Page 55 of Masked Mayhem

“Whitney,” I whisper, the weight of her name heavy on my tongue. “I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts, a fire igniting in her eyes. “I don’t want to hear it right now. I just want you.”

She pulls me closer, and I can’t resist her pull, the way she makes me feel alive amid the darkness. I move again, sliding into her cunt like it’s a drug—the escape I desperately crave. The fire burns brighter, tinged with urgency, and for a moment, I forget everything else.

I fuck her, bent over my bike, fully aware that the others are watching. But I don't fucking care. Her pussy is soaked, my cock sliding in deep with ease, my hand cupping her tits under her shirt as I plow into her viciously.

She moans loudly, pushing her ass back against me, wanting me deeper and wanting more. So I give it to her, using her as a distraction from the bullshit tonight.

"Fuck, yes," she moans again, reaching between her legs to play with her clit to help get her over the edge quickly.

She then reaches down further and cups my balls, cradling them as I pound my cock into her relentlessly, showing not an ounce of mercy as I take out my frustration on her poor little pussy. But she takes it like a good girl, urging me to go deeper and harder until her pussy is squeezing my cock like a fucking vice. Her cum soaks me, dripping down my balls and my legs, landing on my pants where I'll always look to remember this night.

As she shakes and moans through her climax, I pull out of her and violently shove her back against the seat of my bike. I step closer, vigorously stroking my cock as my balls tighten, my orgasm about to erupt. And fuck, when it does, I bust all over her mouth, watching strings of my cum drip to her chest and coat her titties, making them glisten. I make sure everyone who's watching knows that she's fucking mine, including Havoc, but at this point, I don't care what he fucking does anymore.

I treat Whitney like my personal cum dumpster, covering her and leaving her a mess when I'm done. I don't even help clean her up because I want her to wear my cum for the rest of the night.

The ruthless grip of reality snaps back to me, and I suddenly find it impossible to drown out the noise of my conscience. While I'm lost in her, out there—beyond the intimacy of this embrace—the echoes of cheering and cruelty still linger in the air, a constant reminder of what I've done.

Before I can take it too far, I pull back slightly, drowning in her warmth but grappling with the storm raging inside me.

“Whitney, we can’t.”

She pulls away, brows furrowing in confusion and frustration. “Why not? You just killed a man in front of an entire crowd! You’re a fucking killer now, Cade. Accept it.”

The way she says it slices through me, and I tighten my grip on her shoulders, searching her face for something—anything—that would anchor me.

“You don’t understand. I didn’t want to do it. I was trying to hold back, but the crowd…” I trail off, the admission hanging between us.

“The fucking crowd wanted blood,” she snaps back. “And you gave it to them. You chose to be part of this. You chose to be their monster!” The hurt in her voice hits me square in the chest, but I can't falter now.

“Please, Whitney,” I plead, stepping closer, desperate for her to see my intent. “I’m not going to be this person. I never wanted to be. I thought I could protect you...”

“But you were losing yourself, Cade. And I can’t watch that happen.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and it feels like a noose tightening around my heart. "That's what happens to those who join Masked Mayhem."

I let out a shaky breath, knowing I'm at a crossroads. The fight might have ended physically, but the real battle rages on in the background—a battle not just for my life, but for Whitney’s trust and respect.

“Let’s just breathe,” I murmur, trying to mend the rift with my words. “I won’t let this be us. We’ll find a way out of this together. Just… give me a chance.”

For a moment, I see contemplation dance across her features. But the doubt lingers, pulling her gaze to the ground.

“You think it’s that easy to walk away from this? To cleanse yourself from the blood that’s now on your hands?”

“Yea,” I emphasize, my desperation growing. “We can figure this out. I can’t lose you like this. Not now.”

But as her expression shifts, I see the truth behind her sadness. Behind her pain, she knows something I don’t; she knows that I may already be too far gone. Her silence weighs heavily, and I press on.

“I’m not that man anymore, Whitney. Not really.”

She shakes her head, her lips pressed firmly together, and I feel the bitter sting of truth.

“You need to be careful, Cade,” she whispers, pulling her shorts back down. “This world doesn’t let you leave easily. We both know that.”

And that’s when I see it—the darkness lurking behind her own gaze, the fear of where this path is taking us. I catch the frail trembling of her body, and it ignites something deep within me. Sensing the shift, the realization of what I must do looms large.

“I’ll confront them,” I declare, my brows knitting together. “I’ll face King and D and make it clear that I’m done with this.”

Whitney’s eyes widen, a complex mix of concern and admiration pooling within them. “Cade, do you really think they'll let you just walk away after tonight? They never let anyone walk away, trust me.”

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