Page 69 of Imprisoned

AXEL

Ihear their footsteps echo through the shower block before I see them. My skin prickles with anticipation as steam fills the air around me. Five of Marcus’s crew circle me like vultures, their faces twisted with hate.

“This is for Marcus,” one of them spits.

A smirk spreads across my face. I’ve been waiting for this moment.

The first one lunges clumsily. I grab his arm and twist until the bone snaps. His scream bounces off the tile walls. Before he hits the ground, I drive my knee into his temple. One down.

Two more rush me from different angles. I duck under a wild swing, letting them crash into each other. My elbow finds a throat. Something crunches. Blood sprays across the wet floor. The other one stares at me in horror as I reach for him and wrap my hands around his neck, squeezing not enough to kill him but enough for him to collapse, gasping for air.

“Who’s next?” My voice comes out in a growl that barely sounds human.

The remaining two back away, fear replacing their bravado. But there’s nowhere to run. I grab the nearest one by his hair andslam his face into the wall. Again. And again. Until his features are unrecognizable pulp.

The last one tries to bolt. I catch him by the back of his neck and drag him under the spray of scalding water. Hold him there as he thrashes.

“Tell Marcus that I won’t leave any survivors next time.”

When I release him, he scrambles away on hands and knees, leaving his unconscious and dead friends behind.

Looking at my handiwork, a familiar calm washes over me. This is who I am, what I am, the monster they made me.

I watch the blood swirl down the drain. Red staining the water—beautiful, perfect. They’re singing to me now, a symphony of screams and pleas that makes my skin buzz with electricity.

More.

We need more.

I press my forehead against the cool tile, letting the scalding water wash over me. The burn of my knuckles feels good. Pain keeps me grounded when the voices threaten to consume my mind.

“Shut up,” I snarl, but they only laugh. They know I enjoy it as much as they do. The way bones crack. The sound of flesh tearing. The metallic taste of blood in the air.

I try to focus on Willow’s face. She is the only thing that quiets the chaos in my mind. But today, even she can’t silence them completely.

Kill them all.

Paint the walls red.

Make them suffer.

I slam my fist into the wall, relishing the sharp sting of split knuckles. The voices grow louder, a cacophony of murderous passion. They show me visions of what I could do to Marcus’sremaining crew. How I could peel their skin off slowly. Make them beg for death.

“Soon,” I promise them. “We’ll have our fun soon.”

Steam rises around me as I clean every inch of my body. Can’t leave a single trace.

I take my time washing my hair and scrubbing under my nails. The water runs clear now. No one would guess what happened here just minutes ago. The bodies lay scattered across the shower floor, broken and lifeless. Well, most of them.

My towel hangs on the hook where I left it. I dry off, my movements calm and precise. There’s no rush. Rushing and panicking are how people get caught. I learned that lesson years ago.

Pulling on my prison uniform, I check myself in the clouded mirror. Not a spot of blood anywhere. Just another inmate finishing his shower. My reflection grins back at me.

I walk out of the shower block, my footprints the only sign I was ever there. There are no cameras in there—prison budget cuts are in my favor for once. When they find the bodies, I’ll be back in my cell.

Let them investigate. Let them question. They’ll never prove it was me. And Marcus? He’ll get the message loud and clear.

Back in my cell, I wipe the remaining dampness from my hair.

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