Page 42 of Masked Mayhem

The storm carries on outside, but here, in this small kitchen surrounded by smoke and laughter intertwined with fear, I no longer feel isolated. The darkness still lurks, but I find solace in their presence.

My heart swells as I take the chance to reassess my surroundings—this strange little sanctuary hidden away from the chaos, the two masked figures beside me who had taken it upon themselves to battle my demons. I can’t deny it: there’s something intoxicating about the thrill and the danger of it all.

fifteen

Protection Detail

Cade (“Red")

Same Asshole: Jelly Roll

Myfingersthrobandbleed from an abundance of paper cuts as I count the stolen money, while imposing masked men stand watch over 13 and me, the newest recruits in the perilous world of Masked Mayhem. In the absence of Havoc and Crow, we've been unexpectedly promoted, trusted with one of the highest positions—albeit temporarily—until their return. Had we not killed Johnny, we’d be far from this room, relegated to fucking grunt work, staking out the club's entrances and exits, and lame-ass shit like that.

We've managed to avoid updating the captain about our current predicament, largely to dodge questions regarding the gruesome, dismembered body recently discovered on Boston’s south shore. Plus, there's no way we'd pass a fucking drug test at this point.

As an undercover agent, you learn to embody the role all too well. Sometimes so well that you find yourself living that life, engaged in the very illegal activities you were meant to expose. By the time the higher-ups catch on, you’re already in too deep, and most agents hesitate to come out of their cover. Lately, that’s the feeling creeping over me, though I can’t be certain about 13.

I grew up in utter chaos, thriving on illegal activities. If it weren’t for my older brother pushing me to improve, I doubt I'd be standing here now. This world is dragging me back into the shadows and danger, the very realm I fought so fucking hard to escape.

But then there’s Whitney—fucking Whitney. She’s the reason I keep going, even if she’s not meant to be. It’s fucking impossible not to become obsessed with her. Those light green eyes have pierced through my soul, refusing to let go. She consumes my thoughts, my every desire; it just stings knowing I’m not the only one wanting her in this way. If only I could get Havoc and Crow out of my way, I could make her mine—only mine. Yet they cling to her like fucking leeches, entrenched so deeply in her life that they seem impossible to get rid of.

After counting another stack of cash, I pass it to 13 for a recount before he hands it to Kidd to run through the machine. I look up just in time to see King and D walking in, escorting Tann to the vault for the latest cash drop. My eyes lock with King’s, and an uncomfortable chill skitters down my spine. Something feels different since his last visit, and I know it has to do with Whitney. Once the three of them leave, I turn to 13, whispering to keep my words concealed.

"I think something else is going on," I tell him, continuing my count to avoid raising suspicion.

"Why?" he replies, his gaze fixed on the stack of cash in his hands.

"I just have this feeling. I think Whitney is back."

He shakes his head, puffing on a blunt laced with heroin, his eyes starting to droop from the drug. When he passes it to me, I take a hit, relishing the instant relaxation as the smoke fills my lungs and enters my bloodstream.

"Keep your fucking cover, man. We can't afford a slip-up now," he warns, his voice low and gravelly. "Just don’t go poking around where you shouldn’t."

"I'm n—"

"Red, 13, come with me," D calls as he and King re-enter the room, cutting off my reply.

We quickly pass the pile of money to a nearby member, rising to our feet, eager not to be told twice. In silence, we follow King and D through the neon-lit basement, moving in a straight line up the stairs to the main club. I’ve never been so grateful to be in a strip club; those hours spent counting cash made me feel like blowing my fucking brains out. I crave the thrill, the risk—not being confined to a room with others, unable to act.

I scan the girls dancing on stage, hoping to catch a glimpse of Whitney, but all I recognize is Boston. I quickly avert my gaze, painfully aware of how off-limits she is. We're led up another flight of stairs to King’s office, and the moment I step inside and see Whitney, it’s like a fresh breath of air fills my lungs. I feel invigorated, and I can’t help but smile beneath my mask.

I know she’s still upset with us for what we did to Johnny, but I hold onto the hope that what we had isn’t lost. She greets us with a tentative smile as we enter, taking our seat without command, and I notice that neither Havoc nor Crow is present.

Thank fucking God.

“Gentlemen,” King starts, lighting a cigarette that he hands to Whitney. “I need you to protect Raven here with your fucking lives.” His tone leaves no room for dissent, though neither of us would dare object.

“King, I told you I—” Whitney begins, but D quickly interrupts, concern evident in his voice.

“That motherfucker is still out there, Whit. We can’t let you go anywhere alone. With Havoc and Crow on another job, someone has to fill their shoes.”

“Fine,” she huffs, rolling her eyes.

I can tell she’s still harboring resentment over Johnny. But I’m determined to break through her defenses, to infiltrate the fortress surrounding her heart. After all, my job is to breach barriers—including those surrounding a fiercely guarded woman.

D's words hang heavily in the air as I watch Whitney's expression shift, indecision flickering across her face. The tension is palpable, clashing with the thick cloud of smoke swirling around us. She exhales sharply, visibly weighing the implications of being placed under our protection. I can see that the internal struggle lies not just with her unwillingness to lean on us, but also with the growing attraction she can no longer deny.

“Your safety is important, Whitney. We can’t risk the chance of that motherfucker coming after you,” King asserts, his voice laced with authority.

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