Page 34 of Masked Mayhem

“Just get to safety. I’ll deal with it. You’re the priority,” she assures me, a brave smile flitting across her face despite the fear in her eyes.

With an unsettling feeling of being torn between the safety of the SUV and the responsibility I feel for those still at the club, I reluctantly pull away from her grip. Havoc slides into the driver's seat, and Crow takes the passenger side, shutting the door confidently behind him.

As the engine roars to life, I look one last time at the fading glow of the club, wishing I could slam the door on my worries and lock them away. But the weight of dread settles in again, close behind me like a shadow in the night.

“Stay low and keep quiet,” Havoc instructs as we pull away from the curb, the city lights blurring past my window. “We’ll take the back roads to avoid any trouble.”

I nod, the tension in the air palpable. It goes unspoken, but we all know the implications of that masked man—it’s likely that he’s been watching me, stalking me, perhaps even lurking within the city’s depths.

Silence envelops the SUV as we navigate the streets of Boston, an eerie sense of doom settling over us. Unable to contain the whirlpool of thoughts any longer, I finally voice my worries.

“What if he’s waiting for us? What if he knows where we’re going?”

“If he’s been watching you, he doesn’t have a chance against us,” Crow says, his voice firm and unwavering.

“Lux set up the safehouse. It’s fortified, and we don’t come alone. We’re trained for these situations, and we’ll protect you, Whitney.”

I appreciate their confidence, but the knot in my stomach remains. For each comforting word, I think of Johnny, the cruel reality that death lurks too close within this line of work, and the nightmares that follow.

As we turn a corner, the SUV suddenly jolts to a stop. My heart races as I glance up, seeing the tail end of a figure in a dark coat standing suspiciously under a flickering streetlight. There’s an unsettling familiarity that pricks at my mind, but it can't be the guy from the club because he was still there when we left.

“Someone’s coming,” Havoc mutters, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Crow, check it out.”

Without hesitation, Crow leaps from the SUV, his frame hulking and tense as he approaches the man. My breath catches in my throat as I watch with wide eyes, afraid of what might happen next.

“Havoc... what if that’s him?” I whisper, my heart roaring in my chest.

“Stay calm. Keep your head down.”

I watch Crow move gracefully, eyes sharp and focused on the figure who turns to face him. The man’s face is obscured by shadows, but I can feel the tension building as they exchange words. I’m on the edge of my seat, chills racing along my spine. After what feels like an eternity, Crow turns back to us, his expression cold and unforgiving.

“It’s just a random drunk,” he states, visibly easing but still alert. “Let’s go.”

Before I can process the relief flooding through me, Havoc shifts the SUV into gear, and we’re off again, weaving through the night with a speed that accelerates the pounding in my chest.

As the city begins to fade into the distance behind me, a single thought distracts the worry clawing at my mind: the masked man. What did he want? What does he know? And more importantly, when—and if—I’d have to face him again. But for now, I push those thoughts away as we drive toward the only semblance of safety I have left, a fleeting notion that perhaps in time, I’d find a way to reclaim my life and face the fears that lurk in the dark.

twelve

Fantasies

Raze (“Havoc”)

Bust it Baby: Plies

Ican’thelpbutstealglances at Whitney in the rearview mirror, and each time, the same shadow of fear clouding her pretty light green eyes sends a spike of pain through my heart. Without her mask, her frown replaces her usual smile, and it fucking breaks me to see her like this. She stares blankly out of the tinted back window, trees blurring past in a rush, just going to show how much over the speed limit I'm going.

Even with my mask on, I can feel Hawk’s gaze on me, but there’s nothing to say with Whitney in the car—nothing she needs to hear. He’s likely wrestling with the same thought: we’re the only ones who have been stalking her—at least, that’s what we believed. We had no idea anyone else was stalking her every move. But our motivations couldn't be more different. We watch her because we fucking care. Our purpose is to ensure her safety, so when one of us isn't on alert, the other is. This stranger, however, wants to fucking scare her and possess her for all the wrong reasons.

A loud chime from the car speakers announces a new message, breaking through the tension. I pass my phone to Hawk, who scoffs and angles it toward me. As I read, I keep one eye on the road.

The dude's gone—stay alert. The cameras conveniently cut off just before e left. Check in when you arrive for a rundown on the plan.

A knot tightens in my stomach—the man who dared to wrap his fucking hands around my girl’s throat is still out there, and we know nothing about him. I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles cracking from the pressure. Venting the windows, Hawk lights a blunt, the pungent scent of weed wafting through the car and easing my tension before I even take a hit.

“How much longer until we’re there?” Whitney asks, finally breaking her silence since we left the club.

“By the time we finish this blunt, we should be there,” Hawk replies, turning in his seat to take a couple of hits before passing it to her.

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