Page 11 of Masked Mayhem

King laughs, stepping in. “You’ll find that remorse is a luxury we can’t afford. You must think. Assess. Act. If you hesitate, you won’t survive long. We work as a unit, or we fail as individuals. But tonight? Tonight was for you two. You’ve got the taste of blood in your mouth, and I expect you to fucking enjoy it.”

The crowd murmurs with excitement, each masked face looking on like wolves ready to pounce. But what do they see when they look at Red and 13—potential allies or future threats? Ignited bravery or foolishness that could expose us all?

“Now, get the fuck out of here and get some rest or some pussy, whatever your black hearts desire,” King drawls, his eyes glinting like daggers. “Tomorrow will be a busy night for you all."

As we step out into the dark streets, I can’t shake this aching feeling gnawing at my insides. This is the path we’ve chosen—the blood, the destruction—yet somehow, it feels like it’s just beginning. I glance back at Red and 13, now brothers-in-arms but forever marked by the savage tale we all share. And that’s when I realize that survival isn’t guaranteed.

The moment you begin to question is the moment you become weak. In this world, weakness can lead to death. A cycle continues: rebellion against a system that demands brutality. But I know one thing for certain: the line we walk now leads us deeper into a darkness that threatens to swallow us whole.

Instead of going home, Raze and I make a pit stop at Whitney's, standing on her balcony in the pitch black and watching her sleep for what seems to be hours. But it's only minutes we've been out here, and all I want to do is go inside and be with her. I fucking need her after the night we had. Looking at Raze, he feels the same way.

"Fuck it," he spits, putting his hood on with his mask brightly glowing blue. "I'm going in, and I'm getting what I want."

By "what I want," he means Whitney. He means fucking her. And he's too quick for me to stop him, so my ass follows him as he slips in through the sliding glass door, closing and locking it behind me.

He takes out his knife and drags the tip down the center of her chest, watching it rise and fall with her soft breaths and light murmurs. But as soon as she feels the tip poke into her smooth, delicate skin, her eyes fling open and she shoots up into a sitting position, my hand clamping over her mouth before she can scream.

"Shhh, Little Mischief, it's just us," I whisper in her ear, climbing in bed beside her, her body shivering against mine.

I slowly remove my hand as she nods, realizing who we are and that we're not Dustin, who she's deathly afraid of finding out where she is. She gives both of us a sheepish, lopsided look with anger in her eyes but a glimmer of intrigue that trumps everything else.

"What are you guys doing here?" She asks, her voice soft and hoarse; you can tell she's still tired.

"We needed to see you. We needed you," Raze admits, pulling out his black bandana from his pocket, folding it into a rectangle just wide enough to cover her eyes.

"Why do you still have your masks on? Will you take them off for me?" She looks at us, smiling, with so much hope in her eyes.

Raze and I shake our heads in unison, already knowing the answer. We can't show ourselves until we're ready—until she's ready—and now isn't that time. Instead, he holds up the blindfold and winks at her, making her roll her eyes.

"Put the fucking blindfold on, Little Mischief, and then we'll take our masks off."

As she tugs the blindfold over her eyes, a rush of muted vulnerability envelops her, making the air thick with unspoken tension. I watch as Raze leans closer, the flicker of excitement palpable between us. The shadows dance around us, intertwining with the rhythm of our heartbeats. Though we've just emerged from a night of violence, here in this intimate space with Whitney, everything feels raw and alive.

"Now what?" she whispers, her voice almost breathless, a mixture of anticipation and curiosity.

"Now, you just relax," I reply softly, propping myself up on one elbow while Raze shifts his weight, making sure she feels safe.

We’re all wired differently, but there’s a simmering chemistry pulsating in the small confines of the bed that binds us together, drawing us closer with each passing second. It also helps to have the past that we have, the bond that no one can break. It's just that Whitney doesn't know that we are the same guys from her past.

"Trust us," Raze adds, his tone gentle but firm—a reminder of the fine line we walk. "We’re not here to hurt you. We’d never do that."

"Okay," she responds hesitantly, her voice slightly shaky. "But you’re acting like I’m about to be part of some crazy, dangerous game or something."

I catch Raze’s eye, and we both chuckle, though it twinges with something deeper. The reality of our lives is far more complicated than a mere game, a truth she doesn’t yet grasp. Life with Masked Mayhem isn’t a choice; it’s a relentless grip that won’t loosen no matter how much we try. I want to shield her from it, but I understand that’s an impossible illusion.

"Just a little fun," I tease, trying to add levity to the thickening atmosphere.

Raze begins to trace soft lines on her arm with his fingers, eliciting a shiver. “Don’t worry, we’ll make this memorable.”

With her eyes still covered, she takes a deep breath. “Memorable how? What do you two have in mind?”

“Just a little exploration,” I whisper, leaning in closer so she can feel my presence rather than just hear my voice.

The warmth emanating from her skin contrasts sharply with the memories of violence in the basement, grounding me for the moment. With each spoken word, patience breeds confidence, and the frailty of the night fades away like smoke in the wind.

"Exploration sounds good," she says, and I can hear that hint of daring in her voice. "I’m ready."

And as if a signal was passed between Raze and me, we simultaneously reach for our masks. He pulls his off first, the subtle blue glow dimming into shadows, revealing a face marked by mischief and chaos but softened by affection for her.

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