Page 27 of Imprisoned

The door opens, and Martinez and another guard enter. Axel rises smoothly as they unlock his chains from the chair, that knowing smirk still playing on his lips.

I glance at the clock—barely forty-five minutes into what should have been a two-hour session. Another failure. We made zero progress with his childhood trauma, and I let him derail the conversation multiple times.

Any other fantasies I might have had… well, failure there, too.

He pauses at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. “Sweet dreams, doctor.”

Heat floods my body as the guards lead him away. I sink deeper into my chair, running my fingers through the soft ends of my hair. The session notes in front of me are sparse—just a few scribbled observations about his defensive reactions to questions about his father.

Eleanor will be disappointed. She trusted me with this high-risk patient, and I couldn’t even maintain basic control of our sessions. But how can I explain that every time I try to dig deeper into his past, he turns the tables and burrows under my skin instead?

I gather my papers, ignoring how my feelings are scattered between control and letting go. I have two more sessions with him this week, and the thought sends equal waves of dread and anticipation through me.

Focus on the work, I tell myself. Focus on helping him process his trauma. Forget about everything I arranged for… privacy. But even as I try to center myself in my professional role, his words echo.

For now.

I wonder if he realizes just how right he is.

14

AXEL

Ilean against the cold concrete wall outside my cell, waiting for Martinez and Thompson to make their rounds. They appear right on schedule, Thompson’s keys jangling at his belt.

“Got something for you boys.” I slip four folded hundred-dollar bills from my sleeve. “A little advance on our usual arrangement.”

Martinez glances down the corridor. “What’s the catch, Morrison?”

“Tomorrow’s session with Dr. Matthews. I want you to pretend to secure me to the chair. Make it look realistic, but actually loosen my cuffs.”

Thompson’s eyes narrow. “That’s risky. If you hurt the new doctor, it will be our asses.”

“I won’t hurt her. Besides, your cut from the cigarette operation last month should ease your conscience.” I press the folded hundreds into his palm. “Martinez will handle the camera feed loop. We’ve done it before.”

Martinez shifts uncomfortably. “The new IT guy’s been checking timestamps. We can’t do the same trick too often.”

“Then be creative,” I demand. “Your daughter’s college tuition isn’t going to pay itself.”

Martinez pales at the mention of his daughter. “Fine. Forty-five minutes of loop. Not a second more.”

Thompson nods first. “Fine. But if this goes south?—”

“It won’t.” I flash them my most reassuring smile. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Just keep our names out of your little schemes with Marcus,” Thompson mutters, pocketing his share.

“Speaking of Marcus...” I lower my voice. “Any word on his new shipment?”

Martinez checks his watch. “Coming in through the laundry next week, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Naturally.” I straighten up as other inmates shuffle past for lunch. “Pleasure doing business, gentlemen.”

They move on, maintaining their stern expressions. Perfect. Everything’s falling into place. The guards, the drugs, and soon... Willow. I control the strings of every puppet in this prison, even those who don’t know they’re my bitch.

I join the flow of inmates heading to the cafeteria, already planning how to use my freedom in tomorrow’s session. The anticipation makes my skin buzz. Time to see what my little pixie does when she’s alone with the monster… unchained.

I slide into my usual spot in the cafeteria, my crew falling in around me like a well-oiled machine. The noise inside my skull quiets when I plot, focused on the game ahead.

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