The nights may be dark, the woods may whisper secrets, but here, entwined and lost in each other, we are fucking invincible.
three
retaliation
Raze (“Havoc”)
From hell, with love: Savage Ga$p
Idisregard the time on my watch, though the relentless ticking is torturous, a constant reminder that I shouldn’t be here; I should be with Whitney. The weight of the gun in my hand anchors me to the present as we huddle in the office, facing four members of the California Bloods just feet away. My mind races while King and D whisper urgently to each other, the Bloods growing increasingly impatient with each second of silence that envelops us.
Something feels off—it’s just not right.
The California Bloods have no business in Boston, especially within King’s territory. It’s a reckless move that could lead to fatal consequences, even from the slightest misstep. My thoughts drift to Whitney—to our secretive past—and I feel an unsettling certainty that Dustin is tangled in this fucking mess, including the disturbing stalking of his ex-girlfriend.
I glance to my side at Ghost, another high-ranking member of Masked Mayhem. His cool demeanor contrasts sharply with the tension in the air, his finger tapping restlessly against the trigger of his AK, eager for action. For the first time, I feel my hand tremble slightly as I grip my gun tighter—an experience I’ve never had before, and one I never wish to have again.
“We don’t have all fucking night, King,” one of the Bloods growls, slicing through the oppressive silence.
“What exactly are you here for, Flacko?” King responds, casually lighting a cigarette, exuding an air of indifference. “You barged into my fucking business and shot the place up; you’re lucky you didn’t kill anyone.”
“You’re lucky we haven’t killed you,” another Blood retorts menacingly. “You stole from our family, and they want their fucking shit back.”
D intervenes, shaking his head. “Nah, we didn’t steal anything from the Bloods. We took from a nobody who just happened to be loaded—he wasn’t a fucking Blood.”
Confusion flickers among the Bloods as they exchange glances, slowly coming to terms with the fact that they’ve been misled, their embarrassment simmering beneath the surface.
“Is that right?” One of them unexpectedly turns to me. I nod in response.
“It is.” I stand tall, anxiously counting the moments until I can be with my girl again.
“Next time you crash through my fucking doors, make sure you’ve got the right intel. Because next time, we’ll shoot first and ask questions later,” King warns, dismissing them with a contemptuous wave of his hand.
As the last Blood steps towards the door, he turns back, delivering a final message that sends a chill down my spine, resonating deep within me.
“Remember, we’re watching you—we have been watching you. You’d better be fucking careful; keep your girls on a tight leash before they fucking end up on a missing flyer.”
Once the door clicks shut, we collectively exhale, tension simmering in the small space as our thoughts turn immediately to Whitney and the looming mystery of who has been following her. If we had doubts before, they’re gone now; it’s either Dustin or his crew stalking her—he’s the fucking kingpin of the California Bloods.
“That motherfucker is in prison, I thought,” King mutters, searching for answers in my expression—answers I believed to be true, yet I can’t help but second-guess.
“I’ll dig deeper to find out,” I assure him, feeling sweat trickle down my palms. “Last I heard, he was still locked up, but who’s to say he hasn’t gotten out?”
A chill runs down my spine as the implications of my words settle in, and I realize the depth of the danger we face if our assumptions hold any truth. The California Bloods aren’t just Dustin’s crew—they’re the same gang that Hawk and I used to run with, before we managed to escape. Tonight, they didn’t recognize me, but I recognized them, and it’s only a matter of time before that changes. I damn sure don’t want to be near them when it does.
“Get out of here and make sure Crow and Whitney are okay,” D insists, his pacing betraying his anxiety.
I nod, relief flooding through me as I rush for the door, bolting from the office and down the stairs to the back exit, never once casting a glance behind. The street air is sharp and electric, a huge difference from the musty atmosphere I just escaped. I take off running toward my bike, my heart racing with a terrifying mix of adrenaline and dread. It’s a short trip to our apartment, where Hawk is supposed to be keeping Whitney safe. I can't shake the feeling that I’m being hunted, so I pick up speed, zipping down side streets like a maze, the cool air surrounding me like a blanket as I push my bike to move faster even though each touch to the throttle feels heavier.
The apartment building looms ahead, its grim exterior blending into the darkness of the surrounding streets. I push through the front door and step inside, taking a moment to regain my composure. The low hum of conversation and the smell of stale beer hang in the air, a reminder of the lives intertwined in this perilous world. As I unlock the door and slip inside, Hawk looks up from our worn-out couch, his eyes widening at the sight of me.
“Dude, you look like fucking hell,” he jokes, but the tension in his voice is obvious. “What happened?”
“California Bloods,” I spit out, chest heaving. “They were told we stole from them and wanted their money back, and… they mentioned Whitney, more or less.”
His eyes widen in alarm. “What the hell? Why would they be after her?”
“Dustin,” I reply, my voice dropping to a whisper. “He’s still playing fucking games, trying to leverage his crew from the inside. We have to hide her before they find her—before he does.”
