Stop looking so damn afraid, baby. You know I love you, and I’d never hurt you again.
My jaw drops, yet no response escapes me. I fight back tears, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. This confirms that it’s him watching me. He’s out of prison and coming after what he wants, unwavering in his pursuit, and he doesn't care who stands in his fucking way—and what he wants is me...
What your foster brother did to you last night wasn't right, baby. He hurt you, and now I’m going to fucking hurt him.
Crow isn’t my foster brother, Dustin. Just leave me alone.
Now you know I can’t do that, Whit. You mean Crow didn’t tell you who he really is? Strange. What about Havoc? Has he come clean yet, or should I shoot his ass again?
Fear grips me, sending my heart racing as I drop my phone to the floor, eyes wide, unable to blink away the shock from Dustin's disturbing confession. Are Havoc and Crow really Raze and Hawk? If that’s the case, why hadn’t they told me sooner?
My throat tightens, and I find myself gasping for air—even outside—confusion and dread swirling in my chest like a fucking tornado. The truth begins to wrap itself around my thoughts, squeezing relentlessly. The shadows of the missing pieces in my life stretch out before me, and the implications hit harder than the torrential raindrops before my eyes.
I lean down, scrambling to pick up my phone, hands shaking too violently to type a coherent response. My heart races as I realize that the warmth of trust I thought I felt with Havoc and Crow now feels like a cruel joke. Each kiss, every intimate moment, now tainted with betrayal; nothing but fucking tricks played beneath my nose.
I turn and glance out at the gray skies before me, seeking an anchor, hoping that the storm might wash away my fears. But the downpour only deepens the sense of entrapment; doubts drip like the rainfall on my windowsill, gathering into puddlesof confusion and betrayal. My brain spins—questions and fears collide with the blunt reality of my situation. Could it all really be a game to them? Was my innocence merely collateral in their twisted lives? I take a breath, trying to ground myself.
This can’t continue. I won’t fucking let it.
I didn’t survive all the shit that I’ve endured just to be pawns in some fucking sick game played by men who should've been my saviors—the very ones who stood by me when I had nowhere to go. Desperation floods my veins, pushing me off the chair and onto my feet, pacing the small space of the balcony.
I need fucking answers. I need clarity.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes again, my breath hitching as I see a new message from Dustin.
Remember, I’ll always be watching you. Don’t try to run. You’ll only make it worse.
The finality of his words sends dread creeping through my limbs, a chill I can’t shake. It’s over; I have to end this—now. With clenched fists, I slip my phone into my back pocket and rush inside, desperate to find a way out of the corner I’ve been backed into. My mind races as I recall the times Crow and Havoc have come to my aid, their comforting presence so soothing compared to the madness swirling around me. But with their true identities revealed, I’m left asking myself if they’ve ever truly been there for me or if my naïveté simply led them to this moment of hell.
I rummage through the drawers in the kitchen, searching for something—anything—that can serve as a weapon until I can get my gun from the bedroom. I find a paring knife; it’s small, but it’ll have to do. The metal is cool against my palm as I grasp it, preparing to fight if it comes to that. Dealing with Dustin has always required more than just emotional fortitude. I need to confront the truth. I need to face Crow and Havoc. Let themclarify shit themselves. If they’ve been hiding this from me, they owe me an explanation, and one way or another I'm going to fucking get it.
A loud bang echoes through the apartment like a gunshot, and I freeze mid-breath. I inch toward the door, heart racing wildly as I glance through the peephole. My stomach drops. In the hallway, Crow stands with his back to me, his leather jacket hugging his shoulders, a dark silhouette obscured by the crack of the door. My heart trembles at the sight of him, provoking a mixture of relief and fear. Why is he here now? What does he want? I clench the knife tighter, a bitter taste of uncertainty lingering in my mouth.
“Whitney,” he calls, his voice a low rumble, “I know you’re in there. We need to talk.”
I hesitate, my mind flashing back to the messages from Dustin, to the harsh reality of this tangled mess. Then again, how could I ignore Crow’s presence now? He’s a part of my life, whether I want him to be or not. With shaky breaths, I unlock the door and inch it open, just enough to peek out. His masked face comes into view, and my heart skips a beat. The worry etched in his eyes sends a ripple of alarm through me, yet something in his expression demands my attention, as if he knows the gravity of the situation.
“Crow... what are you doing here?” I whisper, my voice barely audible against the storm battering the walls.
“I heard something,” he says, urgency bubbling beneath his calm tone.
As he steps closer, the familiar scent of leather and warm tobacco envelops me, grounding me for a moment in his protective aura. Tension thunders between us; it’s palpable and unsettling, but I find myself wanting him more than ever.
“Whitney, I need you to be honest with me,” he says as his eyes pierce mine with an intensity that makes it so hard to fucking breathe. “Have you been getting messages from Dustin?”
I swallow hard, knowing I can’t hide the truth any longer. “Yes. He’s out, Crow… I don't know how, but he’s back.”
The look in his eyes darkens, and I can see the internal struggle rippling through him. “Is that why you looked so frightened earlier? Why are you holding that knife?”
“It’s complicated,” I say, voice shaking. “He knows... he knows everything, and he's been telling me things.”
Crow’s expression shifts, a storm of emotions swirling within those deep pools of sincerity and fury. I can feel the air thickening around us, the rain still pounding in the background as if nature itself is pressing in on this moment, desperate to hear the truth unfold.
“You shouldn’t be carrying that, Whitney. It’s not safe,” he murmurs, taking a step closer, his presence a shield against the darkness just beyond the door. “We need to figure this out—together.”
I bite my lip, indecision twisting my gut. I want so desperately to lean on him, to let him take the burdens I've been weighed down with fear and despair. But every heartbeat reverberates with doubt. How can I trust him when the shadows of betrayal remain so close? He lifts his hand, brushing my cheek with his thumb, grounding my spiraling thoughts.
“I’m here for you, Whit. I’d never let him hurt you again. But I need you to trust me when I say that we can beat this. We’ll protect you, and you won't have to go through this alone.”
