Page 43 of Masked Mayhem

He shoots a glance at 13 and me, gauging our reactions. I nod, willing to step in.

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” I promise, my eyes locked onto hers, trying to convey the sincerity behind my assurance, as if my gaze alone can breach the distance between us.

The crowded noise of the club dims to an echo, leaving only the rapid thump of my heart. She meets my gaze, and for a moment, the weight of the world falls away. But as quickly as it appears, the connection flickers out, replaced by her familiar wariness.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I can take care of my fucking self,” Whitney retorts, her tone combining defiance and vulnerability.

“We can’t afford to be short-sighted right now,” D cautions, his voice steady. “You don’t realize how dangerous it is. He hasn't been found, but he knows your every move. You’re obviously his only target.”

“Or I might just be the bait,” she shoots back, her chin lifting defiantly, eyes bright with anger.

“Too fucking risky,” I interject, stepping closer. “You’re not going to turn yourself into a target just because you want to prove something.”

My words hang in the air as I take in her reaction, the flicker of her anger shifting to something deeper, something hurt. Whitney’s stilettos click sharply against the floor as she moves away from me, heading for the window. She gazes out into the dimly lit streets of Boston, her silhouette framed by the faint glow of the city skyline.

“It’s always chaos with you guys. I didn’t ask to be thrown into this fucking mess.”

“Shit, neither did we,” I say softly, my voice low enough only she can hear. “But I’ll be damned if we let anyone else dictate your fate. It’s your life, but we care too much to just stand back and watch.”

She brushes her hair back, the light catching her features in a way that makes my heart ache. “Fine, but if this is going to work, we need to respect each other’s space. If I don’t want you around, I’ll let you know.”

“Deal,” I reply, feeling the tension shift slightly as if we’ve begun carving out a new understanding.

King interrupts, tossing his cigarette butt into an ashtray. “This isn’t some kind of fucking playdate. You’re not just here for protection; you’re part of this family, and right now, the whole family is at risk.”

“Right,” 13 adds. “And family looks out for each other. We’ll keep an eye on you, whether you fucking like it or not.”

Whitney turns around, the spark of rebellion in her eyes dimming slightly. “You’ve all been through hell. I get that. Just know that the last thing I want is to be a burden.”

“Then don’t be,” I assert, grateful for the stirring hope in my chest as I reflect on the lightness of her gaze. “Just let us do what we're good at. We take care of our own, and that includes you.”

Her gaze softens for an instant. “Okay, but no babysitting. I can handle myself,” she says firmly, attempting to regain her earlier control, yet I can see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Good,” King replies, his own features relaxing a fraction. “We’ll work in shifts to ensure someone’s always with you. You’d better get used to it till he's fucking caught.”

Suddenly, a loud crash reverberates from downstairs, shattering our fragile moment. I exchange a look with 13—a silent acknowledgment of the inevitable chaos that seems to be the constant in our lives.

“Let’s check it out,” I suggest, moving toward the door, instincts kicking in. “Stay close, Whit,” I add, shooting her a glance over my shoulder before plunging back into the fray.

There’s a small part of me that hopes it will be just another routine night, but in this world, I know that danger is never far behind. As we step back into the chaos of the club, adrenaline courses through my veins. I have to keep her safe—not just from outside threats, but also from my own growing affections. Because if I’m going to protect Whitney, I have to ensure I don’t lose myself in the fucking mayhem along the way.

sixteen

Getting Caught

Carter (“13”)

Fuck Her Brains Out: Montana of 300

AsIfliponthe lights, I quickly scan Whitney's apartment while Cade keeps her in the hall, waiting for the signal. Room after room, I check for the creep who's been stalking her, leaving her bedroom for last. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist rummaging through her drawers. I come across a pair of silky pink panties and slip them into my pocket, wanting something that carries her scent for when I'm away from her.

Yeah, I’m just as fucking infatuated with her as Cade is—just like Havoc and Crow. If it came down to it, I know who she would choose, but my plan is to gradually change her mind. This new job that has landed in our laps like a fucking unexpected Christmas gift gives us the opportunity to do exactly that.

After checking every corner of her apartment without finding anything, I head back to the door to let Cade and Whitney in. A wave of relief washes over her face as she steps into her home, a place she hasn’t seen in about a week. I can tell she feels better; her smile says it all. Once the door is shut and locked, the lights dim to a cozy glow, and she cues up some music, bringing back memories of the last time we were here together.

I slide my hand into my pocket, fingers curling around her silky thong, feeling little jolts to my cock at the thought of her wearing them... and me using my fucking teeth to take them off. Cade and I remain standing as Whitney grabs a bottle of liquor and her stash of weed from the kitchen. She strides back into the living room, hips swaying and determination radiating from her as she glances at us.

“Sit down and roll this while I change,” she commands, tossing her grinder and a bag of pot onto the couch.

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