Chapter 28 Orchid
TWENTY-EIGHT
ORCHID
The van finally slows, tires crunching over loose gravel and broken pavement, and comes to a jarring stop.
My wrists burn where the zip-ties have cut into my skin, the plastic digging deeper with every bump and turn we endured.
My left shoulder throbs from where one of the henchmen had shoved me too hard when they loaded us, a dull, persistent ache that radiates down my arm.
Poe is pressed tightly against my side the entire ride, his body warm and solid even through our awkward, bound positions.
He hasn’t stopped trying to stay close to me, shifting whenever he can to keep our shoulders touching, his knee brushing mine, as if his physical presence alone can shield me from whatever nightmare is unfolding.
His quiet strength is the only anchor I have right now. Without it, I would be spiraling completely.
The side doors slide open with a metallic screech that echoes in the confined space.
Bright daylight floods in, momentarily blinding me after the dim interior of the van.
I blink rapidly, trying to adjust. Tammy and Mark are already outside, standing side by side with matching expressions of smug satisfaction.
The two henchmen haul us out roughly, their grips bruising on our arms. Poe immediately tries to stay near me, twisting against his captor, but they separate us with practiced efficiency, dragging us across cracked, weed-choked asphalt toward a sprawling, abandoned warehouse on the edge of what looks like a long-forgotten industrial park.
The building is massive and decaying, its once-imposing structure now a skeleton of rusted metal beams and crumbling concrete.
Many of the high windows are boarded up with rotting plywood or shattered entirely, jagged glass teeth still clinging to the frames.
Rust eats away at the corrugated metal siding in angry orange patches.
Faded graffiti covers the lower walls in overlapping layers of tags and crude symbols, the colors bleached by years of sun and rain.
The air smells thick with damp concrete, old motor oil, and the faint metallic tang of neglect.
This place feels deliberately hidden, forgotten by the world and chosen for exactly that reason.
It’s nothing like Serafina’s usual sleek, controlled safehouses. This is raw. Isolated. Final.
They march us inside through a heavy side door that creaks loudly on its rusted hinges, the sound echoing like a warning through the cavernous space.
The interior is dim, lit only by a few hanging industrial work lights that swing gently from chains, casting long, harsh shadows that dance across the floor.
The concrete is littered with debris—old wooden pallets stacked haphazardly, broken machinery parts, scattered tools, and piles of dust-covered tarps.
In the center of the open floor stands a chain-link cage, the kind typically used for securing heavy equipment or livestock.
It’s roughly ten feet by ten feet, reinforced with thick posts bolted to the floor, and fitted with a heavy padlock on the gate that looks brand new.
Tammy gestures toward it with a grand, theatrical sweep of her arm, her voice bright and mocking. “Welcome to your new temporary accommodations. Cozy, right? We thought you lovebirds might appreciate some quality time together.”
The henchmen shove us inside without ceremony.
They cut the zip-ties binding our wrists only to immediately replace them with fresh ones, securing our hands in front of us this time.
Then they chain our ankles to separate heavy rings bolted directly into the concrete floor.
Poe is positioned on the far side of the cage, I’m forced to the near side.
We’re close enough to see each other clearly, to speak if we keep our voices low, but not close enough to touch.
The distance feels deliberate. Cruel. Designed to isolate us even while keeping us in the same small space.
Poe’s eyes find mine immediately, dark and steady despite the chaos. He gives me the smallest nod, a silent message that says hold on, I’m right here. I nod back, trying to project calm I do not feel, trying to be the enforcer even now.
Tammy steps right up to the chain-link, hands on her hips, smiling like she’s hosting a casual dinner party instead of holding two people at gunpoint. Mark stands beside her, arms crossed over his chest, his usual friendly grill-master demeanor replaced by something far more dangerous.
I glare at them through the diamond pattern of the fence, my voice sharp and demanding. “What the fuck is going on? Who are you people? If you work for Serafina, just say it. Stop playing these childish games and tell us what you want.”
Tammy throws her head back and laughs, the sound bright and mocking, echoing off the high ceiling.
“Serafina? Oh, sweetheart, you really think this is about that petty little trafficking queen and her crumbling empire? We work for someone much worse. Someone who’s been watching Goldenbell for a very long time, waiting for the perfect moment to clean house and take everything she’s built. ”
Before I can demand more answers, the sharp click of heels on concrete echoes from the far end of the warehouse. A figure steps out of the shadows near a rusted support pillar, moving with calm, measured grace that I’d recognize anywhere.
Marlo.
My stomach drops like a stone.
She’s dressed in a sharp black suit that fits her like armor, her hair pulled back into a tight, severe bun, the same cool, professional expression she always wears when we speak on the phone.
But seeing her here, in person, walking toward the cage like she owns every inch of this decaying hellhole, makes my blood run ice cold.
Poe’s head snaps toward her, eyes narrowing, then back to me. His voice is low and urgent, cutting through the tension. “Do you know her? Who is she?”
Marlo stops just outside the cage, her lips curving into a slow, amused smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
She looks straight at me, tilting her head slightly.
“Yes, Orchid. Tell Poe who I am. Go on. I think it’s time for some honesty, don’t you?
After all, you’ve been keeping so many secrets lately. ”
The warehouse suddenly feels much smaller.
The air grows thicker, heavier, pressing in from all sides.
Poe’s watching me intently now, confusion and something sharper—betrayal?
fear?—flickering across his face. Tammy and Mark stand back with matching smirks, clearly enjoying the show.
The henchmen remain stationed at the edges of the space like silent, armed statues.
I swallow hard, my mouth painfully dry. My heart’s hammering so loudly I’m sure everyone in the room can hear it. My palms are sweating, my pulse racing, and a cold, sinking dread settles deep in my gut.
Because Marlo isn’t rushing to explain herself. She isn’t apologizing or offering reassurance. She’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle she’s finally solved to her satisfaction.
And I have no idea what that means for Poe.
Or for me.
The only thing I know for certain is that the game has changed completely.
And I’m no longer sure whose side anyone is really on.