Page 82 of Imprisoned

“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 oftension 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.

37

WILLOW

Iwake slowly, my body warm and heavy with fatigue. The first thing I register is Axel’s arm draped across my waist, his chest pressed against my back. For a moment, I’m disoriented—the unfamiliar surroundings, the hard floor beneath us, the thin blanket barely covering our bodies.

Then it all comes rushing back. The escape. The blood. The forest. We made it.

Sunlight filters through the cabin’s dirty window, painting the room in a golden hue. Dawn has arrived. Our contact should be here soon.

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