Chapter 34 Rylie
Rylie
The water kept rising.
Cold bit into my legs, then my waist, numbing everything below my ribs. The broken pipe screamed overhead, spraying chaos into the tunnel while men shouted blindly somewhere behind me.
And ahead—
Silence.
Not empty silence.
Controlled.
I knew the difference.
Trigger was close.
I could stay where I was. Press myself flat against the wall and wait for him to clear the tunnel, step by step, like he always did. Like a Ranger.
But waiting meant giving the men behind me time to regroup.
Waiting meant they might shoot wildly again.
Waiting meant someone could get hurt.
I exhaled slowly and made my choice.
I stepped away from the wall.
The water surged around my thighs, tugging at me as I waded forward into the black. My hands found the ladder only because I remembered it from earlier—rusted metal bolted into the wall, leading up to a maintenance hatch I’d barely registered in my panic.
I wrapped my fingers around the lowest rung.
The shout behind me came instantly.
“She’s moving!”
Gunfire erupted.
Bullets tore through water and concrete. Pain exploded across my shoulder as something grazed me—hot and sharp—but I didn’t stop.
I climbed.
Every rung screamed in protest. My hands slipped, skin screaming as rust tore into my palms. The ladder swayed.
Another shot ricocheted off metal inches from my face.
I reached the hatch and shoved.
It didn’t budge.
Panic clawed at my chest—but I crushed it down and slammed my shoulder into the hatch again.
Once.
Twice.
It gave with a violent shriek.
Light spilled down.
Fresh air hit my lungs so hard I nearly sobbed.
I hauled myself up and rolled—
Straight into him.
Trigger caught me mid-fall, his arms locking around me as the hatch slammed shut beneath us. His body was solid, immovable, a wall between me and everything behind me.
“Rylie,” he breathed, voice raw in my ear.
“I’m here,” I gasped.
His hand was already on my wrist, gentle despite the urgency, checking the restraints, the blood, the shaking he couldn’t stop.
“I know,” he said fiercely. “I know.”
Below us, muffled shouts and gunfire echoed—then stopped abruptly.
Trigger shifted, pulling me fully against his chest, his rifle coming up over my shoulder.
His voice went cold.
“All teams—target acquired. She’s safe. Sweep and clear.”
A chorus of confirmations came back, sharp and professional.
Only then did my legs give out.
Trigger held me like he’d never let go again, his forehead pressed to mine as his breathing steadied—slow, controlled, barely holding back everything else.
“You did exactly right,” he said quietly. “Every damn step.”
I swallowed hard. “I knew you were close.”
His mouth curved into something fierce and full of pride.
“You always do,” he said.
And somewhere deep beneath the concrete, the last illusion of control the cartel had just drowned.