CHAPTER 336

Trixa

Waking up feels like someone yanks me out of a nightmare, only to drop me right into a new one. For a terrifying second, I can’t tell where I am—dark shapes loom on all sides, and the stench of damp concrete and antiseptic clogs my lungs. Then a flickering lightbulb overhead casts just enough glow for me to make out a battered exam table and a rusted IV stand in the corner. My entire body aches, especially my left shoulder, which burns with a hot, relentless throb.

The sound I make as I try to move off this cot is somewhere between a groan and a whimper. Pain clamps across my ribs, and my muscles feel like jelly. A bandage on my shoulder is half-soaked in blood, reminding me with a sickening jolt that I’ve been shot. My mind snaps to the orchard fiasco—the memory hits in a fractured series of images: muzzle flashes through the trees, the reek of gasoline, a guard collapsing under my bullet, and me running for my life.

Somewhere deep in my mind, I keep seeing the orchard meltdown that I cause by trying to exchange evidence quietly. Instead of a clean handoff, I get a war zone. I blink hard, trying to focus on something besides my throbbing shoulder. There’s movement in a corner—someone stands there, half-hidden by shadows.

“Who’s there?” I rasp, my throat raw, like I’ve swallowed glass shards.

A figure steps out into the weak light, arms crossed, gaze cautious. It takes me a second to recognize him: Derek, tall, unshaven, sporting a bruise along his jaw.

“You’re awake,” he says, his tone flat. “Good. You’ve been drifting in and out for a day. We worry you might never wake up.”

I press my free hand to my temple, praying the spinning in my head stops. “How...did I get here?” I slur the words slightly. “Last thing I remember is the orchard meltdown—flames, gunshots everywhere.” My mouth feels so dry. “Why are you here, Derek?”

He shrugs. “I think about leaving you to die out there. But you had that flash drive. Couldn’t let you die and lose the only real proof that might help Nyla.” His eyes flick to my left hand, and I realize I’m gripping something small and plastic. I can also see a flicker of worry in his expression before he looks away.

I pry my stiff fingers open and find a cracked flash drive. “Damn,” I hiss. The plastic casing is split, the tip nearly snapped off. “It’s half-busted.”

“You refused to let it go, no matter what,” he mutters. “I had to give it back to you before you calmed down. Anyway, half-busted is better than gone. We can see if we can salvage any data. Without it, we might never pull Nyla out of this mess.”

Nyla’s face swims in my mind—smiling, determined, and likely behind bars or trapped in some hospital ward, all thanks to my father’s manipulations. Anger twists hot in my gut. “I want a quiet orchard exchange,” I say bitterly. “I plan to hand off evidence to Stone’s people. But the orchard meltdown is anything but quiet, is it?”

“Understatement,” Derek replies. He shifts, letting me see a bruised cut across his forehead. “I get banged up too. We barely make it out. You bleed like a stuck pig. I bring you here—some underground clinic, courtesy of a contact. Figured you want off the grid.”

“Thanks,” I force out, the word tasting odd. I never imagine thanking Derek for anything. We’re not allies, but I need him now. “What about Nyla? And who’s the doc, exactly?”

Derek tells me a few details, enough that I realize the orchard fiasco left him battered, but I’m only half-listening because my head aches. When he mentions Zara testifying, my stomach twists. It’s not like we can trust just anyone. Then I hear footsteps in the hallway.

“Speak of the devil,” Derek murmurs. The door creaks, and a woman in nurse’s scrubs steps inside, carrying a tray of bandages. My breath catches. It’s Zara. Fury flares instantly.

Zara’s eyes flick from Derek to me. “You’re awake,” she says quietly, setting down her tray. She tries to hold my gaze but glances away, guilt plain on her face.

“What the hell is she doing here?” I snap, my pulse spiking. “She’s the one who helped bury Nyla in court—lied under oath for Marcus.”

Zara flinches. “I know how it looks,” she whispers. “But my father’s gambling debt—Marcus threatened him.” Her voice trembles. “He said he’d kill my father if I didn’t claim Nyla plotted sabotage. I...couldn’t refuse. And I hate myself for it. Now I’m trying to make it right, if it’s not too late.”

I glare, every instinct telling me to leap off the cot and throttle her. Pain locks me in place anyway. “So now you’re some hero, nursing me back to health? Great. Touching,” I say, my tone dripping sarcasm.

