Page 58 of Masked Mayhem

I sit on the roof of the club, drinking alone, trying to accept the loss of a few close members out on the track. It feels surreal, and winning the fucking race doesn't feel as good as it should. Though we all know what we sign up for when we sell our souls to Masked Mayhem, the reality of it is that we just can't prepare ourselves for the loss of a friend.

Hawk is enjoying himself at the party Maksed is having for the winners, but I had to sneak out here to get some air. I needed a reminder that life, even though we don't treat it as such, is a precious thing, and we must protect it while living it to the fullest.

I hear the unmistakable sound of heels clicking against the shingles on the roof, and I know right away that it's Whitney coming to talk about the race and hopefully why she decided joining was a good fucking idea.

She appears from the staircase, a silhouette against the glow of the party below, her hair slightly tousled by the wind. There's a determination in the way she holds herself, and despite everything, I feel an odd sense of comfort in her presence.

“Thought I’d find you up here,” she says, her voice carrying over the roof. There's an edge to it, a blend of curiosity and the weight of unspoken words that hangs between us like the smoke from the blunt in my hand.

“Just needed some air,” I reply, gesturing to the chaos that rages below. “You know how it is. The loss… it’s hitting hard.”

She nods solemnly, taking a seat next to me, her gaze drifting out over the city. “I know. I still can’t believe they’re gone. It all happened so fast. One moment they’re racing, and the next…” Her voice trails off, and the silence stretches, thick with grief.

“Yeah. It's one hell of a reminder that in this life, things can change in the blink of an eye.”

I take a swig from my bottle, letting the bitterness of the alcohol settle on my tongue. It’s comforting in its own way—a distraction, a numbing agent for the pain of losing someone who fights just as hard as we do.

Whitney shifts, her elbows resting on her knees as she looks at me, searching for something in my expression. “I didn’t mean to put myself in danger out there. I just wanted…”

“To prove you could hold your own? I get it.” I lean against the brick ledge, the coolness grounding me as I consider her words. “But this isn’t a playground; it’s a fucking battlefield. And we’ve already lost too many.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me to be a part of it?” She challenges, a flicker of the old fire igniting in her voice, tinged with vulnerability. “Are you just going to keep trying to protect me, or are you going to let me prove that I can fight my own battles?”

I turn to face her, the seriousness in her eyes striking a chord deep within me. There’s strength there—a resilience that reminds me of what we fight for, what we all risk on these brutal roads.

“It’s not about control, Whitney. It’s about seeing the bigger picture. You’re fighting more than just those races; you’re fighting for your fucking life and for the lives of those around you. I don’t want to see your ass get hurt.”

“It sounds like you don’t believe I can handle it,” she says quietly, a challenge lacing her words.

“Believe me, I know you can handle yourself.” I rub the back of my neck, frustration creeping in. “But every time you test those limits, a part of me can’t help but think it’ll end badly. And I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“Then let me show you I’m not afraid,” she says, her voice firm. “Let me prove I can race, and I can survive this. Not just for me but for us, for everyone who’s left.”

Her passion ignites something within me, and I realize how much I admire her—how much I can see the fighter in her, nestled beneath layers of fear and grief.

“Okay,” I relent, taking her words to heart. “You want to race? Then let’s make sure you know how. No more reckless steering into danger or seeking out risk for the hell of it. I’ll help you learn to ride—ride smart.”

A soft smile breaks across her face, an unexpected lightness returning to her spirit. “You’d really do that?”

“Yeah,” I reply, warmth flooding through me. “Might as well embrace the chaos together, right? But you need to promise me you’ll listen. It’s not just about winning; it’s about surviving.”

“I promise,” she replies, sincerity etched across her features.

A silence falls upon us, but this time it’s different—filled with a sense of responsibility and vision ahead. I can see the night’s starry skies through the haze of our discussions, the city shimmers beneath us, and in the distance, I can hear the muffled laughter of the party.

“Listen,” Whitney says, drawing my attention back. “I know the stakes are high, and I’ve made mistakes. But I need my power back—not just to prove my worth among the bikers, but to reclaim my life. And if you’re going to help me, I need you to trust me, too.”

“Trust is earned, not given,” I reply with a side-eyed look.

She rolls her eyes but chuckles softly, that spark of mischief that got her her nickname suddenly returning. “Guess I’ll just have to work on earning it, then.”

I feel my heart swell as she inches closer, our bodies radiating extreme heat just from being in each other's presence. My hand instinctively goes to her thigh, and I playfully squeeze the ticklish spot above her knee, her carefree laugh echoing in the silence of the night. The intense and serious attitude from moments ago is suddenly replaced by nervous energy and absolute need as I stare into her eyes, being brought back to our past when we'd lie together on the roof of the group home regardless of the weather just so we could get away from the hell we were going through inside.

So many nights I was Whitney's safe place, and she was mine, which only tightened our bond and made the feelings I had for her grow immensely. The way she smiles at me, lost in the gleam of my eyes, makes me feel like she's thinking of the same thing, but of course, neither one of us wants to open up about it since we're both hiding behind a mask of some sort—mine you can see, but hers you can't.

Unable to stop myself, I gently push her down onto the roof, rolling on top of her with my body pressing against hers, propped up only on my elbows as my fingers glide smoothly through her silky brown hair. She parts her legs enough for me to position myself in between them and teasingly slides her hands up the back of my shirt, her nails raking up and down my skin and giving me goosebumps from the heat of her touch.

Using the blue bandana I keep in my pocket at all times, I gently place it over her eyes, not bothering to tie it around her head. Once I'm sure her eyes are covered and she can't see me in the dark, I pull off my mask and set it on the cluster of shingles beside us, going in for a kiss as I struggle to maintain my steady breathing.

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