Page 74 of Imprisoned

She moans as I bite down on her neck, marking her one last time in this hellhole. “We have two minutes before they sweep this section.”

“Plenty of time.” I push her against the wall, grinding against her. Need floods my system as I grip her hips. “Been waiting weeks for this moment.”

“Axel...” She claws at my shoulders. “We need to go.”

Right. Focus. I force myself to step back, though everything in me screams to take her right here.

More gunshots outside. Closer now. The riot’s spreading as planned—total chaos masking our escape route. Through the window, I notice the smoke rising from the east wing, where my crew set the biggest fire.

“Ready?” I grab her hand.

She nods, her eyes bright with excitement rather than fear. She is my perfect match, my little pixie embracing the darkness.

I pull Willow into the hallway, and she freezes at the sight of Rico and Tommy standing guard.

“What’s going on?” Her fingers tighten around mine. “Who are they?”

“Meet our escape team.” I keep my voice low, scanning the corridor for threats. “Rico is my second and has been with me for five years and never wavered. And Tommy? Best hacker this shithole’s ever seen.”

Rico nods at her, blood still dripping from his split lip. “Doc.”

Tommy shifts his weight, clutching his backpack. The kid looks nervous, but his hands are steady.

“We need them,” I tell her, catching her eye. “Rico knows how to handle himself in a fight, and Tommy can bypass any security system they throw at us. Both of them proved their loyalty.”

“How can you be sure?” Willow’s eyes dart between them.

“Because I saved their lives.” I guide her forward as another explosion rocks the building. “Rico was getting shanked by three of Marcus’s men when I stepped in. And Tommy? The Aryan Brotherhood wanted his head on a spike until I claimed him as crew.”

“They owe me,” I continue. “And they know crossing me means death. Right, boys?”

“Yes, boss.” They answer in unison.

Willow relaxes slightly, understanding dawning in her eyes. “That’s why you picked them. Not just for their skills.”

“Smart girl.” I kiss her temple, tasting smoke and sweat. “Now move.”

I drag Willow through the smoke-filled corridor, keeping her behind me as we navigate past bodies and debris. The old maintenance door’s exactly where she said it would be, hidden behind cleaning supplies in a forgotten storage closet.

“Your turn.” I step back, letting her unlock it with the key she stole from the maintenance supervisor last week.

The door creaks open, revealing a narrow tunnel stretching ahead. Willow pulls out a flashlight from her bag, the beam cutting through decades of dust and cobwebs.

“These tunnels were used for supplies back in the 40s.” She leads the way. “They sealed them off after three inmates escaped.”

“Smart girl, doing your research.” I follow close behind, one hand on her waist, the other gripping the shank. The voices stay quiet, focused on escape rather than bloodlust.

Water drips somewhere ahead. The air grows thick with mold and decay. Willow’s flashlight catches old rails embedded in the floor and remnants of abandoned supply carts.

“Two more turns.” She consults a hand-drawn map. “Then we’ll hit the exit shaft.”

Tommy and Rico follow silently behind us, their footsteps barely audible on the damp concrete. I keep one hand on Willow’s waist, guiding her while my other grips the shank. Every sense stays alert for any sign we’ve been followed.

Rico’s breathing is steady—he’s done this before. Tommy’s quick, shallow breaths betray his nerves, but the kid keeps moving without complaint. Smart. They both know better than to make unnecessary noise.

The tunnel narrows, forcing us to walk single file. I push Willow ahead of me to see her, Rico, and Tommy falling in line behind. The beam of her flashlight catches rats scurrying along the walls. Water drips somewhere, marking time like a metronome.

A distant explosion rocks the tunnel, sending dirt raining down. Above us, chaos reigns as fire and violence consume the prison. But down here, it’s just us and the pitch-black.

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