Page 13 of Victorious: Part I

I exhale sharply, forcing my legs to move, even though every step away from her feels wrong. But just as I move to turn, Miller reappears. His expression is unreadable, but his movements aren’t.

A subtle nod. A quiet order.

Follow.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I glance around, making sure no one is paying attention.

No cameras.

No wandering eyes.

Then, I move.

Miller leads me to a small alcove near the exit, tucked away from sight. The air feels heavier here. Like we’re standing on the edge of something unknown.

His voice is low, measured. “Your mother’s a tough lady.”

I let out a bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I know that. What I don’t know iswhat the hellis going on. She’s not telling me everything.”

Miller shifts, glancing around, making sure we are alone. Then he meets my gaze. “There’s been an unusual movement among certain inmates.” His voice drops even lower. “Women are being transferred in from other facilities. All appearing with the same distinct marking.”

“Mom mentioned a tattoo, some kind of V-formation?”

Miller nods. “It started small, just a few women. But in the last two weeks, we’ve had more than a dozen transfers. They all seem connected somehow.”

Furrowing my brows, I fold my arms over my chest. “Connected to what?”

“That’s just it, we don’t know. But they’re organized, disciplined. They appear to be preparing for something.” He hesitates, then adds, “Two of your mother’s allies were jumped in the laundry room last week. Could have been killed if a guard hadn’t intervened.”

Rolling my shoulders, I curl my top lip at him. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Your mother insisted. Said you had enough on your plate.” Miller shifts uncomfortably. “There’s something else. Before his death, Atlas established a network within the prison system. These women, the ones with the marks, theyallhave connections to him or to the people he worked with.”

My stomach begins to churn as I crane my neck to the side. “The drug gang,” I mutter, pieces starting to click into place.

“Maybe. We can’t be sure. But whatever’s happening, it’s coordinated, methodical. And your mother’s standing right in the way.”

“I need to talk to the warden,” I snap, already planning my next move.

His hand reaches out, gripping my shoulder to stop me. “He’s aware of the situation,” Miller assures me. “But there’s only so much he can do without concrete evidence. These women haven’t broken any major rules, just small infractions, nothing that would justify isolation.”

“Then I’ll find some damn evidence,” I grunt out the words, shrugging his hand off me. “Just keep a fucking eye on her for me. Can you do that, at least?”

Miller nods. “I’ll do what I can. But be careful, Drake. Whatever’s brewing, it’s bigger than simple prison politics.” He exhales, his eyes turning somber. “I feel like this shit…” Miller sighs. “If news of it breaks, the tentacles are going to leech further thananyonecan predict.”

Gritting my teeth, I run my fingers through my hair. “Thanks for the heads up, man, but I gotta go.”

He slaps my shoulder again, this time with a sympathetic smile. “I’ll do my best. I swear, Drake.”

Simply nodding in reply, I spin on my heels, suddenly feeling the need to run like fucking hell to get back to my bike.

Today was supposed to be a day of celebration.

We took down the fucking Governor of California—I mean, that is goddamn huge.

But that’s the thing about my life, right?

Whenever I get a win, a really big fucking catastrophe hits straight after.

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