Chapter 22 WRECKER
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 her expression—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.
The knot in my chest tightens, frustration and something darker churning as I watch her move through the yard—like she’s figured out how to live here without any of us.
For the first time in weeks, I feel the distance growing, and I can’t decide if I hate it or if I’m just afraid of what she’s become.
Carrie steps up to the little podium by the court, taking the mic from the event announcer with a polite, steady smile. “Alright, everyone—let’s remember, this is a community event. That means everyone participates. No hiding out by the fence.”
There’s a ripple of laughter, and I catch a few inmates making low, crude comments about her dress and her body. My fists clench. If we weren’t surrounded by guards, I’d have words for them—and not quiet ones.
Carrie doesn’t react to the noise, just scans the yard until her gaze finally lands on me, Jace, and Nico. Her eyes hold for a second longer than I expect. “That means all of you,” she says, nodding in our direction.
The rec officer on the sidelines calls out our numbers. “You three—let’s go. Next match. Up.”
Jace groans, muttering, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” but grabs his jersey anyway. Nico just snorts and cracks his knuckles, already playing it off like a joke.
I get up, dragging my feet, but as I move toward the court, something on the ground catches my eye—a small, metal key, almost hidden by the shadow of a folding chair. I glance around, heart pounding, and realize Carrie is watching me, eyebrows raised, mouth set in a knowing line.
Making sure the guards aren’t looking, I slide my foot over the key, pressing it into the dirt. I fake like I’m tying my shoe, fingers working fast, and palm the key before anyone notices. I glance up—Carrie’s still watching, something unreadable in her expression.
I straighten, pocket the key, and jog onto the court, my mind already racing with questions. Did she mean for me to find it? Or am I just imagining things again?
The whistle blows, and the game gets underway, but I can barely focus. Jace looks annoyed to be out here, Nico is playing it up like a show, and the only thing I can really think about is the key pressing against my thigh.
We go through a few lazy plays. The ball thuds on the broken court, the air is thick with shouts and laughter, but I’m just scanning the sidelines.
Carrie stands out, her clipboard hugged close, eyes flicking in my direction every few minutes.
When I get close to the edge of the court, she shifts her weight, as if she’s waiting for something.
I see my chance after a messy rebound. I take a few steps, then suddenly grab my thigh, stumbling to the ground. I let myself hit the pavement, grimacing like it hurts more than it does.
Jace and Nico pause, the game stopping as a guard shouts, “What happened to him?”
“Cramp,” I call out, rubbing my leg, putting on a show. “Happens sometimes.”
Carrie is quick to react. She hands her clipboard to a volunteer and jogs over, worry written across her face for anyone watching.
She kneels beside me, voice soft but urgent, her hand steady on my shoulder. “Are you alright?”
I nod, and as I lean in, she shields her mouth with her hand. In a whisper, quick and tight, she says, “Storage closet by admin hall. Left side. Go when it’s clear.”
Before I can reply, one of the staff comes over, asking if I need help. Carrie straightens, her expression calm as she turns back to them. “He’ll be fine, just a bad cramp. Let him rest.”
I stay on the bench for a few minutes, rubbing my leg and keeping my head down. Jace and Nico are still stuck in the game, probably thinking I’m milking the injury for a break. Nobody’s paying much attention to me now, not even the guards posted by the sidelines.
I watch the flow of people around the yard, waiting for the moment when the staff’s attention drifts back to the court.
A group of volunteers starts handing out water bottles, drawing most of the guards and players into a cluster near the refreshment table.
The security officer by the admin building gets called over to help break up a noisy argument between two inmates. I spot my window.
Keeping my limp believable, I head for the admin building, moving slowly enough not to attract attention. When a nurse walks by, I nod, muttering that I’m headed to the restroom. She barely glances at me. I disappear around the corner, slip down the hallway, and find the row of storage doors.
My pulse pounds as I scan for cameras—there’s nothing directly aimed at this end of the hall. I crouch by the leftmost closet, slip the key into the lock, and listen one last time for footsteps. The hallway stays empty.
