32. Axel
32
AXEL
T he morning sun filters through the barred windows, casting long shadows across my cell. Today’s the day. My skin buzzes with anticipation, but I keep my expression neutral. Can’t give anything away.
Rico slides up next to me in the yard, his voice low. “Boss, we need to know. Who’s coming?”
I scan the yard, watching Snake and Dante roughhousing near the weights. Tommy sits alone by the fence, nose buried in a book. The kid’s smart and keeps his head down. That’s what we need.
“Get Tommy and pack your stuff. You’re both coming.”
Rico’s eyes widen. “What about the others?”
“Snake and Dante? Too unpredictable. Can’t risk them around her.”
“They won’t take it well. They’re lifers, man. This was their only shot.”
I turn to face him, my voice sharp. “You think I don’t know that? But Dante’s got a hair-trigger temper, and Snake’s loyalty goes to the highest bidder. One wrong move from either of them...”
Rico nods, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. They’d be a liability.”
“Willow’s already in the tunnels. She’ll handle the transfer, and then we’ll move. Everything’s set.”
“What about Marcus’s crew?”
“They won’t be a problem. Guard rotation changes in twenty minutes. That’s our window to make sure shit hits the fan, providing a distraction.”
Rico shifts his weight, glancing back at Snake and Dante. “You sure they’ll still start the riot if they’re not coming?”
“Don’t tell them yet.” I grab his arm, squeezing hard enough to make my point. “We need that chaos. If they know beforehand, they might fuck it up out of spite.”
“When do we?—”
“Just move. Now. Grab Tommy.”
I start walking, not waiting for his response. Rico falls in step beside me and signals for Tommy to follow. Rico is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Behind us, Snake’s laughter echoes across the yard, followed by the clang of weights hitting concrete.
My chest tightens for a split second. These men fought beside me and bled for me. But sentiment gets you killed. I learned that lesson early. Snake would sell us out in a heartbeat if someone offered him enough, and Dante... Dante’s rage makes him useful in a fight, but he’s a loaded gun waiting to go off.
We reach the entrance to Block C. Rico’s shoulders are tense, but he keeps his face blank as we pass the guards. Good. He understands what’s at stake.
The heavy metal door clangs shut behind us, leaving Snake and Dante in the yard. Sometimes, you have to cut people loose to survive. It’s nothing personal. Just business.
The first scream echoes through the prison yard, right on schedule. I watch through the bars as Dante and Snake attack the guards at their posts while chaos erupts in every block.
“Get moving!” I shove an inmate aside, my fists connecting with anyone stupid enough to block my path. Blood sprays across my face as Martinez, the guard I paid off, gets his throat slit by Marcus’s crew. Serves the greedy bastard right.
The riot spreads like wildfire through the corridors. Smoke billows from multiple fires my guys set as distractions. Alarms blare overhead, but I tune them out. Only one thing matters, getting to Willow’s office before anyone else.
“Morrison!” Marcus’s second-in-command charges at me with a shank. I dodge, grab his wrist, and slam his head against the wall. The crack of his skull brings a smile to my face.
“Thanks for the weapon.” I retrieve the blade from his limp fingers, stepping over his body.
Rico and Tommy follow close behind, their faces grim with determination. We move as a unit, a well-oiled machine forged in the fires of prison life.
Rico takes out a guard with a swift uppercut. At the same time, Tommy disables the electronic locks on the cell doors, sending another wave of inmates flooding into the fray. The kid’s skills are proving invaluable.
We round the corner to the administrative wing, and I spot two of Marcus’s crew blocking the path to Willow’s office. They see us coming and brace for a fight.
“I’ve got the ugly one,” Rico states, cracking his knuckles.
“They’re both ugly,” Tommy quips, his eyes darting nervously.
I don’t waste time on banter. I lunge forward, the shank gripped tight in my fist. The first guy swings a pipe at my head, but I duck and drive the blade into his gut. He goes down with a gurgling cry.
Rico grapples with the other one, trading blows in a brutal dance. I turn to assist, but Rico gains the upper hand, slamming the guy’s face into the wall with a sickening crunch.
“Didn’t need your help,” he spits, wiping blood from his split lip.
“Never said you did.” I clap him on the shoulder as we step over the bodies.
Two more guards rush me near the medical wing. The first one’s neck snaps easily. The second hits Rico with his baton before I drive the shank between his ribs.
Focus. Get to Willow.
Smoke stings my eyes as I round the corner to her office. Bodies litter the hallway—both guards and inmates. Good. My crew followed orders, clearing the path. They know she’s mine. Anyone who touches her dies screaming.
Through the haze, I spot her office door. My pulse hammers with deafening force, not from the fighting but from knowing she’s close.
