Chapter Fourteen
PHOENIX
The riot erupts like a fucking explosion.
One second, I’m moving with the team through the main corridor, the next I’m being swept away by a tide of screaming women prisoners.
Metal crashes against concrete as cell doors slam open, bodies press against me from all sides, and the carefully orchestrated plan we spent days perfecting disintegrates into pure unadulterated chaos.
“Maverick,” I shout over the deafening noise, trying to stay close to my new brother-in-law as we’re pushed toward the stairwell leading to the lower levels.
He grabs my leather cut, keeping us together as desperate women surge past us. “Stay with me,” he yells back. “We stick together. If you die in here, Clover will kill me.”
A woman slams into my shoulder, nearly knocking me down the concrete steps. She’s young, maybe nineteen, with wild eyes and track marks up her arms. “They’re coming,” she screams at no one in particular. “They’re coming for us!”
My stomach churns with dread that has nothing to do with the chaos around us. “Who’s coming?” I try to ask, but she’s already gone, swept away by the crowd.
Maverick and I fight our way down the stairwell, the emergency lighting casting everything in shadows. Water cascades down the walls from burst pipes above, and the air grows thick with steam and the stench of blood.
“Warden Garver said the breeding cells were down here,” Maverick pants, his hand still gripping my cut. “We find the women, we get them out.”
I nod, my chest tightening. The sounds echoing up from below aren’t just chaos, they’re screams of pain. Real, visceral agony that makes my stomach clench.
We reach the bottom level, and I freeze.
Through the reinforced glass of a security door, it’s like staring into a nightmare you can’t wake from.
Rows of cells lining the cold concrete walls, each one a shadowbox of human suffering.
Some hold women in various stages of pregnancy, their swollen bellies straining against thin prison fabric.
Others hold shapes so still I can’t tell if they’re breathing at all.
“Jesus Christ, this is worse than we thought,” I grumble.
Maverick’s lip turns up in agreement as he swipes the keycard Loki copied for us. The lock clicks, and the sound is too loud in the silence down here. Too final.
When the door swings open, we hesitate, but then both move forward into the underground cells.
It’s like crossing an invisible threshold where the air itself changes.
It’s heavier. Staler. Every breath feels like it coats my lungs in a film I’ll never scrub clean.
Industrial disinfectant hits me first, like they’re trying to hide the smells that linger underneath.
But they’re there, unmistakable, the tang of coppery blood laced with sweat that’s gone sour from being trapped too long without escape.
And then the rank, vomit stench. It’s faint, but enough to turn my stomach.
I don’t even want to imagine the horrors that have happened down here with these poor women and their newborns.
Maverick and I slowly make our way inside. The walls seem closer here, the ceiling lower. The emergency lighting hums overhead in a flickering stutter that makes the shadows twitch, as if the darkness is moving on its own.
Eyes find us in the gloom. Hollow and empty.
Some blink slowly, flinching back into the corners of their cells, clutching thin blankets like lifelines.
Others are too far gone to react, doped to the gills or simply broken, their gazes unfocused, staring straight through us as if we are not even there.
What have these monsters done to these poor women?
The door swings shut behind us with a low metallic thud, sealing us in. I jerk from the shock, and in that moment, I swear it feels like the air thins, like the place itself is trying to smother us before we can take anyone out.
I go to speak, but a familiar voice stops my heart cold. “Well, well… if it isn’t my disappointing son.”
My heart leaps into my throat, my breathing quickens as I turn slowly, every muscle in my body going rigid. In the shadows near the back of the chamber stands a woman I haven’t seen in years. Graying brown hair, hollow cheeks, and eyes that once held warmth but now contain nothing but ice.
The same eyes that used to light up when “Blue Suede Shoes” came on the radio.
The same voice that sang me to sleep with Elvis lullabies.
The same hands that used to dance with me in the kitchen while she made pancakes shaped like hearts.
“M-mom?” The word comes out as barely a whisper.
Maverick snaps his head to me like he’s as confused as I am.
My throat is closing up as memories flood back.
She taught Sadie and me the words to “Love Me Tender.” She’d put on her best dress and pretend we were at Graceland when we played in the living room.
She made Elvis magical for us, made us believe in love that was ‘all shook up’ and dreams that could come true.
That’s why I married Clover the way I did.
