Page 4 of Masked Mayhem

I arch an eyebrow. "Needed to see me? You? Why?" I tease, but deep down I’m desperate to know.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—desire, maybe, or perhaps it’s just the allure of the night fueling my imagination. He leans closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around me like a fog.

“You’re the best distraction I’ve found here. And,” he hesitates, almost as if the truth is a weight he has to carry, “I feel like you’re... different. Like there’s more to you than just this.”

He sweeps a hand towards the dark corners of the club, the shadows where secrets fester and dreams wither under neon lights. The compliment sends a rush of warmth through me, something bright and utterly foreign, evolving into a bittersweet reminder of what I’ve lost and possibly could still salvage.

“I guess this is as far from being a nurse as one can get,” I say softly, my smile faltering slightly. “But you’re right. I’ve spent too much of my life being someone else’s idea of who I should be.”

He nods, understanding sinking in. The way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m not just a woman on stage for his enjoyment, but a person with a past, a story he genuinely wants to hear.

“I can be here for you, you know,” he says, the intensity of his gaze pinning me in place. “If you want.”

The weight of my own choices presses down on me as I consider his offer. “You barely know me,” I challenge, draping my hair over my shoulder as a defense mechanism.

“I know enough,” he replies, unwavering. “You’re brave for still standing, even when the world is trying to knock you down. You’ve survived things that would fucking break most people.”

His declarations wash over me in waves. I find myself teetering on the edge of vulnerability, wondering if it’s worth the risk to allow someone inside again. My heart beats erratically, battling the instincts that have kept me wary.

But before I can respond, a fist slams against the bar, shattering the moment. The shout of a customer fills the air, a demand for attention drenched in drunken bravado. I flinch, my pulse racing, and I grip the edge of a nearby table, grounding myself. Red's eyes darken instantly, a fierce protective instinct evident as he turns towards the ruckus.

"Let me handle this," he growls, the playful air between us slipping into something dangerous.

“Wait—” I start, but the moment has passed, the cocoon we created torn apart by the harsh reality of the club.

I don’t want him fighting for me. I don’t want anyone fighting for me. It’s all too reminiscent of Dustin, too close for comfort. Before I can vocalize my thoughts, he pushes his way toward Johnny, confidence radiating like armor. I’m left standing here, consumed by fear and uncertainty, tempted to retreat back into my shell.

As Havoc and Crow rush over, the argument escalates, drawing a small crowd as the tension spikes. My stomach knots as I watch them, unwilling to let another man’s rage spiral out of control. The last time I felt this helpless, I was lying on a hospital bed, broken and terrified.

I force myself to move, making my way through the mess of bodies and flashing lights, my heart racing for a different reason this time. I reach the scene just as Red shoves Johnny back, asserting dominance but not cluing in that he’s treading into volatile territory.

“Enough!” My voice breaks through the noise, surprisingly firm, fueled by a rush of adrenaline as I step in between them. I grab Red's arm, pulling him back. “Just let it go. It’s not worth it.”

He looks down at me, surprise flashing across his face before he nods, backing off slightly. Johnny, still simmering with fury, takes a step forward, thinking he can intimidate us.

“Come on, Johnny. Let me walk you home,” I offer, my heart pounding fiercely, feeling the weight of every moment carrying the weight of my past.

Johnny hesitates, the adrenaline surging through him battling with the unexpected veracity of my tone.

“You'd walk me home, Raven?" He asks, almost as if he's in shock and obviously not remembering the numerous other times I've had to walk him home.

“Yeah, I would,” I reply, smiling, the conviction in my voice solidifying as I brace myself against the bar’s edge.

“You see the girl next to you?" Red sneers, facing Johnny with his body somewhat shielding mine. "We're here for her, not you. You’re ruining the fucking vibe. So why don’t you take your ass somewhere else? Nobody wants your bullshit tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence, the crowd around us still, as the atmosphere shifts. Johnny scoffs, weighing his options, and, finally, he huffs in annoyance before shoving past and storming out into the night. Relief floods through me, but it’s short-lived. As the adrenaline begins to fade, I turn back to see Red watching me, his dark, glass-like eyes unreadable.

“Wow,” he breathes, a hint of admiration sparkling in those very eyes. “You really offered to walk him home?”

“Yeah, well,” I reply weakly, running a hand through my hair to mask my rattle. “I've done it before. He usually calms down once we're outside and alone.”

As I face him, I’m hit with the realization that whatever this connection we share is, I can’t hide anymore. My past is a part of me, yes, but there’s strength in vulnerability too. I take a breath, steeling myself not only for the uncertainty of what comes next but also for the challenge of confronting my own fears.

“I appreciate you stepping in back there, Red. I... I don’t want to always feel like I’m in danger. Not here, not anymore.”

He steps closer, that charged energy still lingering in the air. “You’re in a different world now, Raven,” he says softly. “Things don’t just go away with a single token of bravery. You need to know how to handle yourself when trouble comes knocking,” his tone is almost a whisper, tempered with a mix of understanding and concern.

“I’m learning,” I reply, the truth wrapping around me like a protective layer.

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