Page 46 of Masked Mayhem

Every round becomes a blend of teasing, laughter, and heated tension. Each time she wins, it feels like a small victory, her confidence shining brighter with every elbow jab and playful grin directed our way. When I lose, she gleefully declares her winnings, and I can't help but be drawn to the way she lights up at every compliment.

But in a moment of banter, as she leans over the table—her laughter ringing out like music—my phone buzzes forcefully in my pocket, cutting through the joyous atmosphere.

My expression shifts immediately as she turns to look at me, feeling the vibration against her ass, flat-lining into something more serious as I pull my phone out. It's an alert from the surveillance app I installed on the devices in her apartment. There's movement detected outside—something lurking just beyond her windows, escalating my fucking anxiety.

“Whitney, baby,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady but low, gesturing subtly toward Cade, who’s still reveling in the game. “I think you should sit this round out.”

“What? Why?” she protests, a hint of worry creeping in.

“Just fucking trust me. Please.” I stand, easing her onto the couch beside Cade, unable to mask the urgency in my tone.

But Cade catches the change in my demeanor and rises alongside me, glancing towards the windows. “What’s up?”

“Detective work," I whisper so she doesn’t hear. "Stay near Whitney,” I order, my voice stern without revealing too much.

There’s no way I’m letting her get caught off guard. As Cade moves to her side, pulling her onto his lap now, I slip toward the window in the living room, carefully peering through the curtain. My heart races at the sight of two dark figures lingering just out of reach. They seem hesitant, scanning the area as if they’re searching for something—or someone.

“Carter?” Whitney’s voice is barely a whisper, tinged with apprehension. “What’s happening?”

“They’re here,” I reply softly, a sense of dread creeping back into my veins. “The fucking stalker... but there's two of them.”

The figures remain just outside our view, but it’s enough to send chills crawling down my spine. I turn to see Whitney's eyes widening with fear, and without waiting another moment, I reach for my weapon, fully prepared to protect her—and refuse to let anyone tear apart our sanctuary tonight.

“Get ready,” I say firmly, trying to quell my own unease. “Whatever happens, stay low. And stay close.”

Cade meets my gaze, ready for action. “We’re not letting anyone hurt her,” he assures, but I can see the tension weaving through his facade.

With a newfound sense of urgency, the three of us prepare for a confrontation that will ultimately determine our fate—and hers. We’ll fight together, as a family, determined to shield her from the darkness that lurks just beyond the thin walls of this sanctuary.

But before Cade and I can check it out and catch them off guard, I see their shadows through the thin curtain covering the sliding door to the balcony. The door slides open, and we freeze, my gun aimed and ready to fire.

"Don't fucking shoot," one of them says, and I immediately recognize the voice, lowering my gun as my veins fill with rage.

Stepping out of the darkness and into the light are Havoc and Crow, masked and armed, completely ruining my fucking night. Cade and I lower our weapons, glaring in their direction as Whitney herself looks fucking pissed at them too.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?" She snaps, standing with her hands on her hips, her words slurred.

"Fucking checking on you, Little Mischief, what the fuck else?" Havoc growls back, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the three of us enjoying our time.

"I'm covered, Havoc. You scared the shit out of us."

"You can't be mad that we wanted to check on you, Whit," Crow interjects, shooting a deadly look toward me and Cade.

"Whatever. According to King, ya'll shouldn't even be here. That's what Red and 13 are for, so you can leave," she says, dismissing them with an attitude that clearly pisses them both off.

They glare at us, a threatening look in their eyes, as they turn and slip back into the night without another word. But with the mood now ruined, Whitney grabs the bottle of liquor and chugs it, falling into my lap as I sit down, releasing the breath I've been holding.

"Mmm, is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" She teases, spinning around so she's facing me, straddling my lap.

"Both," I laugh, suddenly getting an idea. "Have you ever ridden a gun before?" I ask, watching her curious eyes widen, a nervous grin dancing along her pouty lips.

"Uh, can't say I have," she laughs nervously, glancing between me and Cade.

"Well, tonight is your lucky night, Little Mischief, because you're going to be a good fucking girl for us and ride my gun. You're going to do exactly what we fucking tell you, aren't you?"

Almost as if she's in a trance, she nods, her mouth slamming on mine before I can get another word out. The kiss is demanding and hot, raising my cock and my blood pressure as Cade begins to make noise in the background, quickly undressing. He stands behind Whitney, lifting her shirt over her head, her tits bouncing in my face. He pulls her up off my lap, and I pull her shorts down, sitting her back on my lap with the muzzle of my gun pressing against her bare pussy.

I'm not entirely sure how the atmosphere shifted so quickly, but I can feel the tension crackling—a mixture of desire, danger, and adrenaline coursing through each of us. Whitney’s breath catches as she settles back down on me, the chill of the metal making her shiver slightly before she adjusts her position, driving herself down onto the muzzle of my gun, pressing her wet pussy against it.

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