36. Axel
36
AXEL
T he stench of death fills the cabin. Blood drips from my knuckles, and I flex them, feeling the familiar ache.
“We need to move. Marcus’s men found this place, which means others will too.”
A peek through the window reveals a carport tucked behind the cabin. An ancient Chevy is in there, rusted and neglected, but the tires aren’t dry-rotted. Perfect.
“Stay here,” I tell them, stalking toward the vehicle. The door creaks as I wrench it open. The interior reeks of mold and decay, but it’ll do. I slide under the steering column, my fingers finding the familiar wires. Prison didn’t dull these skills.
Spark. Nothing. Another try. The engine coughs, then roars to life. A grin spreads across my face as I rev it.
“Get in.” I wave them over. Willow helps Tommy into the backseat while she takes shotgun.
The GPS unit from our escape kit blinks to life. I study the terrain, plotting our route through the dense forest. We’re about an hour from the border if we stick to these logging roads. Every minute counts before the cops lock down the area.
I slam the car into gear, and the tires spin in the mud before catching. The headlights cut through darkness as we bump along overgrown paths. Willow grips the seat tight but doesn’t make a sound.
That’s my girl.
The engine protests as I push it harder, branches scraping the sides. But I know these woods—I spent years memorizing maps I had snuck in, planning this exact scenario. We have a small window before they figure out we’re headed for the border.
Tommy checks the mirrors. “No lights behind us yet.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
I grip the steering wheel, tense as we bounce over another rut in these godforsaken back roads. The night presses in around us, promising both cover and danger. My jaw aches from clenching it so hard.
Then Willow’s fingers slide across the center console, finding mine. Her touch lands softly at first, tentative before she squeezes.
The voices disappear just like that.
It’s a silence so sudden and complete that it almost hurts. No screaming, no demands for blood, no threats urging me to destroy everything in my path. Just... quiet.
I glance at her, her face pale in the dim dashboard lights, her eyes steady on mine. I squeeze her hand back, something unfamiliar expanding in my chest.
For over an hour, we drive in complete silence. The only sounds are the engine’s complaints and Tommy’s occasional pained noises from his wounded arm. None of us speaks. We’re all practically holding our breath as if the slightest noise might summon the cops or Marcus’s remaining men.
But beneath that tension is something else—at least for me. This strange peace in my skull. I’ve spent my entire life with those voices, that constant rage pushing at the edges of my mind. They’ve been my companions, my curse, my fuel. I know how to function with them. This quiet is unfamiliar territory.
I stroke my thumb across Willow’s knuckles, hearing her sharp intake of breath. She’s scared, but she’s not letting go, not of my hand, not of this insane plan, not of me.
The road narrows further, trees scraping against the car’s sides. We’re getting deeper into the wilderness, but according to the GPS, we’re closer to our goal. Tommy shifts nervously, scanning the vicinity beyond the headlights. The car jerks as we hit another pothole, but Willow’s grip remains steady.
I never thought I’d find this—someone who could silence the chaos inside me with just a touch. I’d convinced myself such things didn’t exist, not for monsters like me.
Yet here she is.
I ease off the gas as the trees begin to thin ahead. The forest’s dark canopy has kept us hidden. Still, I can already see the silvery ribbon of asphalt in the distance—the main road that runs parallel to the border.
“We’re gonna hit the tarmac soon,” I announce, feeling Tommy tense beside me. “Less than a mile to go.”
Willow leans forward. “Are there checkpoints?”
“Probably by now.” I squint at the GPS. “News of the breakout will have them setting up roadblocks on all the main routes toward the border.”
Tommy shifts in his seat. “So what’s the plan? We can’t exactly roll up to border patrol with smiles.”
The car jostles over a particularly rough patch, sending pain shooting through my bruised knuckles, still gripping the wheel. Blood from Marcus’s men has dried in the creases of my hands.
“Just a little further,” I mutter, eyes fixed on the road ahead. The headlights cut through the blackness.
Willow shifts beside me, her profile illuminated by the dull glow of the dashboard. She turns to look at Tommy in the back seat.
“The first safe house is about ten miles from here,” she says, her voice steadier than I expected. “I’ve got a contact meeting us there who can fly us out to Brazil.”
Tommy leans forward, wincing as the movement jostles his injured arm. “Brazil? I thought we were heading to Mexico.”
I tighten my grip on the wheel. “That was the original plan. Rico and you were supposed to split off to Mexico.”
The mention of Rico hangs heavy in the car. No one acknowledges his absence.
“Things changed,” I say flatly.
