“Good,” I mutter, already planning. “And what happens during those riots you mentioned? When things get out of control, how do the staff respond?”
Her lips curl into a sly grin, and she leans even closer. “When the patients riot, the staff panic. They go all in, trying to lock down the floor and subdue the chaos. It’s all hands-on deck for wherever the trouble is.”
Containment—exactly what I need.
I nod, my mind racing. “Alright, here’s the plan. We’re going to start something. Something big enough to pull every single staff member to the main floor. While they’re scrambling to contain it, I’m going to get a keycard for the doors, and we’ll make it downstairs to the kitchen.”
“You’re going to start a riot?”
I smirk faintly. “Not just me. We’re going to start a riot. And we’re going to make it count.”
For a moment, she stares at me, the weight of my words settling in. Then, her lips twitch with a small, devilish smile.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ty
The door’s strength pisses me the fuck off. This is the last fucking thing I need—a door standing between me and what I came here for.
I reach into the bag slung over my shoulder, my hand brushing against the cold steel. My fingers close around the handle of the axe. There’s something satisfying about holding my weapon—the primal energy it gives me.
With a quick motion, I pull the axe free from the bag and raise it above my head. I don’t hesitate. With a growl, I swing the axe with everything I’ve got, the heavy wood biting into the door. It splinters with a satisfying crack, and I swing again, this time with more power. The wood shatters, falling apart in pieces, a massive hole opening in the door with each swing.
Another strike.
And another.
Then I give it a firm shove with my shoulder, and I burst through it, smashing into a steel trolly, pots and pans spilling onto the floor, echoing and crashing.
Fuck.
I don’t even stop to check the damage, don’t care about the fucking noise I’ve made. My focus is on what lies ahead. Raven is here. I can feel it and it’s time to cause absolute mayhem.
Welcome fucking home, Ty
I storm toward the double doors, my boots slamming against the floor, the axe still heavy in my grip. I don’t give a shit about making noise anymore. I’m done being quiet, done sneaking around.
But as I reach for the door, the sound of footsteps in front of me freezes me mid-motion. I watch as the door swings open, and there he is—the chef. His eyes widen when he sees me, the kitchen knife in his hand suddenly looking like a fucking toy in comparison to the axe I’m holding.
He barely has time to react.
I lunge forward, grabbing him by the throat with one hand, lifting him off his feet. His body struggles, his hands flapping, before I shove him, and he stumbles backward. I bring the axe down in a swift, brutal sweep. The sound of steel ripping through flesh echoes in the room. His scream is cut short as I slash across his chest, opening him up like a gutted fish.
He’s against the wall, blood spurting from the wound, but I don’t give him a chance to recover. With a savage yank, I drag him back to me, the chef's gasps filling the air before I brutally bury the axe deep into his stomach.
I pull the blade free, his blood staining my hands, and he crumples to the floor in a heap, twitching, choking on his own blood.
I barely glance at him, my eyes already searching. And there it is—a keycard, dangling from a chain around his neck.
I rip it off, slipping it into my pocket with quick, practiced movements.
One down.
I glance at the door once more, eyes burning with rage. I push through the kitchen door, stepping over the chef’s lifeless body, my mind locked on one thing—getting to her.
…
I move cautiously, each step echoes off the walls as I slip through the halls, the memories of my years spent inside here flooding back. Fifteen years. I know this place like the back of my hand—the layout, the blind spots, the cameras. It’s all second nature to me now. The only thing that’s different is that I’m not a fucking prisoner anymore.