice, huh?”
Nico’s eyes follow her across the yard, a little smile tugging at his mouth. “She does. And it’s not just us noticing.”
He’s right—some of the staff and more than a few inmates are watching her too. There’s something about the way she holds herself, the way she doesn’t flinch from the attention. She just seems sure of herself today, even as she goes about her work.
For a moment, none of us says anything. We just watch, taking in the change, each lost in our own thoughts.
Carrie, for once, looks like she belongs anywhere she wants to be.
She’s making her way along the row of admin tables, clipboard tucked against her side. She stops to talk with Mr. Carlisle—the head of programming, always suited up and gruff but fair—and the fucking obnoxious guard, Bradley. I scowl, despite myself.
From across the yard, I watch her laugh softly at something Carlisle says. She listens, nodding, even leans in a little as Bradley says something else. She’s smiling, even as her eyes dart to the crowd. There’s a confidence there, something practiced and untouchable, but it stings all the same. For a moment, I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose, if this is part of whatever game she’s playing with the staff now.
He leans in a little too close, saying something low. Carrie just nods, expression smooth, her laugh sounding lighter than I’ve ever heard it in this place. Is she…flirting? Something about the way her hand brushes her hair, the way she tilts her head, makes my jaw tense.
Nico notices too, muttering, “Since when is she friendly with Bradley?”
Jace shakes his head, scowling. “What game is she playing now?”
It stings, seeing her act so comfortable around those two, especially Bradley. I catch myself staring, trying to read herexpression—trying to decide whether it’s real or just an act. Either way, it works. They both look like they’d follow her anywhere.
She finishes her conversation and walks right past where we’re standing by the fence. Doesn’t glance at me, Jace, or Nico—not even a flicker of recognition. Just keeps her head high and her pace steady, heels clicking on the pavement, not slowing down for anyone.