“Little pixie, I’m coming for you.”
I kick down her office door, the wood splintering beneath my boot. Willow jumps from her desk, papers scattering. Her blue eyes widen at the blood coating my skin, but there’s no fear in them. Only recognition.
“Now?” She grabs her bag from under the desk.
“The riot is in full swing in Block C.” I cross the room in two strides, crushing her against me. Her mouth finds mine, desperate and hungry. The taste of her drowns out the screams and gunfire echoing through the halls.
“The guards?” She breaks away.
“Half are dead. Rest are dealing with fires in three different wings.” I slide my hand into her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. “Thompson’s gone. No one to identify you as my accomplice.”
She moans as I bite down on her neck, marking her one last time in this hellhole. “We have two minutes before they sweep this section.”
“Plenty of time.” I push her against the wall, grinding against her. Need floods my system as I grip her hips. “Been waiting weeks for this moment.”
“Axel...” She claws at my shoulders. “We need to go.”
Right. Focus. I force myself to step back, though everything in me screams to take her right here.
More gunshots outside. Closer now. The riot’s spreading as planned—total chaos masking our escape route. Through the window, I notice the smoke rising from the east wing, where my crew set the biggest fire.
“Ready?” I grab her hand.
She nods, her eyes bright with excitement rather than fear. She is my perfect match, my little pixie embracing the darkness.
I pull Willow into the hallway, and she freezes at the sight of Rico and Tommy standing guard.
“What’s going on?” Her fingers tighten around mine. “Who are they?”
“Meet our escape team.” I keep my voice low, scanning the corridor for threats. “Rico is my second and has been with me for five years and never wavered. And Tommy? Best hacker this shithole’s ever seen.”
Rico nods at her, blood still dripping from his split lip. “Doc.”
Tommy shifts his weight, clutching his backpack. The kid looks nervous, but his hands are steady.
“We need them,” I tell her, catching her eye. “Rico knows how to handle himself in a fight, and Tommy can bypass any security system they throw at us. Both of them proved their loyalty.”
“How can you be sure?” Willow’s eyes dart between them.
“Because I saved their lives.” I guide her forward as another explosion rocks the building. “Rico was getting shanked by three of Marcus’s men when I stepped in. And Tommy? The Aryan Brotherhood wanted his head on a spike until I claimed him as crew.”
“They owe me,” I continue. “And they know crossing me means death. Right, boys?”
“Yes, boss.” They answer in unison.
Willow relaxes slightly, understanding dawning in her eyes. “That’s why you picked them. Not just for their skills.”
“Smart girl.” I kiss her temple, tasting smoke and sweat. “Now move.”
I drag Willow through the smoke-filled corridor, keeping her behind me as we navigate past bodies and debris. The old maintenance door’s exactly where she said it would be, hidden behind cleaning supplies in a forgotten storage closet.
“Your turn.” I step back, letting her unlock it with the key she stole from the maintenance supervisor last week.
The door creaks open, revealing a narrow tunnel stretching ahead. Willow pulls out a flashlight from her bag, the beam cutting through decades of dust and cobwebs.
“These tunnels were used for supplies back in the 40s.” She leads the way. “They sealed them off after three inmates escaped.”
“Smart girl, doing your research.” I follow close behind, one hand on her waist, the other gripping the shank. The voices stay quiet, focused on escape rather than bloodlust.
Water drips somewhere ahead. The air grows thick with mold and decay. Willow’s flashlight catches old rails embedded in the floor and remnants of abandoned supply carts.
“Two more turns.” She consults a hand-drawn map. “Then we’ll hit the exit shaft.”
Tommy and Rico follow silently behind us, their footsteps barely audible on the damp concrete. I keep one hand on Willow’s waist, guiding her while my other grips the shank. Every sense stays alert for any sign we’ve been followed.
Rico’s breathing is steady—he’s done this before. Tommy’s quick, shallow breaths betray his nerves, but the kid keeps moving without complaint. Smart. They both know better than to make unnecessary noise.
The tunnel narrows, forcing us to walk single file. I push Willow ahead of me to see her, Rico, and Tommy falling in line behind. The beam of her flashlight catches rats scurrying along the walls. Water drips somewhere, marking time like a metronome.
A distant explosion rocks the tunnel, sending dirt raining down. Above us, chaos reigns as fire and violence consume the prison. But down here, it’s just us and the pitch-black.
“There.” Willow’s beam illuminates a rusted ladder leading up to a metal hatch. “I parked the car in the woods, half a mile east.”
I grab her arm before she climbs. “You sure about this? Last chance to back out.”
She answers by kissing me hard, her tongue tasting of coffee and desperation. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
The voices hum in approval. She’s made her choice. She’s mine now, forever marked by darkness.