Page 14 of Unmasking Mayhem
deep undercover
Carter (“13”)
Crooked Smile: J Cole
After dealing with the police and feeding them some bullshit once I discreetly flashed my badge, and then doing my best to tidy up the guys' apartment, I whisked Whitney away as quickly as I could. Unsure of where to take her and not knowing if there were others still looking for her, I nestled her behind me on my bike... a little forcefully because, let's face it, she didn't want to go any fucking where with me after finding out that I was an undercover cop. But eventually she stopped fighting me,and together, we embraced the enveloping darkness, the wind tousling her hair, her arms securely wrapped around my waist.
The streets twisted and turned, the shadows deepening with every bend. Towering, thick trees fenced us in, blocking out the light from the stars above. Yet, it's in the darkness that we find our true selves—this is where we belong, where we fucking flourish. Given a choice between blinding brilliance or complete blackness, we'd always choose the latter. The finest things emerge from the shadows; greatness is born when the world around us is either sleeping or bathed in the light we consciously steer clear of.
The most enduring love stories unfold in the depths of night. The strongest bonds are forged in the dark, born from loss, heartbreak, and trauma. Secrets linger like whispers in gloom, transformed into thunder strikes of revelation when exposed to the light.
As I feel Whitney's grip on me loosen, I tease the throttle, feeling her arms tighten around me again as my bike jerks forward. A mischievous smile plays at the corners of my lips, hidden beneath my helmet. Her touch pushes me to accelerate, an exhilarating rush of adrenaline surging through my veins. If I feel the thrill, I know she must, too, even if her mind is clouded by the turmoil of the shit that happened earlier.
After aimlessly riding for an hour, I spot a cliff to my right and pull over, hoping to stretch my fucking legs and coax Whitney into opening up. But I know she’s fucking furious, feeling betrayed after discovering that Cade and I are undercover. I dismount my bike and extend my hand toward her, eager to help. But of course, she fucking swats my hand away, climbing off on her own. Ignoring the clear sign of her anger, I remove my helmet, placing it on my seat, and rummage through my pocket for my pack of cigarettes and my lighter.
"Want one?" I ask, finally retrieving both, only to drop a bag of pills that tumbles into the damp dirt near her feet.
She bends down, snatching the baggie and lifting her visor for a better look. Our eyes meet, and she rolls them in exasperation before opening the bag, lifting her helmet, and popping a couple of pills into her mouth, swallowing them dry. Then, she grabs a cigarette from my open pack and snatches my lighter from my hand, making it clear she doesn’t need my help.
"Whitney, please just talk to me," I urge, lighting my own cigarette and seizing the baggie from her. "Do you even know what you just fucking took?"
"They were ecstasy, Carter. I know my fucking drugs," she replies with a shrug, removing her helmet and teasingly placing the cigarette between her lips and inhaling, smoke swirling upward in lazy spirals.
Her eyes lock onto mine as she puts her helmet down, never breaking our gaze, barely blinking. She appears lost, broken, and defeated, and deep down, I know there’s little I can do to fucking help her. What she wants is Havoc and Crow, and right now, uncertainty surrounds Havoc's fate.
"Got any weed?" she asks, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I just want to get fucking high."
"I can get you high, Little Mischief. All you had to do was ask," I chuckle, retrieving my small lockbox from my backpack, which holds my stash of drugs, including my weed, wraps, and grinder.
Sitting on the rocks at the edge of the cliff, I glance down at the flickering lights below that illuminate the unsuspecting town before the impending darkness settles in. To my surprise, Whitney joins me, seating herself beside me—not as close as I would like, but for now, it’s enough. As I roll a joint with perfection, I can feel the tension in the air, a palpable mix of unspoken words and underlying emotions swirling like the smoke I’m about to exhale. I hand her the freshly rolled joint,and she takes it with a cautious smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s as if we are dancers performing a delicate waltz on the edge of a precipice, each of us unsure whether we’ll leap or retreat.
Her fingers brush against mine as she brings the joint to her lips, and in that brief moment, I can almost convince myself that everything will be okay. The flickering lights below seem to fade as I focus solely on her—this stunning whirlwind of chaos and beauty that has swept into my life and thrown everything into fucking disarray. I resist the urge to reach out and stroke her hair, to tell her this isn’t the end, that we’ll find a way through this together. The first puff escapes her lips like a sigh, and she leans back slightly, gazing up at the stars emerging from their hiding places in the night sky.
"Do you ever think about what's out there?" She asks, her voice softer now, almost reflective. "What’s waiting for us beyond this fucking chaos?"
I chuckle, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Maybe something better than what we’ll leave behind. Or maybe just more of the same shit."
I take a hit myself, the warmth flooding my veins, grounding me. It’s a comfort, a small relief from the storm raging inside. Whitney nods, seemingly lost in thought.
“I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore, Carter. Everything feels… unsteady,” she admits. "I'm worried about Havoc. I don't know if he's alive or... or dead," she chokes on the words softly spilling from her lips.
The bravado fades away, revealing the scared little girl underneath—the one strapped with the weight of the world on her petite shoulders.
“Look, I don’t have all the answers. But I do know you’re tougher than you think,” I say, shifting closer, letting the chill ofthe night wrap around us as securely as my words. “Whatever happens next, we can handle it. Just don’t shut me the fuck out."
She turns to look at me, her expression torn between frustration and vulnerability. "You say that, but this isn’t your fucking life we’re talking about. You don’t know what it’s like to fucking lose everything. Not like I have."
My heart twists at her admission. She’s right; I’m an outsider looking in, a pretender playing a role in a world where I don’t belong. But I’ve seen loss, too—shadows of memories that linger and haunt.
“I might not understand completely, but I’m here, Whitney. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
With a shaky breath, she presses the joint back into my hands, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. “What if I don’t know how to let you in? You did lie and betray me in one of the worst ways,” she says, pain flickering before a wistful spark ignites in her expressive eyes.
"I'm sorry about that; I had to lie," I reply, taking a deep drag before offering the joint back, then pausing, my heart racing. “Just… try to trust me. Can you do that?”
She contemplates long and hard, her brow furrowing as she watches the smoke curl and dissipate like her worries, momentarily set aside. Finally, her decision seems to crystallize before my eyes, and I see something shift within her—an understanding forming, a connection beckoning.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll try. But if you fucking lie to me again, Carter, I'll fucking kill you."