I turn the key. The lock clicks open.
Without a sound, I slip inside and close the door behind me, the cool dark swallowing me up.
The storage closet is pitch-black at first. I let the door close behind me and stand still, waiting for my eyes to adjust. The smell of old cleaning chemicals hangs in the air, mixed with dust and something faintly metallic.
I pat the wall, searching for a light switch.
My fingers land on a pull string, and I give it a gentle tug.
A single bulb flickers on, casting shadows over the cramped space. Shelves run along one wall, piled high with mop buckets, cardboard boxes, and stacks of paper towels. I step over a cracked mop handle and look closer, scanning for anything out of place.
Near the back, tucked behind a crate of detergent, I spot a plain envelope sealed with clear tape. It’s wedged into a gap between two boxes, almost invisible unless you know to look for it.
Heart hammering, I grab the envelope and slide it into the waistband of my jumpsuit. I do a quick sweep of the closet just to be sure there’s nothing else, but it looks like this is it. Whatever’s inside, Carrie wanted me to have it—and she wanted me to find it alone.
I turn off the light, crack the door, and peek into the hallway. Still clear. I slip out, close the door quietly, and make my way back toward the yard, trying to act as casual as possible.
Every step, I expect someone to shout my name, to demand to know what I’m doing out of bounds. But no one stops me. When I finally see the crowd and hear the noise of the sports event ahead, relief floods through me.
I blend in with the spectators, keeping my head down and my hands steady, the envelope pressed tight to my side. Whatever Carrie’s handed off, I know it’s big. Now I just have to find a safe place to open it.
After the chaos of the event, the block is buzzing but a little quieter than usual.
Most guys are tired, slumped on their bunks, trading stories about the games or arguing over who got shorted on juice.
I’m lying on my bunk, the envelope still wedged deep in my waistband.
I wait until Jace and Nico shuffle in a few minutes later, both of them still fuming about how the afternoon played out.
Jace throws himself onto his bunk, running a hand through his hair. “You see her? She didn’t even look at us. All smiles for Carlisle and that asshole Bradley. Like we don’t exist anymore.”
Nico glances at me, as if he’s trying to read my face. “She’s up to something. That’s not the same Carrie. She looked so different today. And I’m not just saying that she dressed up. She looked positively ill the last few days.”
“Don’t you remember what she confessed to me?” Jace says impatiently. “It was obviously a front to get us to pity her. But now that’s not working, so she’s changed tactics.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I say.
“I can’t believe you’re still defending her after all this time,” Jace says, shaking his head.
I give the door a quick glance, checking the bars and the hallway outside.
The guards are finishing the last of their post-game rounds, voices echoing down the block.
I keep my voice low. “Enough. I need to show you something. Something Carrie left for me. She made it look like nothing, but…” I shake my head, pulling it out and setting it on the bunk between us.
Nico sits down, eyeing it like it might bite. “You sure it’s safe? You sure she’s not trying to get us caught?”
I shrug, my gut twisting. “I don’t know. But I watched her. Nobody else saw.”
Jace gestures, still bristling. “Well, open it.”
I tear the seal carefully, hands steady but my heart racing. I dump out the contents onto my blanket—a small plastic bag with two thin metal lockpicks, a folded-up map on old printer paper, and a scrap covered in tight handwriting.
I flatten the map and point. “Look. It’s the admin hall and service tunnels. She marked the laundry route and an exit. These Xs here—camera dead spots. And these notes? Guard rotations, and the exact minute the cameras reset. The slip’s got times when the halls are empty.”
Nico picks up the lockpicks, giving a low whistle. “She got these inside? You think they’ll actually work?”
I nod, voice a whisper. “We’ve all seen worse work. If we use the admin closet and time it with the feed loop, it might actually get us out.”
Nico holds the map up, studying it, then looks at me and Jace. “So does this mean what I think it means?”
I nod, my heart pounding as the truth sinks in. “Yeah. I think so.”
Jace’s eyes narrow. “Carrie’s planning on breaking us out of here.”