Chapter 27: The Storm Breaks

The night in Frigid Rock is thick with tension, the kind that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. It's like the whole prison is holding its breath, waiting for something to explode. I can feel it in the air, taste it in the back of my throat—something bad is coming.

I can’t stop thinking about the conversation I overheard earlier in the yard, the Aryan Brotherhood’s plan to start a riot and use Liberty as their bargaining chip. The thought of them getting their hands on her sends a surge of rage through me, hot and blinding. I’ve been in this game long enough to know how these things go down, and I’m not about to let them get away with it.

I make my way through the dimly lit corridors of the prison, the cold concrete walls pressing in on me from all sides. The Sevens are spread out, keeping an eye on the Aryans, ready to move the second things go south. I’ve got Maks and Dmitri on the inside, watching the guards, making sure we know the second the shift change happens.

Kolya is handling communications, making sure we can move quickly and efficiently without tipping our hand too early. It’s a delicate balance, but we’ve done this before. We know how to handle ourselves in a crisis.

But this time, it feels different. This time, it’s personal.

I can’t shake the image of Liberty from my mind, the way she looked at me earlier today, the fire in her eyes, the strength in her voice. She’s tough, tougher than I gave her credit for, but she’s not ready for what’s coming. She’s out of her depth, and it’s my job to make sure she doesn’t drown.

I reach the Sevens’ base of operations—a small, hidden room we’ve taken over deep in the bowels of the prison. It’s dark, the only light coming from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting long shadows across the room. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and adrenaline, the tension palpable.

Maks is already there, pacing back and forth, his expression grim. “It’s almost time,” he says, glancing at me as I enter. “The Aryans are gearing up. They’re getting ready to move.”

I nod, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. “We need to be ready. Kolya, you got eyes on the guards?”

Kolya, sitting at a makeshift desk in the corner, nods without looking up from the radio in front of him. “Yeah, they’re all in place. Shift change happens in fifteen minutes. That’s when the Aryans are going to make their move.”

“Good,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “We move as soon as they do. We can’t let them get anywhere near Liberty. If they even think about touching her, we take them down. No mercy.”

Dmitri, standing by the door with his arms crossed over his massive chest, grunts in agreement. “We’ll tear them apart if we have to.”

“Damn right,” I say, clenching my fists. “This isn’t just about protecting our turf anymore. This is about sending a message. They don’t get to mess with us. They don’t get to mess with her.”

The room falls silent, the only sound the distant hum of the prison, the ticking of the clock counting down to zero hour. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins, my heart pounding in my chest. This is it. This is where we make our stand.

“Alright,” I say, my voice low and steady. “Let’s get into position. Maks, you’re with me. Dmitri, you take the rear. Kolya, keep us updated. I don’t want any surprises.”

The Sevens nod, moving into action with a practiced efficiency that comes from years of working together. We know what we’re doing. We’ve done this before. But as I make my way down the dark corridors of the prison, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off, that this is bigger than any of us realize.

We reach the corridor outside Liberty’s quarters, the guards stationed there looking tense, their hands hovering near their weapons. They know something’s up, but they don’t know the full extent of it. They’re not ready for what’s coming.

I catch sight of Liberty through the small window in the door, pacing back and forth, her face etched with worry. She’s got that look again, the one that says she’s trying to figure everything out, trying to make sense of the chaos around her. But there’s something else there too—fear.

I hate seeing her like this, vulnerable, afraid. It makes me want to tear down the walls of this place, to destroy anything and anyone who might hurt her. But I can’t let my emotions get the best of me. I need to stay focused, stay sharp.

The seconds tick by, each one dragging out longer than the last. My muscles are coiled tight, ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble. I can feel the tension building, the pressure mounting, and I know it’s only a matter of time before everything explodes.

And then it happens.

A loud crash echoes through the corridor, followed by the sound of shouting, the heavy thud of boots on concrete. The Aryans are making their move, and they’re coming fast.

“Here we go,” I mutter under my breath, motioning for Maks and Dmitri to get into position. “Remember, we don’t let them get near her. We take them down, hard and fast.”

The Aryans round the corner, their faces twisted with anger, their eyes filled with determination. They’re not just here to cause trouble—they’re here to take over. And they’re willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.

Riker is at the front, his eyes locked on the door to Liberty’s quarters, a twisted smile on his face. He thinks he’s already won, that he’s going to walk out of here with her as his bargaining chip.

But he’s dead wrong.

I step forward, blocking his path, my fists clenched at my sides. “Not so fast, Riker,” I say, my voice cold and hard. “You’re not getting anywhere near her.”

Riker sneers, his eyes narrowing. “You think you can stop me, Sev? You think you can stand in the way of the Brotherhood?”

“I know I can,” I reply, taking a step closer, my voice low and dangerous. “You’re not taking over this prison. And you sure as hell aren’t laying a hand on her.”

Riker laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “You’re outnumbered, Sev. This is our time. Step aside, or we’ll make you.”

I glance over my shoulder at Maks and Dmitri, both of them ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. We might be outnumbered, but we’re not outgunned. We know this prison better than anyone, and we’re not going down without a fight.

“Last chance, Riker,” I say, my voice dripping with menace. “Turn around and walk away, or I’ll make you.”

Riker’s eyes flash with anger, and he takes a step forward, his hand reaching for the weapon at his side. But before he can draw it, I’m on him, my fist connecting with his jaw in a powerful, bone-crunching blow.

The fight erupts in a flurry of fists and shouts, the Sevens and the Aryans clashing in a brutal, no-holds-barred brawl. The sound of fists hitting flesh, of bones breaking, echoes through the corridor, a symphony of violence and rage.

I’m in the thick of it, my fists flying, my body moving on instinct. I take down one Aryan after another, my rage fueling every punch, every kick. I’m fighting for more than just survival—I’m fighting for Liberty, for her safety, for her life.

But no matter how many I take down, more keep coming, a relentless wave of anger and violence. I can feel my strength waning, my muscles screaming in protest, but I push through it, refusing to back down, refusing to let them win.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see it—a flash of movement, a shadow slipping through the chaos, heading straight for Liberty’s door.

“NO!” I shout, shoving past the Aryans in my way, my heart pounding in my chest. I can’t let them get to her. I won’t.

I reach the door just as it swings open, and I see Liberty standing there, her eyes wide with fear. She’s holding a makeshift weapon—a metal rod she must have pried loose from somewhere—and she’s ready to fight, but I can see the terror in her eyes.

“Get back!” I shout, shoving her back into the room as the Aryan lunges for her, his knife glinting in the dim light.

But I’m faster. I grab him by the throat, slamming him against the wall, my hand tightening around his neck. He struggles, gasping for air, but I don’t let go. I can’t. He was going to hurt her, and I can’t let that happen.

“Sev,” Liberty’s voice cuts through the haze of anger, pulling me back from the edge. “Let him go. Please.”

I hesitate, my grip tightening, but the look in her eyes—pleading, desperate—makes me release him. The Aryan slumps to the ground, gasping for breath, and I shove him away, my chest heaving with the effort of holding back my rage.