Page 64 of Imprisoned

My crew laughs, but I catch movement at the corner of my eye. Six of Marcus’s men approach, spreading out to block our exit paths. Marcus himself steps forward, hands loose at his sides.

“Speaking about me?” Marcus’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Heard you’ve been spreading rumors about those bodies, Morrison. Not very neighborly.”

I rise slowly, my crew falling into position behind me. “Funny, I heard you’ve been taking photos of things that don’t belong to you.”

The yard goes quiet. Other inmates back away, forming a loose circle around us. The tower guards pretend not to notice because they know better than to interfere.

Marcus lunges first, telegraphing a right hook that I dodge easily. My fist connects with his jaw, bone cracking under my knuckles. His crew surges forward, but my boys meet them head-on.

The fight explodes into chaos. Torres brutally takes down two of Marcus’s men. Jackson grapples with another, driving knees into ribs until something snaps.

Marcus recovers, spitting blood. He pulls a shank from his sleeve - amateur move. I grab his wrist, twisting until the weapon clatters to the ground. My other hand finds his throat, squeezing as I slam him against the fence.

“Listen carefully.” I tighten my grip until his eyes bulge. “I run this place. Always have. Touch what’s mine again; they won’t find all the pieces.”

I release him, and he crumples, gasping. His crew lies scattered and groaning. Blood drips from my knuckles, but I barely feel it. The yard is silent except for the distant sound of alarm bells.

I turn to walk away when Marcus starts laughing.

“Your doctor’s damn hot in her pics.” Blood trickles from his mouth. “Especially in that blue dress she wore Tuesday. And the sex pics in her office? Porn-worthy, man.”

The screams explode in my head, screaming for blood. My vision goes red.

“You think those corrupt guards only work for you?” Marcus taunts. “I’ve got enough evidence to bury both of you.”

KILL HIM.

KILL HIM.

KILL HIM

A deafening roar fills my brain. My control snaps.

I’m on him before he can blink, fists pounding into his face. Bones crunch under my knuckles. His blood sprays across my arms, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop.

DESTROY HIM.

PROTECT HER.

MAKE HIM SUFFER.

Someone tries to pull me off. I throw them aside without looking. Marcus’s face is unrecognizable now, a mess of red pulp and broken teeth. Still, I keep hitting, lost in the familiar frenzy of violence.

Guards swarm the yard, whistles blaring. They hit me with batons, but I barely felt it through the rage. It takes four of them to drag me off Marcus’s limp body.

“Stand down, Morrison!” Thompson shouts, pressing a taser to my neck.

My murderous thoughts still scream for more violence, more blood. But Marcus lies motionless, unconscious or dead. Guards rush to check his pulse while others force me face-down on the concrete.

Cold steel bites into my wrists as they cuff me. The rage slowly ebbs, leaving behind an eerie calm. Let them take me to solitary. Marcus won’t threaten what’s mine again.

Blood still drips from my split knuckles as Thompson and Martinez drag me down the corridor. My feet leave red smears on the concrete floor. My brain is filled with a dull hum, satisfied with the violence.

A flash of blonde hair catches my attention. Willow stands frozen in the hallway, clipboard clutched to her chest. Her blue eyes widen as she takes in my blood-soaked appearance.

“What happened?” Her voice wavers slightly.

“Morrison here tried to kill Marcus in the yard,” Thompson grunts, yanking my chains. “Damn near succeeded too. Beat his face to hamburger meat.”

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