Page 10 of Masked Mayhem

“Well, you heard D. Kill him! What the hell are you two waiting for?” King barks, his impatience bubbling to the surface.

“I thought we had a deal?” Red retorts angrily, confusion and frustration lacing his voice.

“I let you fucking believe we had a deal, but our word always takes precedence. If you survive initiation, you’ll learn that quickly.” King circles them, attempting to intimidate them with his fierce expression.

“Kill him, or be killed. Those are your only fucking options,” D growls, chain-smoking to calm his frayed nerves. “You think we’d allow you to walk out alive after witnessing everything you've witnessed?”

“W-we won’t say anything to an—” 13 stutters in a panic.

“I don’t give a fuck. That's not how this shit works. You either kill Johnny, or—” D’s gaze sweeps across the room, a silent command to the others. “—or I’ll have Havoc and Crow kill you.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd, and my heart sinks into my stomach. Raze and I have been part of Masked Mayhem for a while now and have killed only once, and that was a simple bullet fired from a distance. I’ve never been forced to engage in a brutal fight to the death, and hell, I don’t want to start tonight.

“Oh hell yeah,” Raze mutters, a manic grin spreading across his face as he eyes Red. “I’ll happily put that motherfucker down if it means he leaves Whitney alone.”

I shake my head, aware that he’s not thinking straight. Then again, maybe he is—I can’t tell anymore. His fixation on Whitney has slipped down a dark path, bordering on obsession, but I can’t fault him either. I recognize the depth of his feelings for her and understand just how far he’d go to protect her.

“I’m growing fucking bored and impatient, boys,” D complains, his calm demeanor deceptively still, like a predator waiting to pounce.

“Same here. We’re going to tell you one more fucking time—kill him or be killed,” King adds, returning to his previous spot by D, leaning casually against the wall, a chilling nonchalance in his posture.

As 13 begins to object once more, Red suddenly lunges at Johnny, slamming him to the ground with a force that echoes in the silence. The sickening crack of skull against concrete reverberates in the air as Red rains down punches, blood spilling freely from Johnny’s shattered face. 13 shakes his head, mumbles something under his breath, and kneels, prying Red off Johnny to take control himself.

We watch, breathless, as 13 grips Johnny by the hair, placing him in an unconventional chokehold. In a swift, calculated motion, he breaks Johnny’s neck and discards his lifeless body to the floor—ending the fight, the initiation, and the torment of what has surely been one of their darkest nights yet, but far from the last they will face.

King and D erupt into applause, sadistic grins illuminating their faces as they step forward, grasping Red and 13’s bloodied hands and lifting them triumphantly into the air. The masked crowd erupts in cheers while Johnny lies dead on the ground—beaten, broken, and bloodied, just as they had envisioned.

“Before we formally welcome our new members, we need to ensure Johnny is truly dead,” King announces, handing Red a sharp knife. “Slit his throat to guarantee he stays down.”

Fury and resentment coiling within him, Red seizes the knife and kneels beside Johnny's head. Gripping his matted hair, he lifts Johnny’s head and lays the blade against his neck, making a clean, decisive cut almost from ear to ear before discarding the knife. He rises, his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen.

D approaches, pulling back their masks to unveil the faces of our newest recruits—each a surprise. Red, with wide eyes framed by long lashes, fails to meet our gaze. His curly brown hair is matted with blood and sweat, but his fade remains immaculate. His clenched jaw, partially hidden by a shadow of stubble, betrays both tension and restraint.

13 has no facial hair; his striking blue eyes shimmer with unshed tears as he surveys the room, his nearly white blonde hair catching the bright lights. Though they differ in appearance, both are muscular and inked, embodying the same fierce spirit. Nevertheless, 13 stands slightly shorter than Red, whose broader physique gives him a more imposing presence. Regardless of their differences, they're here to stay.

Watching their fight, it’s clear: these new guys don’t fuck around.

But neither do we.

As the chaotic cheers slowly die down and the weight of Johnny's lifeless body sinks into the grimy concrete, the reality of what just unfolded settles over the room like a heavy cloud of smoke. King and D bask in their sadistic glory, relishing the power they hold over their newest recruits—a power built on blood and obedience. I can't help but feel a wave of nausea rising in my throat as I observe the aftermath, the gruesome reminder of our loyalty to Masked Mayhem.

“Welcome to the family, boys,” King sneers, clapping each of them on the back with unnecessary force. “You’ve just completed your initiation. But remember, this is just the fucking beginning. There is no way out, other than death, that is.”

“We’ve set a high bar for you two,” D adds, lighting another cigarette, the embers glowing like their twisted ambitions. “Your loyalty will be tested again, and it won’t always be this... straightforward. We’ll keep you on your toes.”

Red and 13 exchange a glance, and I can see the flicker of uncertainty in their eyes. They might have proved themselves tonight, but any ounce of bravado they carried into this twisted initiation is now increasingly eroded by what they’ve just done. I can't shake my growing unease at the depths they may be required to sink to in the future.

With Johnny’s death, a chill settles among us—a kind of truce formed through the blood spilled on the floor. We’ve shared the night air thick with violence, and now the thrill of survival seeps into the new guys' veins, mingling with the fear that soon replaces it.

“What’s next?” I wonder aloud, unable to hold back anymore.

“Next, they’ll learn our ways. Our code,” D says, glancing at me with an approving nod. “And they’ll be trained for the real shit, the missions that make or break a member. We’ve got contacts on the streets, potential deals brewing that only people like us can handle. But understand this: trust is earned, and loyalty is demanded.”

“I won’t be your fucking pawn,” Red interjects, his cockiness returning as fire ignites his spirit. “Your life-or-death threats won’t fucking scare us.”

I can see a mix of admiration and fear in the way the crowd responds to Red’s boldness. D’s expression shifts from amusement to blankness as he sizes up the defiance. For the first time tonight, he appears slightly less composed.

“You think you have a fucking choice, kid?” D says, his voice a dangerous whisper that sends a shiver down my spine. “You’ve already made your bed. You’re part of this world now, and there’s no backing out. Just remember what you did to Johnny when you start feeling remorse.”

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