Harleen’s wrists flicked with practiced precision, and in a heartbeat, she’d swiped two heavy black pistols from the guards’ holsters. Her movements were fluid, almost predatory, as she crossed the guns in front of her, using their holsters to rack the slides in one smooth motion.
Click-clack.
The sharp sound of bullets chambering snapped the guards’ heads around. Their jaws dropped, eyes wide with shock, as they processed the sight of the stunning psychologist now holding them at gunpoint. Daniel’s drunken haze shattered, his face paling. "Harleen, what the fuck? You’re wasted—put the guns down! This ain’t a goddamn game!"
Harleen’s lips curled into a wicked, unhinged grin, her eyes glinting with a dangerous thrill. She leveled both pistols at the nearest guards. "Sorry, boys. Playtime’s over."
Bang! Bang!
Two shots rang out in perfect sync, punching through the skulls of the guards she’d disarmed. Their bodies crumpled, gray brain matter and crimson blood spraying across the control console, pooling in sticky rivulets. The remaining guards froze, their hands fumbling for their weapons, but Harleen was a fucking machine. Her Level 5 Firearms Mastery—gifted by Jason’s system—made her a goddamn special forces operative. These desk-jockey guards, soft from years of pushing paper, didn’t stand a chance.
She swung her arms, firing with surgical precision.
Pop-pop-pop!
The remaining five guards dropped like flies, their bodies sprawling across the floor in a grotesque pile, blood seeping into the cracks of the linoleum. The air reeked of gunpowder and death.
Daniel’s buzz was gone, his face a mask of horror as he reached for his sidearm—only to grab air. ’Fuck.’ He’d ditched his holster for the date, wanting to look suave. ’Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ His heart sank, cold dread flooding his veins.
Harleen blew a puff of air across one gun’s barrel, a taunting smirk on her face as she aimed both weapons at him. Daniel threw his hands up, his voice trembling with rage and fear. "Goddamn it, Harleen! You’ve lost your fucking mind! You just killed seven guards—you’ll rot in a cell for the rest of your life!"
She tilted her head, her smile cold and unyielding. "I’m done with cages, Danny. Never coming back."
His face twisted, pain and betrayal warring in his eyes. "You don’t look drunk. You don’t look crazy. So what the hell is this? Why are you doing this?"
Her voice was steady, reverent. "For Jason."
Daniel’s jaw dropped, his mind reeling. He’d seen her spend hours with Jason, the only visitor who never left pissed off or humiliated. He’d thought his threats had kept Jason in line, but now it hit him like a freight train. "You... you’re one of his fucking cultists? Or did that bastard brainwash you?"
Harleen shook her head, her expression softening into something almost manic, her eyes glowing with devotion. "Neither. I’m in love with him."
Daniel’s world crumbled. Five years he’d chased her, groveled, poured his heart out, and tonight was their first goddamn date. Yet Jason, that piece-of-shit inmate, had her wrapped around his finger in days. "You fell for him? In a fucking week?" He roared, his voice cracking.
Harleen’s smile turned icy. "Love doesn’t play by your rules, Danny. Women who mix feelings with work? We don’t always crash and burn."
She squeezed the triggers, two precise shots shattering Daniel’s kneecaps. He collapsed, screaming, his voice raw with agony. "You fucking bitch!"
Harleen strode over, her red stilettos clicking ominously. She swung her leg, the pointed toe of her heel slamming into his face, knocking out two teeth in a spray of blood. "Don’t think I didn’t notice the bruises on my man," She hissed. "You’ve been roughing him up, you sadistic fuck. Don’t worry, I’m not killing you. I’m saving that pleasure for Jason."
Daniel spat blood, his face contorted with rage and pain. "You’re dreaming, you crazy whore! Long Island’s got over a thousand guards and a direct line to the fucking Marines. You and your boyfriend are dead tonight!"
Harleen laughed, a chilling sound. "You think we didn’t plan for that? Don’t underestimate me and my honey." She stepped to the control console and slammed a switch. A metallic groan echoed through the prison as the doors of over three hundred cells slid open.
Inmates stirred, roused from sleep, confusion clouding their faces. ’Nighttime yard time? What the fuck?’
Harleen’s voice boomed over the prison’s intercom, sultry but commanding. "Good evening, gentlemen. This is Dr. Harleen Quinzel, but you can call me Jason Walter’s woman."
The prisoners froze, their shock palpable. Harleen was a legend in Long Island—sexy, sharp, the shrink who could charm the devil himself. They’d all met her, and most had fantasized about her.
"Holy shit!" One inmate gasped.
"The doc’s with that bastard Jason?" Another growled.
"Fuck that, she’s mine!" A third roared, pounding his chest.
Harleen’s voice cut through again. "Tonight, our crew’s storming this place to spring Jason. This is your one shot to break free, to taste freedom again. Don’t waste it."
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The prison’s alarms blared, a piercing wail that jolted the guards awake. They scrambled from their bunks, racing to the armory, grabbing rifles and shotguns. The head officer, half-dressed, barked orders. "Move, move! Some of you secure the control room, the rest head to the cell blocks. Any inmate steps out of line, shoot to kill!"
A loudmouth prisoner shouted, "Bullshit! That bitch is using us as cannon fodder to fight the guards! Don’t fall for it!"
Harleen’s voice returned, calm but cutting. "You’re right—I am using you. Nothing in life’s free. You can stay here, let the guards beat you to death in these cages, or take this chance to run, to feel the sun on your face again. The choice is yours. Good luck."
She hit another switch, and the explosive collars around the inmates’ necks—each packing the punch of a grenade—unlocked with a soft click. Prisoners tore them off, hesitating as they stepped out of their cells. The prison exit loomed in the distance, a faint promise of freedom, of beaches and open skies. Hope flickered in their eyes, fragile but fierce.
Armed guards poured in, forming ranks, their rifles trained on the emerging inmates. The head officer’s voice boomed. "Back to your cells, now! Don’t be stupid. Long Island’s a fucking fortress—no one’s ever broken out, not Jason, not you. Don’t make us bury you."
The prisoners exchanged glances, uncertainty warring with desperation. Long Island was a steel tomb; every escape attempt in its history had ended in blood. But the open cell doors, the promise of freedom—it was too much to ignore, even if the odds were shit.
The officer’s patience snapped. "Three seconds! Get back or we open fire! Three, two, one—"
"Fuck these motherfuckers!" A prisoner roared, his voice raw with years of pent-up rage.
That was the spark. The inmates erupted, their eyes bloodshot with fury, years of abuse and humiliation boiling over. They charged the guards, screaming, fists swinging, some biting like feral dogs. The prison became a battlefield, a chaotic clash of desperation and violence.
"Shoot! Fucking shoot!" The head officer yelled, retreating behind his men.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire and primal roars echoed through the concrete halls, the prison descending into a blood-soaked inferno.
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