Willow reaches across and places her hand on my thigh. The touch instantly quiets the whispers starting to build again in my mind.
“I only have fake IDs arranged for Axel and me,” she explains to Tommy. “I didn’t know you’d be coming with us.”
Tommy’s eyes widen. “So what happens to me?”
“You’ll still come,” Willow says quickly. “We’re leaving from a private airstrip. They won’t look twice at someone without papers. Once we’re in Brazil, we’ll get you sorted.”
I glance at her, impressed yet again by her planning. She’s thought of everything—a natural criminal mind.
“You sure about this?” I ask her softly.
Her eyes meet mine. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
The GPS beeps, indicating a turn ahead. I ease off the gas, preparing to navigate the sharp bend that will take us closer to freedom.
I’m driving silently when Willow instructs me to turn onto a dirt road nearly invisible from the main highway. The path winds through dense pines before opening to a small clearing with a small agricultural barn. The smart girl picked a well-hidden safehouse.
“We’re here,” she announces, relief washing her face. “My contact won’t arrive until tomorrow morning. We’ll rest until then.”
Tommy moves inside while I scan the perimeter, that familiar tingling at the base of my skull warning me to stay alert. The barn has been converted—two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen with canned goods. Better than prison, but not by much.
“Get some rest,” I tell Tommy, who collapses onto a threadbare couch, his face pale. Willow tends to his wounds with supplies she’d packed.
I lean against the doorframe, watching Willow work on Tommy’s arm. Her movements are precise and clinical—a stark reminder of the life she left behind. Tommy winces as she splints his broken forearm but doesn’t make a sound.
“You’re good at that,” I say.
Willow doesn’t look up. “Had to be. ER rotation during residency was brutal.”
Something is calming about watching her work. Tommy’s phone buzzes on the table beside him, and I tense immediately. Nobody should have this number.
Tommy reaches for it with his good hand. “It’s Dante,” he says, surprised. He puts it on speaker.
“Tommy? You there?” Dante’s voice sounds strained, distant crackling in the background.
“Yeah, I’m here. What’s happening?”
“Everything’s gone to shit, man.” Dante’s breathing hard. “The riot... it’s bad. Guards are shooting people. I’m hiding in the laundry room.”
My muscles tighten. “Is anyone looking for us?”
“Axel? That you?” A pause. “Yeah, they know you’re gone. But that’s not why I called. Marcus’s dead.”
The news hits me like a physical blow. I exchange glances with Willow, whose hands freeze mid-bandage.
“You sure?” I ask.
“Positive. Caught a stray bullet during the riot. Went right through his skull.” Dante’s tone turns serious. “But his crew outside the prison are still coming for you. His second-in-command, Vince, is running things now. And he’s pissed.”
Willow’s eyes meet mine, wide with fear. I move closer, placing my hand on her shoulder.
“How many?” I ask.
“Don’t know. But they’ve got resources, connections. Marcus’s organization runs deep.” The connection crackles. “Listen, I gotta go. Guards are coming. Just... watch your backs.”
The call ends, leaving us in silence. Tommy looks between us, his face pale.
“So Marcus’s dead, but we’re still fucked,” he summarizes.
I squeeze Willow’s shoulder. “We stick to the plan,” I say firmly. “Nothing’s changed. We still leave at dawn with your contact.”
I lead Willow to the larger bedroom, closing the door and locking it.
The room is sparse—just a bed with a thin mattress, a wooden chair, and a small window with curtains drawn tight—but it offers more privacy than I’ve had in years.
Willow sighs heavily as she lies on the bed, not bothering to get under the covers. The moonlight filtering through the thin curtains catches on her face, highlighting the exhaustion etched there. Blood smeared across her cheek. Her hair is tangled with leaves and dirt.
She’s never looked more beautiful to me.
I lie beside her, the mattress dipping under our combined weight. My body aches from the fight, escape, and years of tension finally releasing. I pull her close, and she melts against me.
“We made it,” she announces.
“We made it this far but are not out of the woods yet.” I brush my lips against her neck.
We’re both too exhausted for anything more, our bodies pushed beyond limits. But I need to taste her, to remind myself that this is real. That she’s real.
I kiss her softly, my hand cradling her face. She responds with equal gentleness, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. It’s strange—this tenderness. I’ve never known it before her.
“Sleep,” I murmur against her lips. “I’ll keep watch.”
She nods, her eyes already closing as she nestles against me. “Just for a few hours.”
I hold her close, listening as her breathing evens out. Outside, the world hunts for us. But now, with her warmth against me, I feel something dangerously close to peace.