Derek shoots me a warning look. “Look, Trixa, I know Zara isn’t perfect. But she’s the one who’s been patching you up, giving us a safe space. We need her,” he insists. “She picks up rumors from Marcus’s circle. She’s not lying about her father’s debts.”

Zara nods. “Marcus forced me to testify against Nyla. If I refused, my dad was dead. I’m...sorry.” She sets a trembling hand on the tray of medical supplies. “If you want me gone, I’ll go. But I can’t keep letting Marcus destroy everyone’s life.”

I swallow bitterness. My father, of course, would do anything—forge orchard meltdown data, blackmail hospital staff, bribe half the city. “Fine,” I bite out. “Patch me up, then. I’m not forgetting your betrayal, though. Nyla’s paying for your father’s gambling problems.” I groan, shifting to let her near my shoulder. Pain lances through me, and I nearly black out.

Zara steps closer, concentration carved into her features as she peels away the old bandage. My entire body clenches when she tugs off the crusted gauze. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “This stings.”

I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to let a scream escape. The orchard fiasco might have destroyed my easy path to delivering evidence, but I won’t let them break me. Zara cleans the wound carefully, then applies fresh gauze, securing it with surprising gentleness.

When she finishes, I exhale shakily, heart pounding like I’ve just run a marathon. “Now what?” I demand, meeting Derek’s gaze. “Marcus wants me dead. Mercenaries probably roam the city looking for me. We’re holed up in a—” I glance around, “—literal hole in the ground. You expect me to sit here until they find me?”

He shakes his head. “No time for that. Zara’s hearing Marcus’s men are wiping out any orchard meltdown evidence you might’ve stashed. If you have backups, they’ll find it soon.”

My fist clenches. I know how thorough Marcus is. “I have a second set,” I admit. “Not everything was at the orchard fiasco. It’s hidden in a basement storage locker near the Overpass. If they get there first...it’s over.”

Zara hovers with her tray. “I can stay here and distract whoever shows up. If they come, I’ll send them on a wild goose chase, say you already left or something.”

I snort. “You realize they might kill you for lying?”

She swallows. “I have to try. I owe Nyla that much. And my father is still in debt to Marcus. If I hide you or help you escape, he might think I’m still on his side.”

Part of me wants to spit that she can’t redeem herself so easily. But even I know we need every advantage. “Fine,” I say brusquely. “Just don’t blow it.”

Zara nods. Derek turns to me, concern edging his voice. “You need to leave soon, before the painkillers wear off. Let me help you walk.”

I hate the sympathy in his eyes, but I hate how weak my legs feel even more. “I can walk on my own,” I snap, then push off the cot. The jolt of agony across my shoulder almost makes me pass out. I see black spots flickering, and Derek lunges to keep me upright.

“That wound begs to differ,” he mutters.

I shoot him a venomous look but allow him to slip an arm under my elbow. Zara watches anxiously, probably expecting me to keel over. “If you tear those stitches again,” she warns softly, “you’ll bleed out.”

“Noted,” I grind out. The orchard meltdown fiasco gave me a bullet hole, but not a broken spirit. “Let’s go, Derek.”

As we head for the door, Zara touches my arm, her gaze flicking to the floor. “My father—”

I sigh, pain swirling behind my eyes. “If we expose Marcus’s manipulation—if we free Nyla—maybe your father gets off the hook, maybe not. I can’t promise more.”

She nods, stepping aside, letting us pass.

The corridor to the basement exit is damp, reeking of mildew and disuse. Derek leads with a small flashlight, scanning corners. A flimsy deadbolt secures the final door. My heart pounds as he unlocks it. Outside, rain patters lightly, turning the night air clammy.

“You sure you can handle this?” Derek asks, glancing at my bandage.

“Stop coddling me,” I snap, though a wave of dizziness threatens to topple me. “We have evidence to save.”

He grunts in acknowledgement, and we slip into a narrow alley. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, expecting mercenaries at any second. The orchard fiasco showed me how fast they strike.

We wind through the alley until we reach a battered sedan, which Derek claims he’s stashed. I half-fall into the passenger seat, chest heaving. My shoulder throbs fiercely. Derek starts the engine, pulling away with a low growl.

Rain batters the windshield, the deserted streets lit by sporadic lampposts. I rest my hand over the broken flash drive in my pocket. Memory replays the orchard fiasco: I see muzzle flashes, smell burning oil, recall the moment I pull the trigger. A half-inch difference and maybe I’d be the one dead.

