Page 6 of Masked Mayhem

“Honestly? I’m still figuring it out,” I admit, the sincerity rushing out before I can stop it. “I’m tired of running from the past. I want to break free, but every time I think about moving on, fear keeps dragging me back down.”

“You’re stronger than you know,” he replies, the weight of his voice anchoring me. “But it’s okay not to have it all figured out yet. I don't know what you're running from, but I can tell you that you’re not alone in it.”

Maybe I don’t have to bear the burden of my past alone. Perhaps leaning into the unexpected honesty with Cade—and myself—is the bridge I need to begin healing.

“Thank you,” I whisper, the weight of the evening settling deeper.

I smile as I walk him toward the exit, the music drowning out my thumping heart as I think about the fact that a dance that started as a moment of distraction revealed layers yet to be untangled. As the lights dim in the club, signaling the night’s end, our bond lingers in the air, buzzing with endless possibilities.

three

The Initiation

Raze (“Havoc”)

Last One Standing: MAYDAY, Tech N9ne

WatchingWhitneygrindallnight on Red sent my blood fucking boiling, and I know Hawk felt the same way. Yet, she remains completely unaware of our true identities—that we're the same boys she grew up with back in California, the ones who took her virginity under the stars after a night of drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade by a bonfire in freshman year. She doesn’t even know we left Cali for Boston when she did or that we’ve been stalking her since she started dating that motherfucker, Dustin, the one who nearly fucking killed her.

We only stalk her because we care, though.

Letting Whitney slip from our grasp was never an option. The moment Hawk and I reunited with her in that group home, we made a pact: she would always belong to us, whether she realized it or not. Although she’s oblivious now, that won’t last; we’re ready for whatever comes our way, including her trying to fight or run—we're prepared; we refuse to let her walk out of our lives.

For the moment, we remain hidden behind the vibrant, glowing masks that have become as much a part of us as our identities. One day we'll show her who we are unless she figures it out before we can. But for now, the safest thing is to hide behind our masks and protect her from a distance, like we've been doing for years now.

“There she goes,” Crow snarls, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze fixed on Whitney as she walks out of the club with Red and Boston.

When the doors close behind them, we follow, calling out to Red. He turns, and the girls pause, waving at us with their masks removed, smiles lighting up their faces.

Fuck, Whitney looks as stunning as ever, her dark curls cascading over her bare shoulder, dancing in the breeze. The light catches her green eyes, stirring something deep within me—I have to get Red away from her, no matter what it fucking takes.

“Red, we need you back inside,” I say, concocting a hasty excuse I'm still trying to figure out as I go.

He’s been frequenting the club for some time, but I don’t know much about him or his story. However, I know King and D are always on the lookout for new faces for our after-hours work for Masked Mayhem—the dark and gritty nightlife that goes on after the club closes—and for a fleeting moment, I consider bringing him into the fold. Suddenly, another guy I've seen at the club wearing a purple mask approaches, known as “13.”

“We were going to walk the girls home,” Red says, gesturing toward 13, who locks his suspicious gaze on mine.

“Both of you can join us. Trust me, the girls can handle themselves,” I reply, chuckling and tossing a wink their way. “Isn’t that right, ladies?” I ask, nodding as Whitney and Boston reveal their guns, entirely prepared for the walk home on their own.

“You guys go have fun. We’ll be just fine,” Whitney asserts, tucking her gun back into her bag and linking arms with Boston.

They stroll away, leaving me, Crow, Red, and 13 standing awkwardly—tension filling the air. I can’t shake the feeling that I might’ve just misguidedly welcomed them into the shadowy world of Masked Mayhem without fully knowing a goddamn thing about them, and all I can think about is how I hope I didn't just fuck myself by doing it.

As we re-enter the club, the last of the dancers file out, and the doors slam shut behind us. The cleaning crew begins their unending job of tidying up after another wild night, just as the basement door swings open to reveal King, mask on, ready for the chaos to unfold.

“What the fuck is this?” He demands, his finger pointing at Red and 13, his scrutiny unmasked.

“You said we needed more bodies,” Crow retorts, the vivid green X's on his mask flashing like a strobe light, intensifying my headache.

I elbow him sharply, and he shoots me an irritated look from behind his mask, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine. “Turn that shit off. It’s fucking with my head,” I snap, still simmering from the sight of Red with Whitney all night.

“Calm down, Havoc,” Crow reassures me, switching the setting on his mask to a steady glow.

As we near King, he motions for us to descend the stairs but stops Red and 13, cautious of their entry into his underground world that he’s worked tirelessly to protect. I linger at the bottom, my curiosity piqued, waiting to see how this plays out. With King and D, unpredictability reigns; being affiliated with them is a huge fucking risk, but the thrill most definitely outweighs the dangers.

“What’s your story, Red?” King inquires, and out of nowhere, D emerges at the top of the stairs, his presence imposing behind his mask, eyes fixed on the newcomers.

“I don’t have much of a story. I started coming to your club, fell for one of your dancers, and now I can’t stay away,” Red says, deliberately turning his gaze to me, a smirk beneath his mask at the mention of Whitney.

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