Page 53 of Imprisoned

"When?"

"They'll be by when ready to speak with you." She pauses at my door. "Willow, is there anything you need to tell me? Anything at all?"

I meet her gaze, forcing myself to stay steady. "No. Nothing."

But as she leaves, I feel the weight of every lie and secret pressing down on me. And underneath it all, a nagging question burns: if Axel didn't commit these murders, who did? And why go to such lengths to frame him?

24

AXEL

The pitch-black wraps around me like an old friend, but today, it feels different—oppressive. This time, they’ve given me the special treatment—total darkness, a particular hell reserved for those the guards want to break. The soul-crushing absence of light weighs heavily with each passing hour, a deliberate torture that most in solitary don’t endure. My fingers trace the rough surface of the walls, finding the grooves where countless others have marked their time in this heightened punishment.

I know why they’ve done this—to teach me a lesson after what happened with Marcus. The warden wants me to understand there are consequences, even for someone like me. The darkness is meant to disorient me, strip away my sense of time and self, and remind me of my powerlessness within these walls.

If I had to wage a bet, I’d bet good money that Marcus was behind the murders. My killer instinct howls for his blood, a symphony of rage demanding vengeance. It wants me to tear him apart, make him suffer like those bodies they found. But that’s not my style anymore—too messy, too obvious.

Kill him slowly.

Make him watch as we destroy everything he loves.

Rip his throat out.

Paint the walls red!

I press my palms against my temples. The cacophony builds until my skull feels ready to split. But then...

Willow.

I close my eyes and picture her face, remembering how those blue eyes darkened, how her lips parted when I touched her, and how she fought against her own nature even as she surrendered to me.

My Willow is so desperate to be good while craving everything bad.

When I think of her, the chaos in my mind settles into order, as always. It recognizes something in her that mirrors my soul—a kindred spirit wrapped in an innocent package.

She’s ours.

Protect what’s ours.

My breathing steadies as calm washes over me. Marcus may have put me in here, but he has no idea what he’s unleashed. I’ll make him regret trying to come between me and what belongs to me.

The abyss doesn’t feel so suffocating anymore. It’s familiar territory, where I can think clearly and plan. And plan I will.

The concrete walls blur as my mind drifts, clearer than ever. Each inhale brings fresh clarity, like emerging from murky waters into crisp mountain air. I map Marcus’s routines—his workout schedule, meal times, and the guards he’s bought. Every detail slots into place like puzzle pieces.

Then,herface appears. Willow, stretched out on a beach somewhere, hair catching golden sunlight. There are no prison walls, no boundaries between us, only warmth and freedom. The image shifts to a cabin in dense woods where no one can find us. Her laughter echoes through the trees.

Interesting.

She could be our anchor.

The fantasy shatters as Thompson slides my lunch tray through the slot. His voice drops low. “Marcus’s been asking about your doctor. Had his guys timing her arrivals, watching which entrance she uses.”

My blood turns to ice. The voices explode into a frenzy of rage, drowning out everything else.

KILL HIM!

TEAR HIS EYES OUT FOR DARING TO LOOK AT HER!

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