Page 30 of Masked Mayhem

We exchange glances, and without another word, we understand exactly what needs to happen. We brace ourselves, edging closer to the noise. Whatever was brewing in the darkness of the club was about to boil over, and we might be the only two in a position to stop it.

Drawing on our similar history, we push our fears down and take cautious steps toward the chaos looming ahead. As we round the corner, visions of vengeance dance wildly in our minds. I look over at her, and for the first time in what feels like forever, we wear the same determination on our faces.

Whatever threat awaits us now, we’re facing it together. And that might be enough to tip the scales in our fucking favor.

ten

Inside Job

Hawk (“Crow”)

Young, Dumb, & Broke: Khalid

WatchingWhitneydecisivelytakedown Red and 13 was undeniably the fucking highlight of my week. Who would have guessed she had such a powerful punch and could hold her own like that? I can't help but crave more of it. Although women aren't allowed in the MM arena, I genuinely believe Whitney would excel and outshine most of the guys we have in the mix right now.

As Raze and I step into the club following the brawl, we walk straight into another one. A newcomer foolishly decided to get overly friendly with one of the dancers. I can’t tear my eyes away as King and D pummel him mercilessly, turning him into a bloody mess on the girls' stage, right in front of everyone. It's not typical behavior for them, but I’ve noticed they’ve been spiraling into chaos lately, falling into a dark hole that I worry they might not escape.

I scan the room for Boston and Whitney but find no sign of them. I try to shake it off, assuming they’re together, and head out to find Raze. We’ve got to tie up the last bits of our next heist after closing tonight. Since one of the MM members has an in at a jewelry store we’re targeting, we should be in and out with nearly $500,000 in jewelry and cash in no time. But, as always, every job comes with risks, no matter how much we plan or who we have lined up to help.

Spotting Raze in his usual spot—where he keeps a watchful eye on Whitney while she dances—I take the seat next to him. He’s quieter than usual, which is his way of signaling that something is weighing on him. We grew up together, moving from group homes to foster homes, always placed in the same spot by some stroke of luck. Our bond runs deeper than any other relationship I have, and with Whitney, it’s a connection that feels fucking unbreakable.

"Where the fuck is she?" he asks, skipping the usual greetings.

"I have no idea. My best guess is she’s with Boston, talking or some shit. But given how much Whitney hates opening up—especially to girls—I don't know any more than you do," I reply, knowing my words will likely piss him off.

Just then, D whistles sharply, cutting off our conversation. A swarm of masked men drops what they’re doing and lines up at the basement door, including Red and 13. Raze and I stand, our frustration simmering over not seeing Whitney, but we know our priorities in this line of work—unfortunately, she comes second to the task at hand.

Downstairs, folding tables are set up in the common area, each one cluttered with black ski masks, latex gloves, earpieces, and walkie-talkies. Excitement surges in my chest, a fire igniting within me as I realize we're one step closer to the next job. That thrill makes all the surrounding chaos fade into the background.

"Find a set and stand with it," D instructs, watching everyone scramble to grab supplies from the tables.

Raze and I settle next to each other, with Red and 13 following closely, standing opposite us, their faces marred by bruises from Whitney’s earlier attack. I can't help but smile at the sight.

"We're hitting the jeweler tonight," King announces, moving through the room, ensuring everyone is present and alert.

When he approaches our table and takes in Red and 13's battered faces, he bursts into laughter, clearly aware of what transpired. He shakes his head at them, disappointment evident.

"Since you two let a girl half your size kick your asses, you’ll be with the lookouts—you’ll radio in on your walkie if anything seems off, and especially if you see anyone who isn’t MM approaching the area. Think you two can handle that?" King teases, shaking his head as he walks away.

"We can handle it, King," Red retorts, fury darkening his gaze.

"Yeah, we’ll see." He saunters over to D, swiping a cigarette from his hand.

"Since we have the code for the safe, that’s all we’re hitting tonight. Understood?" D informs the group, whispering something to Tann, who stands quietly beside him, nodding in agreement.

"We’ll have four inside the vault and about ten of you assisting with transporting the items in black duffel bags that will be provided. Think of it as an assembly line," D chuckles, shrugging. "Once a bag is full, pass it down the line to the loaders, who’ll then stow everything in the drivers' trunks. Those who have fast cars, you’ll be the getaway drivers. Tonight, no masks that will draw attention—just your official black Mayhem outfits, along with the ski masks and gloves on the table. Each of you will receive an earpiece and walkie for safety, and you're to keep a gun on you for preparedness."

Once we get the signal, we start getting suited up—swapping our face masks for ski masks and ensuring we are armed and ready, all dressed in our official black jumpsuit we're given upon initiation. Inside jobs usually go smoothly, but we always prepare for the unexpected because, in our line of work, anything can fucking happen.

When everyone is dressed, King and D separate us into distinct roles: lookouts, drivers, breachers, baggers, passers, and loaders. Raze and I land in the breachers category, our usual spot, due to our speed and efficiency.

The lookouts monitor for any threats while we’re inside. The drivers are responsible for transporting us to and from the job site, and most importantly, they sprint off with the haul, dispersing in different directions to evade any police or other issues that may arise before getting back to the club. The breachers are on the forefront, breaking into safes or directing tellers during bank jobs. The baggers gather up the goods we’re tasked with taking and load them into thick, black duffel bags, while the passers move the full bags down the line to loaders, who put the bags into the vehicles.

King and D always accompany us on jobs, though most often, they’re monitoring from a blacked-out car nearby, watching through our GoPros and listening in via earpieces. We do the heavy lifting while they reap most of the rewards, but that’s just the nature of the game.

Rather than leaving via the club's main entrance, we slip out through the basement doors, piling into separate all-black cars or SUVs. The ride is quiet, my mind racing back to thoughts of Whitney. Every time I glance at Raze, he’s equally lost in thought, likely thinking about Whitney as well.

As we near our destination, the group inside the car joins together in a prayer—the same one we recite before every job. I’m not particularly religious, but I murmur the words anyway, knowing it certainly can’t hurt.

---