CHAPTER THIRTEEN:THE RISE OF A QUEENPIN.

Power in prison was about control. And control came from division.

I started planting doubts between the prisoners—whispers about stolen food, about betrayals, about hidden alliances.

"Did you see how she spoke with the guards today?" I murmured to one inmate.

"I heard she's getting extra food," I told another.

Paranoia spread like wildfire.

Fights broke out, alliances shattered. Women who had once trusted each other now turned into enemies. And through it all, I stayed silent, watching as chaos consumed them.

But I didn't stop there.

There was one prisoner—Angela. Ruthless, brutal, and feared by everyone.

I needed to take her down.

One night, I provoked her, making sure the guards weren't paying attention. "You think you're in charge here?" I sneered.

She lunged at me.

But I was faster.

Jade had trained me well. I dodged her attack, striking her ribs with all my strength. She gasped, but I didn't stop. I punched, kicked—each hit fueled by my hunger for revenge.

When she collapsed, blood dripping from her mouth, the other prisoners stared at me in shock.

The message was clear.

I wasn't weak anymore.

The police in this prison were no better than criminals. And one of them—Officer Barnes—was the worst.

He took pleasure in tormenting inmates, beating them for fun.

But he made a mistake.

He underestimated me.

One night, when he came into my cell to harass me, I played along. Pretended to be weak.

And when he got close enough—I struck.

I slammed my knee between his legs, making him stumble. Then, I grabbed his baton and smashed it into his head. He collapsed, groaning in pain.

I knelt beside him, my voice calm. "This is just the beginning."

I walked out of my cell, leaving him gasping on the floor.

The power was shifting.

And soon, I would have my revenge.

Whispers of my name spread through the prison like wildfire.

"She's dangerous."

"She's the real serial killer."

"She killed Maria and Brown."

At first, I wanted to fight it—to scream the truth. But then I realized something.

Fear was power.

So, I embraced it.

One night, when a group of prisoners cornered me in the yard, demanding answers, I smiled. A slow, sinister smile.

"You want to know the truth?" I whispered, stepping closer. "I didn't just kill Maria. I watched her beg before I threw her off that balcony."

They gasped.

"And Brown?" I chuckled. "He cried like a baby before I silenced him."

The way they looked at me—horrified, trembling—I knew I had them.

I wasn't the victim anymore.

I was the nightmare they feared.

The guards thought they ran this prison. They were wrong.

One night, I followed Officer Carter, one of the few female guards. I had always found her suspicious, the way she chose specific prisoners, the way some inmates simply vanished.

And then, I caught her.

I saw her leading two young prisoners through a hidden passage. And when I listened closely, I heard everything.

"You belong to your new owner now," she whispered, pushing them toward a man in a suit. "Behave, or you'll disappear forever."

Human trafficking.

Disgust filled me. But I didn't react—not yet.

Instead, I waited.

Later that night, when Carter entered the restroom alone, I cornered her.

I stepped out of the shadows, my voice low. "I know what you're doing."

She turned, startled, but before she could reach for her baton, I pressed a sharp piece of glass against her throat.

"If you even think of reporting me," I murmured, "remember this—I am the serial killer. If I could kill Maria and Brown without a second thought, imagine what I'd do to you."

She stiffened, fear flashing in her eyes.

"We can make a deal," she whispered.

I smirked. "That's what I thought."

Now, I had leverage.

And soon, this prison would be mine.

Carter was terrified of me now. Good.

She started following my orders, smuggling food to me when I was supposed to starve, giving me inside information about the guards, and keeping other prisoners off my back.

But I wanted more.

I wanted out.

One night, when she came to deliver a package to one of her contacts, I cornered her again. This time, I wasn't just threatening. I was making demands.

"I want the cartel's car key," I said, my voice cold. "Tonight."

She hesitated. "That's impossible—"

I pressed the sharp glass to her wrist, just enough to draw blood. "Make it possible."

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, I thought she'd resist. But she knew I wasn't bluffing. She nodded.

"It'll be in the supply room. Midnight. Be careful, the cameras—"

"I'll handle it," I cut her off.

Midnight.

The prison was quiet, most of the inmates asleep, except for the usual night patrols. I moved like a shadow, slipping past the dimly lit corridors, my heart pounding but my steps silent.

I reached the supply room. The key was right where Carter said it would be.

One problem—two guards were patrolling nearby.

I couldn't afford a fight. Not yet.

So, I waited.

When they turned the corner, I slipped out, made my way to the garage, and found the cartel's black SUV waiting. The engine was off, but the door was unlocked.

I slid in, heart racing, started the ignition, and—

The alarms blared.

Damn it!

I slammed my foot on the gas, crashing through the prison gate.

Bullets fired. Guards shouted.

But I didn't stop.

I vanished into the night, leaving behind the nightmare that had caged me for too long.

I was free.

But my revenge was just beginning.