Eventually, Derek breaks the tense silence. “Where’s this second stash you talked about?”

I swallow. “Abandoned apartments near the Overpass, in the basement storage. If they haven’t torn it apart, my backups are still there. If not...we’re done.”

He nods, jaw set. “Let’s hope we’re faster.”

We drive through rain-slicked roads, my heart jumping at every shadow. No black SUVs appear, though. We stick to side streets, eventually spotting the Overpass looming above us, rust-stained and ominous. I guide him to a back lot behind a row of derelict apartment buildings. Broken glass glitters under the faint glow of a distant streetlamp.

We slip out of the car, the cold drizzle slicing through me. I grit my teeth, ignoring the trembling in my legs. The building’s main entrance is chained, so Derek picks the lock with nimble moves. The chain rattles free, and we push inside. Musty darkness swallows us, water dripping somewhere overhead. My flashlight beam reveals peeling wallpaper, mold creeping along the edges.

Down a flight of decaying steps, a row of storage cubicles lines the hallway. My heart thuds painfully. “Second door on the left,” I whisper. Pain crackles in my shoulder as I move.

When we reach it, the padlock dangles from the latch, sawed off. Dread claws at me. I shove the door open. Inside, everything’s trashed—boxes, an old trunk, all rummaged. “They’ve been here,” I choke out. My voice quivers with desperation.

Derek curses, sifting through debris. “Maybe they missed something?”

I sink to my knees, ignoring the agony. A glint catches my eye near a busted vent. I tug a small plastic pouch free, shining Derek’s flashlight on it: an SD card, labeled “ORCH2.” Relief slams through me, nearly dizzying. “Got it!” I whisper. “Might be enough orchard meltdown data to prove Nyla’s innocence.”

Derek starts to reply, but a loud crash from the floor above cuts him off. Footsteps thunder overhead. My blood runs cold. “We’re out of time,” he mutters. “They must’ve tailed us.”

We rush back to the stairs, but the footsteps close in. Derek spots a side door to a corridor. We sprint for it, forcing the lock with one quick gunshot. The sound booms, echoing, definitely giving away our location.

We slip into a utility room reeking of rusted pipes, pushing through until we find another exit. Derek kicks it open. Cold rain hits us. Behind us, furious shouts echo, gunfire rattling. Bullets ping off pipes. My shoulder flares painfully as Derek hauls me, half-limping, through the courtyard. Another volley of shots whizzes by, smacking into a wall. Then we reach an alley that opens onto the street.

There’s the sedan, shining under the drizzle. We dive in, Derek twisting the key. The engine roars, and we peel out. In the side mirror, I glimpse silhouettes pouring out of the building, muzzle flashes in the gloom. One bullet cracks the rear window, but we speed around a corner, disappearing into the night.

“Dammit,” Derek growls, gripping the wheel. Rain thrashes the car as we careen down a side road. My heartbeat slams in my ears. I cradle the SD card, breathing hard.

“I...have it,” I pant, ignoring the screams in my shoulder. “This might blow Marcus’s sabotage wide open.”

He exhales, face pale. “We’ll lie low. Figure out how to decode it. If it’s legit, we can nail him. Save Nyla.”

I nod, though pain fogs my vision. Maybe the orchard fiasco hasn’t destroyed everything after all. I’m still breathing, and I have a piece of evidence that might crack Marcus’s lies. The orchard meltdown nearly kills me, but I refuse to let it kill the truth.

Thunder rumbles overhead, the city lights strobing across the windshield. My father’s men—or orchard meltdown mercenaries—won’t stop hunting us now. But I survive, and I’m still determined to help Nyla. That raw determination keeps me conscious, even as I teeter on the edge of blacking out from pain.

Time to finish what I start. The orchard fiasco tries to bury me, but fails. I’m alive, clutching the only data that can expose Marcus. Nyla won’t rot in prison if I have my way.

I close my eyes a moment, teeth set against the throbbing in my shoulder. Derek glances my way, his jaw locked. We tear through the city’s underbelly in search of another safe house. In the back of my mind, I hear echoes of Nyla’s voice—kind, hopeful, so undeserving of this nightmare.

I do what must be done, orchard meltdown be damned. If I must give my last breath for redemption, so be it. I’m Trixa Swan, and I’m not dying until I burn my father’s lies to the ground.

A faint, grim smile touches my lips as we vanish deeper into the stormy night. They try to bury me in that orchard fiasco, but I’m not ready to lie still. Not when I have a friend to save.