Page 42 of Unmasking Mayhem
“Whitney, I—”
“No. Just… give me a damn minute.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but the determined fire remains, flickering stubbornly against what must feel like waves of uncertainty crashing upon her.
Anxiety churns in my gut as I reach for her, my fingers brushing against her arm, any stillness between us turning electric. She exhales slowly while we walk into her apartment complex, trying to steady herself as the tremors of her orgasm still pulse in the air. But I see it—the fear, the worry—and it mimics my own. We both know the price of this recklessness, and that anything can threaten to rip us apart.
“Let’s go inside,” she finally breathes, a glimpse of control returning, and I follow her lead, both of us stepping past the broken barrier we just built.
But as we walk the path ahead, the question still bothers me—can we mend the pieces before they’re shattered into oblivion? The chaos is alive and kicking, and together, we’ll need to face whatever demons come to meet us when the truth is revealed.
We lay in her bed on top of the blankets, her head nestled in the crook of my arm with her body fitting perfectly against mine. She's too quiet, and it's starting to freak me the fuck out. Her eyes are wide as she scans the darkness, searching for the man who watches her every move.
"He's not going to hurt you," I assure her, kissing her forehead.
I don't usually get moments like this with her because of Cade and his dominating personality. So holding her in the dead of night feels amazing, but it also feels a bit foreign too.
"That's what he says," she whispers, fear no longer lacing her voice.
"I fucking mean it, Whitney. Dustin won't fucking hurt your ass, especially when I'm here." I roll on top of her, grabbing her chin for her to look at me.
I see the doubt, the hope, and the bruises I noticed earlier after her talk with King. Rage floods my veins, and it takes everything in me not to demand she tell me what happened. I tried anyway, and it didn’t work.
"Carter, it's not me you have to worry about keeping safe; it's you." She looks me in the eye without blinking, giving me an uneasy chill.
"What the hell does that even mean?" I ask, trying to entertain the situation.
"It means I think you and Cade need to get out of Mayhem and go somewhere as far away as you can."
"Whitney, you can't be fucking serious," I reply, the weight of her words crashing against me like a tidal wave. The thought of leaving everything—the chaos, the danger, the grip of fate over us—feels unimaginable. "Why the fuck would we even go?"
She bites her lip, another flash of fear dancing in her eyes, and I can tell she's grappling with something monumental, something beyond just our crazy, reckless time together.
"I don't know, Carter. But what if King isn't just angry? What if he's...? He already…” Her voice wavers, and she stops, frustration and fear swirling in her gaze.
“Already what?” I press, but I can feel the tension in the air, heavy and suffocating.
The moment hangs there like a noose draped around our necks, waiting for the smallest movement to make it tighten.
“...already hurt me,” she finally admits, her voice barely above a whisper, and that revelation cuts me clean to the core. “He's already hurt me.”
I want to scream, to claw at the feeling of helplessness tightening my chest.
"Did he fucking hit you?" The question escapes my lips before I can even think through my response, but the thought of anyone putting a hand on her—especially King—creates a storm raging within me.
She nods slightly, shame creeping across her features. My blood boils, fury igniting the rage I’ve kept locked away for far too long.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. “You should’ve told me! How could you let him touch you like that?”
“He drugged me. And because I didn’t want you to get involved!” She insists, her voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t know what King is capable of, Carter. You’re playing with fucking fire by even thinking of confronting him! He’s unpredictable andverydangerous. You could get hurt worse than how he hurt me.”
I take a breath, trying to calm the turmoil rising within me, making my throat feel like it's closing. It isn’t just about me anymore—it’s about the pieces breaking apart in the hands of a man hanging over us like a storm cloud over our lives.
"Maybe I don’t care about myself anymore," I say, the venom in my voice shocking even me, but it’s the truth.
“Carter,” she breathes, reaching for my face, the tenderness in her touch grounding me amidst the chaos. “You don’t understand—"
“No, you don’t fucking understand!” I exclaim, anger pulling at the edges of my reason. “We can’t live in fear forever! We’remore than this… this, this fucking cage! We deserve our own lives, Whitney! We deserve freedom from men like King.”
She stares at me, her eyes shimmering brightly with unwelcome tears. The vulnerability in her expression makes my heart twist painfully in my chest.
