Page 57 of Masked Mayhem

“Hold on, Whitney!” I scream, pushing forward despite the chaos behind me, determined not to let anything happen to her. Not here. Not now.

As the finish line looms ahead, the shadows of what led us here haunt me, but I won’t let that stop me. The race isn’t just for bragging rights tonight—it’s for survival. And if I have to turn my bike around to save her, I will. We all might have masks to keep up appearances, but somehow, she’s the one unmasking deeper fears—fears of not only racing but living in a world where danger lurks away from the racetrack.

And as I push forward, my grip set on the throttle, I vow to keep her safe. Because whether I like it or not, this fight is just as much hers as it is mine.

Without hesitation, I crank the throttle and pull ahead, heart pounding as adrenaline courses through my veins. The roar of engines fills my ears, but all I can focus on is Whitney and Boston. I need to get to them before they’re swallowed by the chaos of twisted metal and shattered dreams.

“C’mon, c’mon!” I mutter under my breath, weaving through the racers like a calculating predator, ducking and dodging with precision.

I spot Boston a few bikes ahead, waving frantically as she tries to guide Whitney back toward the pack. Fear laces through me; she needs to abandon that reckless streak if she wants to play this fucking game.

The bikes buzz around us, menacing and aggressive, demanding full attention. But as we breach the edge of the wreck, I can see the chaos unfurling in my mind’s eye—a vivid flash of horror. The screeching tires, the system of bodies crumpling to the asphalt, the splintered fragments of broken hopes. I refuse to let that fate touch us, and with a fierce grunt, I push the bike harder, feeling its responsive growl grow louder as I chase after them.

I’m gaining ground, but it feels like the world is shifting beneath me—the ground writhing with danger I can almost taste in the air. The finish line is close, but I haven’t crossed it yet—and there’s no way I’ll abandon anyone in this mess.

Just as I’m about to break through the tangled mess of racers trying to maneuver around the wreck, I see it—a flash of blue against the darkened silhouettes of bikes. Whitney’s visor mirrors my panic, and it’s enough fuel for my fire. If she can fight through the fear, so can I.

“Hawk!” I shout, not bothering to turn my head. I know he’s right behind me—he always is—and the unspoken bond between us fuels my determination. “We have to get her out!”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but I feel his resolve solidifying like concrete. As he maneuvers expertly through the chaos with an unmatched grace, we surge closer, our makeshift team racing against time in a relentless game of survival.

I see Whitney struggling to steady herself, the glassy surface of her helmet reflecting the starlit sky. Just then, as fate would have it, an errant biker swerves into her path, too lost in the frenzy to see her. Time seems to slow as my heart drops in my chest, every primal instinct screaming at me to intervene. Without thinking, I lean hard to the left, my bike slipping toward Whitney’s line.

“Get out of the way!” I shout again, my voice breaking through the roar of bikes.

In that frantic second, I watch the biker collide with the edge of Whitney’s path, and everything falls into a blur—the screech of tires, the sound of metal colliding, the potential for catastrophe that threatens to spiral out of control. She manages to swerve, her instincts kicking in as she barely avoids the incoming threat. I’m closer now, just steps away. I reach out, pushing all limitations as the distance between us shrinks.

“Whitney!” I yell, but any attempt to reassure her is drowned out by the beastly choir of engines and chaos around us.

In a last-ditch effort, I extend my arm, fingers gripping her jacket as I pull her closer—more than just to save her from this moment, but to show her that she doesn’t have to face this alone. The frantic vibes of the race pulse through us as I steer to avoid the wreck chaos while holding her secure.

We clip through the air, weaving dangerously into open space just as the finish line breaches us like a beacon of hope ahead. The thrum of engines shakes my core as the end flies by, but it feels as if the real race is still yet to unfold.

We manage to roll past the crowd, and suddenly the world around us bursts into cheers and screams, the thrill of victory exploding as tires still cling to asphalt. The roar of camaraderie envelops me, but all I can focus on is the tight grip of Whitney in my hold.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I demand breathlessly, glancing at her face, reflecting a mixture of exhilaration and defiance.

“I’m not letting anyone take control of my life, not even you!” she pushes back, but I can see the shimmering doubt flickering behind her resolve.

Hawk joins us, brows furrowed with concern. “That was reckless! You could have been—”

“—taken down by that fucking crash,” I retort, cutting him off. I feel the heat rise in my chest, adrenaline mixing with anger. “If you’re going to ride with us, you have to understand the stakes. It’s more than just a race; it’s fucking survival out here!”

“Then tell King and D to stop dragging me into this!” Whitney snaps, voice rising with emotion. “I can handle myself. I don’t need rescuing!”

“Maybe you don’t, but you need to know how to race!” I counter, my heart racing. “This isn’t just for you; it’s for all of us. We don’t leave anyone behind, but you keep putting yourself in fucking danger!”

Her eyes are blazing, and for a moment, it feels like the world shrinks down to just the two of us, a collision of fire and ice. I inhale deeply, forcing a calm to settle inside me.

“Look, this isn’t about me trying to control you. It’s about the fact that these races are lethal. What you do affects us all. Just… think for a fucking second. You want your power back? You can have it, but not like this.”

Whitney’s guard lowers a notch, the tension in her posture wavering as she searches my gaze. A silence stretches between us, and for once, it feels raw, unfiltered. I remember the moment we shared before the race—a flicker of something more than just adrenaline-fueled chaos beckoning beneath our masks. I swallow and try to break that tension.

“They may allow bikes in the race, but you need to learn when to throttle back,” I finally say, voice even.

She nods slowly, her anger dissipating as understanding settles in. “I’ll do better,” she promises, her voice steadier now.

I give a curt nod and let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. This time, it feels like it's more than just about racing. We’re in this together, masks and all, and whatever is lurking in the background is nothing more than a shadow compared to what we’ve just survived.

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