Page 28 of Masked Mayhem

I spot Lux and Donovan discussing plans with a contractor, so I approach them, my backpack slung over my shoulder. Cade and Carter, stationed nearby, are keeping watch. Cade’s intense gaze sends a shiver down my spine, an unsettling feeling I can’t shake off as I greet my bosses with a determined smile.

“If it isn’t the lovely little Raven,” Lux says, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re early. Your shift doesn’t start for a while.”

“I know,” I reply, forcing a smile through the fluttering in my stomach. “I was hoping we could talk for a minute.”

The weight of unseen eyes on my back has my nerves on high alert. Noticing my unease, Lux nods, murmuring something to Donovan before gently taking my elbow and leading me away from the bustling crowd into the club through a side entrance. The echoes of our footsteps fill the vast, silent space as he guides me to his office on the second floor, which overlooks the dance floor below through one-way tinted glass. Although I've been here before, the discomfort still feels fresh, and I remain conscious of my worries lingering just beneath the surface.

“Sit,” he commands, his normally upbeat tone replaced by a seriousness that grabs my attention.

I sit on the edge of the chair, crossing my legs to stop the nervous bouncing of my foot. Lux retrieves a sleek bottle of tequila and two shot glasses before settling behind his large black oak desk. He pours us each a shot, sliding one toward me before tapping his glass against mine, both downing the fiery liquid in unison.

“So, Little Mischief, what can I do for you?” he asks, locking his gaze onto mine—a rare intensity that catches me off guard.

I clear my throat, attempting to organize my thoughts. “I think someone is stalking me,” I blurt out.

The color drains from Lux’s face, and concern replaces his usual bravado. “What makes you think that?”

And so, I recount the story—text messages, strange notes, the unsettling feeling of being watched, and the mess of drugs and paraphernalia I had found in the living room. With each word, a weight lifts slightly off my shoulders, but there's still a huge piece continuing to hold me down.

“I packed a bag and was hoping you’d let me stay here for a while until I can figure this shit out.” I clasp my hands tightly in my lap, fingers crossed, praying he won’t refuse me.

His expression darkens, anger and fear flickering across his features. Nodding, he softens just enough to smile. “Choose a VIP room, and I’ll have the cleaners come in for a deep clean. But no one can know you’re staying here—not even the guys, got it?”

“Yes, I understand. Thank you, Lux,” I exhale, a rush of relief flooding over me. “Have you seen Boston?”

“Yeah, she spent the night with me and Donovan the last couple of nights. She hasn’t been back to your place,” he replies.

A wave of gratitude washes over me; at least she wasn’t the one using it in my living room. Yet, the concern shifts—if it wasn’t Boston, then it has to be the stalker, and that terrifies me even more.

“Are you ready for work tonight?” Lux asks, pouring me another shot.

“Oh, yes, of course.” I smile, downing the shot, and my mind randomly drifts to Johnny as I slide my glass back to him.

“Another, huh?” Lux remarks, recognizing the weight resting on my shoulders.

“Yeah, and I could use another after this,” I laugh to lighten the mood. “By the way, I haven’t seen Johnny around in a few days. Do you know what’s up?”

Lux’s demeanor shifts again; his jaw clenches tight, and his eyes darken like a storm brewing. The atmosphere thickens, and I can sense that something's wrong. I lean back in my chair, waiting for an answer that feels like it will never come.

“Whitney,” he snaps, tense and defensive. “Don’t ask fucking questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“Lux, please, I just need to know what happened to him.” My voice trembles as I steel myself for the worst.

He sighs, handing me the tequila bottle. As I grip it, he pulls me to my feet, rounding the desk with a swift motion. I collide with the corner, pain jolting through my hip. Lux flicks on some music, reclining into his leather chair, his legs spread casually.

“You want to know what happened to Johnny?” He challenges, eyes gleaming with dark mirth. “Then fucking dance for me. You've always been my favorite.”

I hesitate momentarily but take a swig of tequila, letting the burn dissolve in my throat. Leaning into him, I begin to sway to the beat, trying to block out the fact that he's both my boss and Boston’s boyfriend.

“Turn the fuck around,” he commands, his hands gripping my hips and urging me to face away from him.

I comply, keeping my legs pressed together as I sway, my palms resting on his knees while I dance, blocking out my trepidation. A low groan escapes him, and I feel an unsettling thrill coursing through me.

“Dance for me, Little Mischief,” he growls, yanking my pants down a little, a strange powder being dumped on the top of my ass.

Despite the chaos, I smile, but the situation feels wrong. I feel the sharp touch of a cut straw, and my pulse quickens as he sniffs a line off my ass before smacking my cheek hard, forcing me into an uneasy rhythm. Although the tension simmers beneath the surface, I learned long ago to submit to Lux’s demands.

“What happened to Johnny?” I press, urgency lacing my words.

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