30. Axel
30
AXEL
I hear their footsteps echo through the shower block before I see them. My skin prickles with anticipation as steam fills the air around me. Five of Marcus’s crew circle me like vultures, their faces twisted with hate.
“This is for Marcus,” one of them spits.
A smirk spreads across my face. I’ve been waiting for this moment.
The first one lunges clumsily. I grab his arm and twist until the bone snaps. His scream bounces off the tile walls. Before he hits the ground, I drive my knee into his temple. One down.
Two more rush me from different angles. I duck under a wild swing, letting them crash into each other. My elbow finds a throat. Something crunches. Blood sprays across the wet floor. The other one stares at me in horror as I reach for him and wrap my hands around his neck, squeezing not enough to kill him but enough for him to collapse, gasping for air.
“Who’s next?” My voice comes out in a growl that barely sounds human.
The remaining two back away, fear replacing their bravado. But there’s nowhere to run. I grab the nearest one by his hair and slam his face into the wall. Again. And again. Until his features are unrecognizable pulp.
The last one tries to bolt. I catch him by the back of his neck and drag him under the spray of scalding water. Hold him there as he thrashes.
“Tell Marcus that I won’t leave any survivors next time.”
When I release him, he scrambles away on hands and knees, leaving his unconscious and dead friends behind.
Looking at my handiwork, a familiar calm washes over me. This is who I am, what I am, the monster they made me.
I watch the blood swirl down the drain. Red staining the water—beautiful, perfect. They’re singing to me now, a symphony of screams and pleas that makes my skin buzz with electricity.
More.
We need more.
I press my forehead against the cool tile, letting the scalding water wash over me. The burn of my knuckles feels good. Pain keeps me grounded when the voices threaten to consume my mind.
“Shut up,” I snarl, but they only laugh. They know I enjoy it as much as they do. The way bones crack. The sound of flesh tearing. The metallic taste of blood in the air.
I try to focus on Willow’s face. She is the only thing that quiets the chaos in my mind. But today, even she can’t silence them completely.
Kill them all.
Paint the walls red.
Make them suffer.
I slam my fist into the wall, relishing the sharp sting of split knuckles. The voices grow louder, a cacophony of murderous passion. They show me visions of what I could do to Marcus’s remaining crew. How I could peel their skin off slowly. Make them beg for death.
“Soon,” I promise them. “We’ll have our fun soon.”
Steam rises around me as I clean every inch of my body. Can’t leave a single trace.
I take my time washing my hair and scrubbing under my nails. The water runs clear now. No one would guess what happened here just minutes ago. The bodies lay scattered across the shower floor, broken and lifeless. Well, most of them.
My towel hangs on the hook where I left it. I dry off, my movements calm and precise. There’s no rush. Rushing and panicking are how people get caught. I learned that lesson years ago.
Pulling on my prison uniform, I check myself in the clouded mirror. Not a spot of blood anywhere. Just another inmate finishing his shower. My reflection grins back at me.
I walk out of the shower block, my footprints the only sign I was ever there. There are no cameras in there—prison budget cuts are in my favor for once. When they find the bodies, I’ll be back in my cell.
Let them investigate. Let them question. They’ll never prove it was me. And Marcus? He’ll get the message loud and clear.
Back in my cell, I wipe the remaining dampness from my hair.
Footsteps approach—my crew. They file in, four of them, faces tight with anticipation.
“Boss, we got everything set.” Snake leans against the wall. “Guards are paid, route’s clear.”
I nod, studying each of their expressions. They’ve been with me for years, followed every order, spilled blood at my command.
“What about us?” Rico asks, voice low. “Some of us want out too.”
The others shift, waiting for my response. I hadn’t planned on bringing anyone else. This was supposed to be just Willow and me—sweet, corrupted Willow, who orchestrates our perfect escape together.
“Two of you,” I say finally. “That’s all we can manage without drawing attention.”
Relief floods some faces, disappointment others. They know better than to argue.
“Who?” Tommy steps forward, hope plain in his eyes.
I scan the group. “I’ll decide. Need to think it through.”
They nod, accepting my word as law. But I see the questions in their eyes. They’re wondering about the doctor, about how she fits into all this.
“What about the shrink?” Dante asks. Always pushing boundaries.
“She’s handled.” My tone leaves no room for discussion.
But he’s right—Willow complicates things. She planned this escape, thinking it would be just us, our twisted fairy tale ending. Adding two more players changes everything.
The crew disperses, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The whispers stir again, suggesting who to bring, who to leave behind, and who might become a liability.
I pace my cell, eight steps each way. Willow’s face floats in my mind—the way she looks at me like I’m something more than a monster. Like I could be saved.
I sink onto my bunk, running my fingers through my damp hair. The adrenaline from the shower block fight fades, leaving space for thoughts of her to creep in.
Willow with her porcelain skin and ocean-deep eyes. Her neck’s elegant curve and delicate hands take such careful notes. How her blonde hair catches the light even under those harsh fluorescents. There’s a fragility to her that makes me want to both protect and possess her completely.
My demons whisper that I’m getting soft, that she’s a means to an end. A way out of this concrete box, but they don’t understand. They can’t feel how quiet my mind becomes when she’s near.
For the first time since I can remember, the chaos in my head settles when I’m with her. No screaming for blood. No urge to tear flesh and break bones. Just... peace.
My hands clench into fists. I hate feeling vulnerable, hate that she’s wormed her way under my skin. I’ve spent years building walls, becoming the monster everyone fears. And this slip of a woman walks right through them like they’re nothing.
She’s making you weak!
They’re wrong. When I’m with her, I’m stronger. More focused. The rage that usually consumes me channels into something else—a need to protect her, to keep her safe. To make her mine in every way possible.
I close my eyes, remembering how she looked during our last session: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes glazed with pleasure and shame. She’s worried I’m using her, manipulating her feelings to secure my freedom. Maybe I was, at first.
But now? Now, she’s become something else entirely. Something I never thought I’d find in this hellhole. Something I never thought I deserved.
A cure.
The voices rage against this revelation but can’t deny the truth. They fall silent when Willow touches me and moans my name like a prayer. And in that silence, I find something I thought I’d lost forever—my humanity.