Page 36 of Unmasking Mayhem
“Yeah,” I manage to respond, glancing over my shoulder as the distant sound of sirens continues but grows fainter. “But at what cost? They’re going to come for us, and the longer we stick around, the more dangerous it becomes.”
“What’s done is done. Now we need to get out of here before they find us,” Havoc says, his voice steady even though his mask can’t hide the adrenaline coursing through him.
With the adrenaline inside me beginning to subside, I feel the very weight of my choices approach. I want to reach out to Carter to see if he’s okay. But each step forward into the night is also a step deeper into this underworld, a reality I never anticipated being part of. Tonight marks a shift, a breaking point in my undercover life, and as I move swiftly alongside two of the most unpredictable people I’ve ever met, I can’t help but wonder what more I might lose—what else I might become.
“Let’s go,” I finally say, rallying my focus back to the mission at hand. I can’t falter, not now. My cover is still hanging by a thread, and the repercussions of this night are far from over.
twelve
the girl and the gangster
Whitney
Little Girl Gone: Chinchilla
Tension is thicker than the smell of perfume in the club's atmosphere, and I can hardly breathe as I make my way up to the second floor to King's office. Already hearing yelling coming from behind the closed door, I debate whether or not I should turn around, but the door swings open before I can make my choice. An angry Cade storms out, shoving past me on the stairs, almost knocking me over, and he doesn't bother stopping, which lets me know something isn't right. Carter follows behindhim, stumbling hard, but manages to catch me before my ass hits the wooden steps.
"Sorry, Little Mischief, he's a little on edge tonight," he slurs, but takes off after him, not waiting for my response.
It's very odd for both of them to just run past me and not stop to talk or whatever. So my nerves begin to catch on fire inside me, and my heart beats so fast it feels like it's about to burst from my fucking chest. Still, I make my way up the rest of the way and nervously knock on the open door, waiting to be invited in.
"What is it, Whitney?" King spits, clearly pissed.
I walk in slowly, running my hands down the tiny mini skirt I have on, with nothing underneath. And with the black shiny pasties the only thing covering my nipples, I feel more exposed than I ever have. King sits behind his desk, a drink in one hand and a blunt in the other, four lines of cocaine in front of him on a dirty mirror. He leans back in his black leather chair, the smell of vanilla and tobacco wafting heavily, coming from the air mist machine that Boston gave him. The blinds are half drawn on the floor-to-ceiling glass walls that overlook the club below, even though they're tinted, one-way glass.
A shiver dances along my spine, spreading along the base of my tailbone and giving me a chill that wracks my body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I cross my arms over my chest, covering my bare breasts as King's eyes lock onto them, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth.
"Close the door," he says, his voice deep, demanding, and slightly intimidating.
I do as he says, turning so he gets a view of my ass poking out from the hem of my tiny skirt, and I hear a grunt come from him just as I turn back around, ready to put my arms back over my chest.
"Uh uh, arms down by your side, Little Mischief," he orders, making me feel more uncomfortable by the second.
Still, I obey, knowing not to defy an order from him, or D; I've seen what they do to those who dare to defy them, and I'd rather not be on the receiving end of their anger. He pats his lap as he pushes his chair away from his desk, wanting me to sit. My heels dig into the carpet as I walk on shaky legs over to him, biting the inside of my cheeks to keep from talking and getting myself in trouble.
"You know I don't bite, Little Mischief," he laughs, downing the rest of the amber-colored liquor in his glass and then refilling it by the time my ass makes contact with his thigh.
He puts the blunt to my lips, and I inhale on instinct, aware that he's watching my every move. While I'm distracted, he wraps his arm around my waist and trails his fingers up and down my upper thigh, dangerously close to my bare pussy underneath.
"What can I do for you?" He asks, whispering softly in my ear as he leans in, dragging his teeth along the nape of my neck, making me shiver again.
"I was... I was looking for Boston; it's time to head home, and we usually walk together," I whisper, trying hard not to let him hear the nervousness in my voice.
He chuckles, slipping his hand under my skirt and gliding his fingers up and down my soaked pussy lips, eliciting an involuntary moan that I'm too slow to hide.
"I sent her home," he growls, licking the shell of my ear, pushing his fingers between my lips and circling them around my entrance, his thumb pressing on my clit. "I'll make sure you get home. But first," he says, his voice changing as embarrassment floods my cheeks, turning them bright red. "You're gonna ride my cock because I want to know what it feels like to be buried inside you."
I can’t believe this is happening. My heart races, and I fight against the primal urge to react to his touch. This is wrong onso many levels, yet part of me can't help but respond to the adrenaline surging through me, making me think that he must have drugged me and laced the blunt; it's the only way I would ever let him get this close, and he knows it.
"King, please," I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper as embarrassment continues to flood my body.
"Please what?" His voice drips with wicked amusement, and the way he stares at me—like I’m a toy waiting to be played with—makes my skin crawl and awaken all at once.
"I need to go... I don't think—" Before I can finish, he yanks me closer, his grip firm and possessive.
"You're forgetting your fucking place, Little Mischief." His voice is low and dangerously seductive, leaving me teetering between fear and excitement. “Tonight, you're fucking mine."
The warning bells ringing in my head clash violently with the heat building in my core. I feel my body temporarily betray me as my hips instinctively push against his hand, seeking friction, seeking something I shouldn't want, but the drugs have made me a slave to him, and all I can think about is how dangerous the situation is.
