Page 15 of Unmasking Mayhem


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A straight look washes across her face, giving me the chills, and I know she isn't fucking joking. But something about her attitude and her strength turns me on, and instantly as my heart thuds in anticipation, I feel small beads of sweat forming across my brows. Much like her words, the night grows darker, wrapping us in its arms and shielding us from the hell of theworld below. Together, we finally find solace beneath the stars, lingering at the edge of the cliff, where shattered dreams and whispered hope beautifully intertwine.

As the embers of our conversation flicker into the dark, I can’t help but admire Whitney’s fire—her fierce spirit that fights against the creeping shadows of despair. I take another drag of the joint, letting the smoke wash over me and put my racing thoughts at ease while I watch her collect her thoughts, wrestling with an internal battle visible in the furrow of her brow. I’m quickly reminded that her strength doesn’t diminish her vulnerability; it intertwines with it, forging a more complex—more captivating—version of herself. She may feel like she’s losing everything, but now she’s determined to fight for what remains.

“Hey,” I say, breaking the pause, my voice calm and steady. “How about we focus on what we can control? The future is a winding road, but we’ve got to navigate it together, one turn at a time.”

Her gaze shifts toward the stars, the tiny pinpricks of light magically shimmering against the velvet night. "Together, huh? Is that really possible?" A hint of skepticism lingers in her tone, but there’s also a sliver of hope—a vulnerability she shares only with me.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I reply, shifting closer. “But first, let’s handle what’s in front of us. I promise I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

In the pause that follows, I see her resolve soften as she considers my words. Slowly, I reach out, brushing my fingertips along the back of her hand. She doesn’t pull away, but instead, there’s a tentative connection—a delicate bridge between distrust and burgeoning affection.

“Carter?” Whitney’s voice is small, and I lean in, taking her words seriously, preparing for whatever confession she needs tospill. “I—I can't shake the feeling that we might be too late for Havoc. There’s got to be more going on, something even bigger than we realize. I just can’t help but think that with every tick of the clock, we’re running out of time,” she whispers. "I need to know how he's doing."

A shiver runs down my spine; her words are heavy with dread that tightens in my chest. I don’t want to imagine a world without her—without the threads that tether our lives together—but I also can’t ignore the gravity of the situation, and if we end up losing Havoc, there's no fucking doubt in my mind that if we do, we're going to lose Whitney right along with him.

To put her worries to rest, I pull out my phone and text Cade, showing Whitney the message before putting my phone on the patch of grass beside me.

Hey, how's Havoc doing? I need an update for Whit.

She holds her breath while waiting for a reply that neither of us knows when will come through. She's determined, her focus strictly on Havoc and nothing else, but I'm determined too—determined to get her focus onto something else. Snatching her wrist, I tug her onto my lap, firmly holding her in place with my hands around her hips. She tries to wiggle out of my grasp, but I refuse to let her move. Roughly, she shoves her hands against my chest, trying to push off of me and get up. It doesn't work. I smirk, knowing my teasing is making her nervous, which is a shock, seeing how she never seems nervous around Cade or the others.

It's just me.

"You can fight me all you want, Whitney; I actually like it, but I'm still not fucking letting you go," I tell her, my voice deep and dominating, a hint of sarcasm lacing it.

Before I can comprehend what's happening, she has her gun pressed to my temple and her other hand around my throat, a dark, devious look in her pretty eyes. My heartbeat steadies, but my cock throbs intensely, aching for her in ways that it never has before.

She leans in close, her lips grazing the shell of my ear, her breath skating like fire across my skin as she whispers, "I've never killed a cop before, but there's a first time for everything."

"You think this is the first time I've had a fucking gun to my head, Little Mischief?" I grunt, fisting her hair and roughly tugging on it. "If you have the fucking balls to point it at me, you'd better have the fucking balls to pull the trigger, or else your ass better fucking run," I growl, releasing my hold on her hips to see if she takes the bait.

To my surprise, she doesn't fucking flinch. Instead, she cocks her gun, pressing the muzzle even harder against the side of my head, leaving me momentarily speechless. In an unexpected turn of events, I pull out my weapon and press the muzzle against the front of her throat, watching her eyes twinkle with curiosity.

"Did you forget that I'm carrying too? Or did you think just because you're you, that I'd never pull a gun on your ass?" I tease, staring deep into her eyes.

"Use it, Carter. Put me out of my fucking misery," she demands, her voice shaky but her grip stronger than ever.

Shaking my head, I glide the gun up her throat and to her mouth, pushing the barrel in between her lips, and she fucking lets me, never taking her eyes off mine. Without thinking, she begins to grind on me, her eyes fluttering from the feeling of my cock as she rubs her pussy over it.

"I've got a better idea," I whisper, trying to remain in control. "Instead of us threatening to fucking kill each other, how about I take your mind off of everything else in a different way?"

Without waiting for her answer, I swiftly flip her onto her back, keeping my gun in her mouth. Looking down at her as I hover above her, she slowly lowers her gun from my head and places it beside us, her legs instinctively locking around me, trying to bring me even closer. I ease my gun out of her mouth, covered in her spit, and lay it down, running the pad of my thumb along her bottom lip.

"Just make me forget about it, Carter," she begs, giving into temptation. "Just make me forget..." her voice trails off as her eyes finally close, her body and mind submitting to me in ways I've only ever dreamed about.

"Oh, Whitney, what have you done?" I ask, hiking her skirt over her hips and violently ripping her thong down as I settle between her legs. "I'm not fucking around when I say you're mine to love, mine to hate, mine to fix, and mine to break... and I'm not just going to ruin you, Little Mischief, I'm going to fucking destroy you."

Her eyes fling open as I press my cock to her entrance, stopping myself from slamming into her. She grins, and I can tell right away that I've just awakened something inside of her that was probably meant to stay locked away.

"Then fucking do it, 13. Destroy me if you think you can; otherwise, I'm going to be the one destroying you," she threatens, slightly shocking me.

To hide my nervousness, I drive my cock deep into her pussy in a single thrust, her body moving up the grass from the force. She digs her nails into my back, sliding them up and down under my shirt, clinging to me as I pound into her relentlessly. The world around us fades into insignificance as every thrust becomes a violent declaration of what we are—two misfits clinging to each other in a hurricane of chaos, seeking solace in the surrender of our bodies. Her moans pierce the night,reverberating through the trees that stand sentinel above us, their leaves rustling in time with our primal dance.

“Tell me you want this,” I growl, my voice thick with lust and desperate need. “Tell me you fucking need it.”

“I need you, Carter!” She gasps, her voice raw, each syllable touched by a mix of frustration and longing. “God, just don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”

The tension within me coils tighter with each stroke, igniting a firestorm that blindsides my common sense. It’s reckless and raw, but so fucking cathartic. I push harder, driving deeper inside her, bathing in the wild sounds that escape her lips as if they’re a language I've been craving to understand. I want to break her in ways that keep her whole, to weave our fates together in a tapestry of both agony and ecstasy.