Page 73 of Imprisoned

“When do we?—”

“Just move. Now. Grab Tommy.”

I start walking, not waiting for his response. Rico falls in step beside me and signals for Tommy to follow. Rico is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Behind us, Snake’s laughter echoes across the yard, followed by the clang of weights hitting concrete.

My chest tightens for a split second. These men fought beside me and bled for me. But sentiment gets you killed. I learned that lesson early. Snake would sell us out in a heartbeat if someone offered him enough, and Dante... Dante’s rage makes him useful in a fight, but he’s a loaded gun waiting to go off.

We reach the entrance to Block C. Rico’s shoulders are tense, but he keeps his face blank as we pass the guards. Good. He understands what’s at stake.

The heavy metal door clangs shut behind us, leaving Snake and Dante in the yard. Sometimes, you have to cut people loose to survive. It’s nothing personal. Just business.

The first scream echoes through the prison yard, right on schedule. I watch through the bars as Dante and Snake attack the guards at their posts while chaos erupts in every block.

“Get moving!” I shove an inmate aside, my fists connecting with anyone stupid enough to block my path. Blood sprays across my face as Martinez, the guard I paid off, gets his throat slit by Marcus’s crew. Serves the greedy bastard right.

The riot spreads like wildfire through the corridors. Smoke billows from multiple fires my guys set as distractions. Alarms blare overhead, but I tune them out. Only one thing matters, getting to Willow’s office before anyone else.

“Morrison!” Marcus’s second-in-command charges at me with a shank. I dodge, grab his wrist, and slam his head against the wall. The crack of his skull brings a smile to my face.

“Thanks for the weapon.” I retrieve the blade from his limp fingers, stepping over his body.

Rico and Tommy follow close behind, their faces grim with determination. We move as a unit, a well-oiled machine forged in the fires of prison life.

Rico takes out a guard with a swift uppercut. At the same time, Tommy disables the electronic locks on the cell doors, sending another wave of inmates flooding into the fray. The kid’s skills are proving invaluable.

We round the corner to the administrative wing, and I spot two of Marcus’s crew blocking the path to Willow’s office. They see us coming and brace for a fight.

“I’ve got the ugly one,” Rico states, cracking his knuckles.

“They’re both ugly,” Tommy quips, his eyes darting nervously.

I don’t waste time on banter. I lunge forward, the shank gripped tight in my fist. The first guy swings a pipe at my head, but I duck and drive the blade into his gut. He goes down with a gurgling cry.

Rico grapples with the other one, trading blows in a brutal dance. I turn to assist, but Rico gains the upper hand, slamming the guy’s face into the wall with a sickening crunch.

“Didn’t need your help,” he spits, wiping blood from his split lip.

“Never said you did.” I clap him on the shoulder as we step over the bodies.

Two more guards rush me near the medical wing. The first one’s neck snaps easily. The second hits Rico with his baton before I drive the shank between his ribs.

Focus. Get to Willow.

Smoke stings my eyes as I round the corner to her office. Bodies litter the hallway—both guards and inmates. Good. My crew followed orders, clearing the path. They know she’s mine. Anyone who touches her dies screaming.

Through the haze, I spot her office door. My pulse hammers with deafening force, not from the fighting but from knowing she’s close.

“Little pixie, I’m coming for you.”

I kick down her office door, the wood splintering beneath my boot. Willow jumps from her desk, papers scattering. Her blue eyes widen at the blood coating my skin, but there’s no fear in them. Only recognition.

“Now?” She grabs her bag from under the desk.

“The riot is in full swing in Block C.” I cross the room in two strides, crushing her against me. Her mouth finds mine, desperate and hungry. The taste of her drowns out the screams and gunfire echoing through the halls.

“The guards?” She breaks away.

“Half are dead. Rest are dealing with fires in three different wings.” I slide my hand into her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. “Thompson’s gone. No one to identify you as my accomplice.”

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