Page 32 of Masked Mayhem

Before I can answer, the sound of shouting and sirens echoes closer. My pulse quickens, the weight of the bags on our backs suddenly feeling like a leaden anchor.

“I don't know who the fuck you're looking for, but are you the reason the fucking cops are coming?” I ask, my voice low as I peer behind him, desperate to know if he’s come to lead us into a trap.

As Raze and I stay to confront the mysterious man, everyone else rushes out a different exit, determined to make it back to the club without being caught.

“I’m not here to fight you,” he replies, glancing nervously toward the noise, urgency creeping into his voice. “I came to—”

“Get down!” Raze shouts, pulling me to the side just as the door bursts open, and all fucking hell breaks loose.

Bullets begin to spray once again, a reminder of the other night. But as I peer up to catch a glimpse of the intruders, I come face-to-face with King, who seems to have come to make sure I and Raze didn't get left behind. The masked stranger runs off in a different direction as the sirens get closer. King extends his hand to help us up, and as fast as we fucking can, we bolt from the door he kicked in, quickly getting into the waiting car with D behind the wheel.

Being cautious, we don't speed off, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves. We take off, passing the army of police and SWAT officers as they race to the scene we're just leaving, watching the red and blue flashing lights disappear into the night behind us.

eleven

Too Close for Comfort

Whitney

Mind Right: TK N Cash

Justbecausethebossesare away doesn't mean that business comes to a halt. With King, D, and the rest of Masked Mayhem off on yet another "mission," the rest of us dancers are left to keep the club alive, anxiously hoping we aren’t struck by another attack in their absence.

Normally when I dance, I immerse myself in the rhythm and give my all to each movement, but tonight, I’m fucking distracted. My mind keeps drifting to Johnny and the brutal way Red and 13 killed him. It's a nauseating thought, one that no amount of cocaine or liquor can erase from my consciousness, and tonight I've done a lot... nothing's fucking worked.

I’m too preoccupied with my thoughts to notice as a man in a glowing white mask takes a seat before the stage where I’m performing. However, as I hook my leg around the pole and spin, using a single hand to keep my balance, I find myself staring right into his masked face as I turn back towards the club. There’s something about him that sends chills down my spine, but I force myself not to react. Without uttering a word, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out several crisp hundred-dollar bills, waving them enticingly in the air to catch my attention.

Reluctantly, I saunter over, my heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, the sound echoing ominously in my ears. Once I’m close, I lower myself before him, my legs spread wide, and I manage a smile despite knowing he can’t see my expression behind my mask.

“Come down here,” he commands in a soft, unsettling tone, patting his upper thigh as an invitation for me to sit on his lap.

Without protest, I step off the stage and approach him, snatching the money from his gloved hand and tucking it into my top before beginning my dance. As my body glides against his, alarms blare in my head, urging me to run as fast and far as possible. But just as I contemplate leaving, King and D appear out of nowhere, their eyes silently urging me to turn back and finish the dance.

Reluctantly, I place my hand on his shoulder, my skin igniting at the point of contact. He grips my hips firmly and pulls me down onto his lap, forcing my gaze to meet his while his hand ventures around my throat—a line that should never be crossed in this place. I look to King and D for help, but they seem to have vanished, and panic surges within me with each passing second.

“Don’t be scared, Raven,” the stranger coos, my stage name rolling off his tongue in a way that sends shivers through me. “All I want is a dance.I’m not here to hurt you.”

His words only heighten my anxiety, and I struggle to maintain my composure while grinding against him, pinned in place by his strong grip. It’s uncomfortable being forced to look into his eyes while I can feel the hardness of his dick beneath me, and all I can do is fight the urge to vomit.

Still, I hold it together, attempting to remain professional, praying for anyone to come to my rescue. Just five minutes into this discomforting dance, my salvation appears in the form of Boston. She rushes over, sensing my unease, and pulls me off his lap with urgency, tearing me away from his controlling grasp.

“Um, sir, you’re not allowed to touch the dancers,especiallynot like that,” she snaps, her grip firm around my trembling hand.

“No harm done, Little Bird. I just wanted her to dance for me,” he replies, laughter lacing his voice as if this whole situation were amusing.

The look Boston gives him catches me off guard; fear registers in her eyes as she swiftly drags me away, guiding me towards the stairs that lead to Lux’s office. Once the door is locked behind us, we peer out from the glass, observing the masked man still sitting in his seat, unaware that we’re watching him. A chill envelops me, painful goosebumps prickling my skin, which feels as if it’s on fire.

“Who was that man?” Boston asks, her voice trembling.

“I… I really don’t know, but he made me uncomfortable,” I confess, realizing that in all my time working here, no customer has ever instilled this much fear in me.

As I glance at Boston, she’s rummaging through Lux’s liquor cabinet, retrieving a bottle of vodka. She walks over and takes a swig before offering it to me. After a few deep swallows, I hand the bottle back and let out a sigh, knowing I need to share the truth about my stalker situation. I recount everything that has been happening—the eerie text messages, the notes left behind, even the drugs I found on our coffee table.

The color drains from her face, and for once, she's at a loss for words. Then I recall her telling me about a similar incident from her past involving two stalkers that she had, but they turned out to be Lux and Donovan. But those men had her best interests at heart; the person stalking me does not, enhancing the daunting reality of my situation.

“Could it be your foster brothers?” she suggests, a glimmer of hope in her tone.

“I don’t think so. They wouldn’t act so recklessly.” I shudder, unable to tear my gaze from the man below.

---