In Vegas by an Elvis impersonator.
Because Mom always said that’s how real love should be celebrated, with music, joy, and a little bit of rebellion.
Mom steps into the light, wearing a prison uniform, but carries herself with authority. Keys dangle from her belt, and several of the women in the cells shrink back when they see her.
“Hello, Wesley,” she says, using my real name like a weapon against me. “You’ve grown up. Shame you’re still the same weak little boy I remember.”
“I thought…” my voice cracks like a teenager’s. “I thought you were dead. When the Serpents were killed, you weren’t there. I assumed—”
“You assumed wrong.” Her laugh is as bitter as betrayal. “I was already here by then. Already building something better than that pathetic motorcycle club your father wasted his life on.”
Maverick shifts beside me, his hand moving instinctively toward his weapon.
But I hold up a hand to stop him.
This is my mother.
My family.
There has to be a way to reach her.
“Mom, what happened to you? The drugs, the addiction? I know Dad’s death was hard, but this?” I gesture around the chamber. “This isn’t you.”
“Isn’t it?” She takes a step closer, something predatory in her movements.
“You never really knew me, Wesley. None of you did. I was trapped in that life, playing house, pretending to be happy while your father threw away every opportunity we had. And don’t call me, Mom.
I’m not your mother anymore. Call me Layla. ”
Furrowing my brows, I let out a scoff as her words hit harder than I thought they could. “He loved you, in his own way. We loved you… me and Sadie!”
“Love?” She spits the word like it tastes foul.
“Love is weakness. Love is what kept me chained to a man who chose his club over his family every single day. Love is what made me waste the best years of my life raising ungrateful children who reminded me of everything I’d lost. Of the wonderful life I lost.”
The words hit me like physical blows.
Every childhood memory of her singing lullabies, making breakfast, kissing scraped knees…
Was it all fake?
Was she always this cold beneath the surface?
“You left us,” I say, anger starting to burn through the shock.
“You chose drugs over your children. Sadie was just a kid, and you abandoned her. Your own daughter. She used to sit by the window waiting for you to come home, singing those Elvis songs you taught her. She still hums them when she’s nervous. ”
“I liberated myself,” Layla corrects. “And look what I’ve built here. These women…” she gestures toward the cells, “… they’re creating the future. Perfect children, trained from birth, free from the weakness that ruined my generation.”
“Perfect children that you’ve built?” My stomach turns as the full horror of what she’s saying sinks in. “Jesus, Mom! You’re talking about the breeding programs. Forced pregnancy. That’s not liberation, that’s slavery.”
“It’s evolution.” Her eyes gleam with fanatic fervor. “Javier showed me the truth. Showed me how to turn my pain into power. These girls birth the next generation of perfection, and I make sure they’re trained properly from day one… and I’m not your mother, Wesley!”
I let out a disappointed scoff. If Mom really is part of this nightmare, Christ, what’s that going to do to Sadie? My sister worshiped her, spent years believing Mom would come back. How do I tell her that the woman who used to sing to us is now part of a breeding program for assassins?
We used to idolize Mom. We thought she was the most amazing person in our world.
How the fuck did that woman become this?
Become Layla.
“And the male babies?” Maverick asks quietly, his voice deadly calm.
Layla shrugs. “Useless. They’re taken elsewhere and ahh… well, bid on. Everything is worth making a profit on, am I right?”
The casual way she says it, like she’s talking about throwing out garbage, ignites rage through my chest. “You’re talking about selling innocent babies. Probably to the most heinous people in the world.”
“I’m talking about efficiency. I’m talking about capitalism,” she snaps back. “Something you never learned. Always too soft, too emotional. You should have learned more from your father. At least he was tough.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Speaking of efficiency,” she continues, cutting me off, her eyes shifting to Maverick.
“I know all about my daughter. Saaadie…” The way she sings her name like it’s a song makes me want to puke.
“Heard she’s pregnant…” Her smile turns predatory.
“When she has that baby, if it’s a girl, I’ll take her.
Train her properly. The way I should have trained my daughter from the beginning, instead of letting her grow up weak and useless. ”
My world goes red around the edges. My mother, the woman who gave birth to me and Sadie, whom I spent years grieving, just threatened my sister and her unborn child with the same casual tone someone might use to discuss the weather.