Page 73 of Victorious: Part 3
“No.” I grab her wrist with my good hand, probably gripping too tightly, but I need her to understand. “We’re getting you out of here first. That’s theonlything that matters. I need you safe, Mom—”
“Noah—”
“No, Mom. I’mnotleaving you in this place another second. I should have gotten you out years ago. I should have—”
“Stop!” Alpha’s voice cuts through our argument. He’s crouched beside us now, his eyes scanning my shoulder with the practiced gaze of someone who’s seen plenty of gunshot wounds. “Bullet went clean through. You’ll live, but we need to move. This place is about to become a warzone.”
With Mom’s arm around my waist, trying to support me, I struggle to my feet, my body aching like a motherfucker. The world tilts sideways for a moment, but I force it to steady.Adrenaline is one hell of a drug, and right now, it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
“Can you walk?” Alpha asks.
“I can do whatever I need to do to get my mom out of here.”
He nods, respect flickering in his eyes. “Good. Because we’re about to walk through one gigantic shitstorm.”
We help each other move toward the corridor that leads deeper into the prison. Mom keeps checking my shoulder, her maternal instincts warring with the need to keep moving. Every few steps, she whispers apologies for being here, for me getting shot, for everything that led to this moment.
I want to tell her she has nothing to be sorry for. That if anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. For not protecting her. For not finding a way to get her out of this place sooner. For dragging her into this mess with the Cartel.
But there’s no time for words now.
As we round the corner into the main cellblock, the sound hits us like a physical force.
Screaming.
Shouting.
The crash of metal against metal.
The riot Haven triggered is in full swing, and it’s everything I imagined and worse.
Women prisoners and guards locked in brutal combat. Bodies on the floor, some moving, some not. The pungent smell of tear gas mixes with smoke from fires that have been started in several cells. Emergency lights strobe red, casting everything in shifting shadows.
“Jesus!” I murmur.
“It’s okay,” Mom says, her voice steady despite the chaos around us. “My people are in here. They’ll protect us.”
As if summoned by her words, three women break from the chaos. They’re streaked in blood, most of it not theirs, faces wildwith adrenaline, armed with whatever they could rip from the walls or bodies. Splintered mop handles. Jagged metal rods. A guard’s baton gripped like it’s an extension of her arm.
“Valerie!” The shortest one, a woman with reddish-brown hair and cracked glasses, locks eyes with us. She looks like she should be shelving books in a quiet library, not striding through a prison riot, but there’s steel in her posture. “We’ve been looking for you. Heard the Cartel boys were making moves.”
“Lora,” Mom whispers, relief cutting through the tension. “This is my son, Noah. And his club president, Alpha. They’re here to get us out.”
Lora’s gaze darts to my bleeding shoulder, then to Alpha’s tactical gear. Her mouth curls into something fierce. “About damn time. You ready to blow this joint?”
Before Mom can answer, the far end of the corridor erupts. Cartel loyalists, guards, and inmates surge toward us with weapons raised. “Go!” Alpha barks.
We race forward, Lora and her crew forming a brutal wedge, their makeshift weapons swinging, taking out anyone getting in our way. The riot around us is a living beast, screams, gunfire, and the metallic clang of steel.
A guard lunges at me from the left, baton whistling for my skull, but Mom intercepts, snatching his wrist mid-swing, twisting until his bone pops. His scream is cut short by her knee slamming into his ribs, his body folds, and she smashes his face into the wall.
I widen my eyes as the asshole slides down the wall in a bloody heap.
She wipes her hands together and spins back to me, smiling widely. “What?” she asks.
And I can’t help but fight back a chuckle. “You’re a badass,” I say as we take off again, her holding me up as we go.
She chuckles under her breath as a soldier disguised as aguard with a shiv takes aim for Alpha’s side. Alpha sidesteps, catches by the collar, and drives a knee into his gut so hard I hear the air explode from the soldier’s lungs. Alpha doesn’t let go. He rams the guy headfirst into the cinderblock, the crack of impact echoing in my teeth. The man tries to stand back up, so Alpha grabs the gun from his guard belt and unloads his own bullets into the asshole’s spine. He lets out a yelp, his body flopping to the floor, and twitching, his eyes wide as he lies there unable to move. His spinal cord was clearly impacted by the wound. Alpha kicks him in the side for good measure, and then he leans down beside him, showing the guard his gun. “I’m keeping this,” Alpha says, shoving it down his jeans.
