Page 80 of Imprisoned

The last man tries to run. Axel catches him by the hair, dragging him back.

“Please...” the man sobs.

Axel’s response is to slam his head repeatedly into the wall until there’s nothing left but pulp and bone fragments.

The cabin falls silent except for Axel’s heavy breathing. He stands among the carnage, covered in blood and gore, his eyeswild with bloodlust. When he looks at me, I see the madness inside him, and I’m not afraid.

36

AXEL

The 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.

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