"Havoc, don’t you dare go to sleep on me," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. He nods, but his eyes are already starting to flutter, the color draining from his face. “Hold on, fucker. Just hold on for me,” I plead, my hands working frantically to stabilize him.
The blanket is slick with his blood, and I feel desperation clawing at my throat as I hear Carter's voice rise in urgency across the room.
"Whitney, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here. Just stay close to me," he reassures her, while Crow moves to check for any remaining threats.
Suddenly, the floor shakes with the impact of heavy footsteps approaching. My body tenses, and I turn to see one of the shooters staggering toward us, blood dripping from a gunshot wound to his shoulder. His intentions are clear, and I immediately push myself upright, my weapon drawn.
"Get down!" I shout just as he raises his gun toward Whitney.
Time slows. Everything else blurs away—the flickering light, the distant noise, Havoc’s soft groans. I pull the trigger, and the deafening crack of the gunfire fills my ears, watching in grim satisfaction as the guy stumbles back and collapses, a look of shock frozen on his face. The room is silent again. My heart races as I hear Havoc's labored breaths.
“Crow, stay with him,” I command, and he nods, kneeling down again beside his friend.
I sprint back to Whitney, who is still shaking, her eyes wide and terrified.
“Whitney,” I say firmly, kneeling before her. “You need to trust us. We’re here to protect you. Can you do that?”
She takes a shaky breath, nodding, but doubt lingers in her gaze. I pull off my mask; if she’s going to trust me, I need her to see the truth behind my eyes.
"I can't trust you," she whispers, and it feels like a slap in the face.
“We fucking came for you. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you or Havoc,” I assure her, and for a heartbeat, I see a flicker of recognition, even amidst her terror.
“We need to get Havoc to the club,” Crow interrupts, scanning the perimeter for more threats. “They'll be able to take care of him there so we don't have to deal with the fucking cops.”
I glance back at Havoc, whose face is pale and drawn. “I'll help you get him to the car,” I say, anxiety flooding my voice.
"I'll stay here with Whitney and call the cops before the neighbors do," Carter insists, placing a hand on my shoulder. "But Havoc isn't going to make it unless you leave now.”
A wave of panic washes over me, but there’s no time for hesitation. He’s right; we can’t stay here. I turn my focus back to Whitney, extending my hand.
“Just stay close to Carter and listen to whatever he tells you, alright?”
With a nod, she inches closer to Carter, and I block her way, doing my best to shield her from the horrors around us. I glance back to see Crow lifting Havoc over his shoulder, and I know it's time to go.
The night air outside bites into our skin as we spill into the lot where my car is parked, struggling to rush with Havoc as he begins to go limp. Red and blue lights flash in the distance, and sirens wail loudly—a promise of safety, but also a reminder of the world we aren’t ready to face. As we pile into the car, I spot the silhouettes of the officers closing in, and an unusual dread settles over me. Memories of a life I used to love living hit me like a ton of bricks, but I realize I already gave up the badge for the wrong side of the law. But I did it for her—Whitney. The world feels chaotic—a spinning carousel—but inside my car, there’s a brief silence that shields us from the storm. As we drive away, I glance back at Crow. His eyes search mine, filled with a mix of hatred and fear.
“What happens now?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly.
I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to promise the impossible. “Now we figure it out,” I say softly. “But first, we survive this—Havoc survives this."
Crow's eyes dart to the back window, scanning for any signs of a pursuit. “We need to get off the main road,” he says urgently, hands pressing hard on the wound in Havoc’s abdomen, white-knuckled. “We don't know if there are any more of them out there."
I nod, my mind racing with possible routes, but Crow decides to make the choice for me.
“Head towards the club. I texted King, so they're waiting for us, but take the back way down by the docks.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, my heart races at the thought of the docks; they’re familiar territory, a place where I spent countless nights tracking down leads and doing undercover work. But this time, I know the stakes aren’t at all professional—they're personal andsofucking illegal. I know I've gone way too far across the line between right and wrong, but I'm not too sure if I want to cross back. I accelerate, tires screeching as I take a sharp turn to the right. The night is cloaked in shadows, but the orange glow of streetlights illuminates our path intermittently. I reach back to check on Havoc, whose complexion is growing alarmingly gray with each dangerously swallowed breath.
“Stay with us, Havoc,” I whisper, my voice trembling slightly, thinking back on how much his ass got under my skin when I first started going to Club Mayhem.
The air suddenly feels suffocating, heavy with anxiety and desperation. Crow presses an extra shirt against Havoc’s leg, but even that seems to do little to stop the flow of blood that's carving a dark trail down the tan leather seat.
“Fuck! We had this—how did it all go to shit so fast?” Crow mutters, his face covered with his mask, his eyes a mix of frustration and fear.
“I was supposed to be there,” I say, recalling Whitney's supposed safety we promised King and D.
I can’t shake the feeling that someone tipped them off, that our precious intel was an illusion. Just a fucking setup to trap not us, but Whitney, and deep down we all know who it is. As the realization sinks in, the weight of betrayal hangs heavy in the air. I shake my head violently, trying to banish the thought, but it clings to me like the strong scent of gunpowder.
