Page 60 of Imprisoned

“Looks like we made a mess.” I chuckle, reaching down to tuck myself back into my pants. “But damn, it was worth it.”

Willow rises on unsteady legs, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her blue eyes lock with mine, filled with an emotion I’ve never seen directed at me before.

Her fingers dance along my jaw. “I missed you so much.”

I capture her lips with mine, tasting her desperation, her need. Something unfamiliar stirs in my chest, and it’s not the usual rush of power or satisfaction from breaking someone down. This is... different.

“I missed you too.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I mean them. That’s what scares me.

The voices in my head start their familiar chorus.

She’s making you weak.

She’s just another toy.

Break her before she breaks you.

For her, I want to silence them.

I’ve never cared about anyone. People are tools, entertainment at best. I learned early that caring leads to pain and vulnerability. Yet here I am, holding this woman like she matters and is more than just another conquest.

Her fingers trace the tattoos on my arms, and I shiver, not from the touch but from the tenderness behind it. She sees the monster in me but doesn’t run. She walks right into my insanity and makes herself at home.

It should disgust me, this weakness. I should want to crush it to prove I’m still the cold-blooded killer everyone fears. But watching her trace my scars with such care, I can’t bring myself to push her away.

What the fuck is happening to me?

My arms tighten around her waist as these alien feelings war inside me. Part of me wants to break her neck and eliminate this threat to my control, but a larger part I didn’t know existed wants to keep her close, to protect her and what we’ve built.

I’ve never felt so out of control, so human. For the first time in my adult life, I want to embrace my humanity.

27

WILLOW

After lunch, I return to my office, my mind still hazy from Axel’s touch, when something on my desk catches my eye. My stomach drops. It’s photos—dozens of them scattered across the surface.

My palms grow clammy as I pick one up. It’s me walking to my car last week. Another few show me getting coffee, shopping, then at the gym.

“No, no, no.” The angles, the clarity—these weren’t taken with phone cameras. Someone’s been following me with professional equipment.

A photo of Axel and me kissing through my office window makes my blood run cold. The timestamp shows it was from our last session. My legs give out, and I sink into my chair.

That’s when I see the photo of my mother on her front porch, tending to her beloved roses. Red ink bleeds across the bottom: “Such a shame if something happened to her garden. Or her.”

My throat closes up. It must be the guards loyal to Marcus Kane. They must have been watching me this whole time. Building evidence. Waiting.

I grab my trash can and retch, but nothing comes up. The room spins as I gather the photos. I need to destroy them, but they’re proof—evidence of the surveillance and threat.

My mother’s face smiles in the photo, unaware of the danger I’ve put her in. What have I done? My choices, my desires—they’re not just affecting me anymore.

A shadow passes my door, and I freeze, photos clutched to my chest. Footsteps fade down the hall, but the fear remains, coiling around my spine like a serpent.

I need to warn Axel. First, I need to get my mother somewhere safe—away from here, away from the consequences of my descent into darkness.

The door swings open, and I shove the photos into my desk drawer. Eleanor stands in the doorway, her face tight with concern.

“Willow, do you have a minute? I’ve noticed some irregularities in the prison’s rehabilitation fund allocations.”

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