Page 53 of Masked Mayhem

Together, we make our way deeper into the club. The throbbing bass reverberates in my chest as we dance, our movements fluid. Around us, laughter and conversation mix, filling the night with a sense of normalcy I haven’t felt in ages.

And though the shadow of fear still lingers on the fringes of my awareness, I’m starting to realize that perhaps I’m capable of reclaiming my love for this life, even amidst the chaos. I have to believe that the strength I've found in those I surround myself with will continue to ignite the fire within me, pushing back against the darkness of those I’ve left behind.

I decide that tonight, I’m going to dive deep into the music and embrace every moment. I will not let ghosts from my past dictate my future. Not anymore.

eighteen

Redemption

Cade (“Red)

Oxy Cotton: Lil Wyte

Withtheweekenduponus and no further disturbances from Whitney's stalker, King and D decide to host a thrilling fight night for Masked Mayhem. The crowd that has gathered appears to have nearly tripled since our last event, heightening my excitement as well as my nerves, because with them, you never know what they have up their fucking sleeves.

Whitney strolls through the basement alongside Boston, their masks still concealing their identities. The knowledge that she’ll be watching the fight only fuels my adrenaline, and I know I have to put on a good show for her if I'm the one chosen to fight. 13 suddenly pulls me aside into the bathroom, a look of concern etched across his face as he lifts his purple glowing mask and turns on the faucet and lowers his voice to a whisper.

"The captain wants us in his office at eight tomorrow morning," he reveals, his expression mirroring the dread that settles in my gut.

Since joining the dark and twisted world of Masked Mayhem, we’ve checked in only once and have been avoiding him and the rest of the team ever since. He either knows too much about what’s been going on and realizes we're in over our heads, or he’s simply due for a briefing because we’ve been dodging him. Either way, the news spins my thoughts into turmoil, amplifying the anxiety I already feel about the fight tonight.

"Did he sound angry, or…?" I ask nervously, scrubbing my hands for the third time in a futile attempt to ease my nerves.

"Nah, but he definitely seemed like something was off, so no matter what, we have to stop in tomorrow." He looks as rattled as I feel, but I’m determined not to let the news ruin our night.

After our hushed conversation in the bathroom, we rejoin the other members in the fighting room. A large, enthusiastic crowd has gathered, encircling a group of fighters who are busy at the end of pummeling one another for the thrill of it all. As I move closer, I spot the man from the other night standing in the center of the circle, his once-vibrant white mask appearing duller than usual. Thankfully, it’s clear he’s not the same individual who’s been stalking Whitney.

"Ah, Red, it’s great to see you!" D calls out as I step into view. "Why don’t you come join us in the center? You’re up for tonight's second fight, after all."

My jaw drops as I step forward, catching a glimpse of Whitney, seated comfortably on Havoc's lap, her front-row seat providing her with an unobstructed view of the impending showdown. I lock eyes with the masked man opposite me, fear evident in his gaze. He’s clearly not cut out for this brutal life; D must have something planned, or else I can't think of why he’d be my opponent.

"It's another fight to the death!" King bellows, sending a jolt of haunting memories from my first fight flashing through my mind and nearly throwing me off balance.

The crowd erupts with cheers, a thick cloud of weed smoke filling the air, offering me a contact high that helps settle my nerves as I prepare for battle. But the truth weighs heavily on me—I can’t bring myself to kill him, nor can I afford to be killed. I’m caught in a precarious position with no easy way out.

As the alarm sounds, the fight begins, and the unsuspecting man before me lunges forward too soon. I quickly retaliate, landing a fist squarely against his throat, causing him to stumble backward and nearly lose his footing. It’s a reaction ingrained in me from my time in the Marines, and one that has stayed with me throughout my law enforcement career.

What happens next is a blur—I lose my composure. I charge at him and unleash a barrage of blows, my fists connecting with his face and body with each strike. He lands a few decent hits, but he's no match for me or the copious amount of training I've had.

“You live by the mask and die by the mask" replays over and over in my head, and I force myself to follow the rules because I'm not trying to fucking die tonight.

I can feel the adrenaline surging through my veins, every punch sending a mix of exhilaration and guilt spiraling within me. The crowd is roaring, and their chants echo around the neon-lit room, pushing me to fight harder, to prove myself. But with every blow, I see Whitney’s face flash before me, her eyes wide with concern, and each impact becomes a reminder of the man I'm pounding into the ground.

“Come the fuck on, Red!” D shouts from the sidelines, egging the crowd on. “Let that fucking rage flow! Show him who you fucking are!”

But rage is the last thing I want to feel. This isn’t just a fight; it’s a mirror, reflecting my fears and my decisions. I dodge his next weak swing and counter with a knee to his gut, watching him double over in pain. The crumpled figure on the floor is losing resolve, and I’m losing my grip on what I’ve become.

“Stop,” I mutter under my breath, my thoughts spiraling as I glance back to where Whitney is still watching, her eyes locked on me. “I can’t do this.”

Suddenly, as if my thoughts might be manifesting themselves, I see the man’s eyes dart around the circle, likely looking for a way out, a way to escape this grim fate. I take a breath, and rather than throwing another punch, I step back.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I growl, making my voice steady despite the chaos around me.

I can’t betray who I am, not in front of Whitney. The crowd’s cheers begin to falter, confusion rippling through them as they sense the tension in the air.

“What?! You’ve got to be fucking kidding!” D yells, clearly unhappy about my sudden change in tactics. “Finish him, Red! Show no mercy, or your body is what the fucking cops will find in the Charles River tomorrow!”

There’s a heavy silence that falls over the room, an uneasy hush before the chaos of confusion ignites. D glares furiously, and I can see the tension in the crowd rising like a volatile gas ready to explode. Suddenly, King steps forward, his powerful presence commanding immediate attention.

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