Cade (“Red”)
Lifestyle: Rich Homie Quan
Idon't want to leave her, but I know Masked Mayhem has another event tonight that I can’t afford to miss. Disobeying King and D is not an option I want to entertain, especially knowing what they're capable of. After stepping out of Whitney's dressing room when Boston arrives, I find Carter in the hall, swaying unsteadily, clearly drunk and high. Something's weighing on his mind, but I can't figure out what. Just before hestumbles, I manage to catch his arm and steady him, pulling him into a small private area down the hall.
"What the hell is going on with you tonight, Carter?" I hiss, my voice just loud enough to pierce through the thumping nightclub music.
"We're fucked," he slurs, his eyelids drooping heavily.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, hoping he isn't referring to our actual job—the one where we swore to uphold to protect the community from those who break the law… the very same law we were currently skirting.
He digs his hand into his pocket and fumbles with his phone, attempting to unlock it for me to see his concern. Frustrated by his state, I snatch the device from his grasp and unlock it, immediately spotting the message that's haunting him. My heart plummets, my breathing slows, but my pulse quickens. With trembling fingers, I open the text from the captain, bracing myself for the worst.
You and Cade need to get your asses into my office tomorrow morning. You've got some explaining to do and piss tests to take that you've both been avoiding.
Carter never responded, which I know had only fueled the captain's anger. But he's right—we are in deep fucking shit. Months have passed without a proper in-person check-in, just a string of vague messages to convey our ‘status’—clearly not truthful ones.
"Shit," I mutter, waves of memories flooding back to my time with Whitney, the taste of her lingering on my tongue.
"We have to go, Cade," Carter mumbles, managing to adjust his mask on his head, his eyes bloodshot and glassy.
"I know, but tonight we’ve got a fucking job to do." I grab his arm and begin to pull him along, my mood rapidly sinking.
As we step back into the bustling club, we collide with Havoc and Crow, who eye us suspiciously, Havoc chuckling as if he's caught us red-handed.
"What have you two been up to? King’s been looking for you. We’re about to roll out," Havoc says, casting me a menacing glare as if he’d forgotten that I saved him just weeks ago.
"I was trying to get this guy to sober the fuck up," I lie, gesturing toward Carter, who can barely keep his balance.
"They aren’t going to let him come with us like that," Crow says, shaking his head before turning to descend the stairs into the basement, leaving us behind.
We trail after him in silence, my heart racing in time with my footsteps on the wooden stairs. As we descend, the unmistakable scent of marijuana hits us like a wall, making me cough as we move through a thick cloud of smoke.
King and D don't look pleased to see us as we emerge from the haze, their stern faces set and ready for trouble. Havoc and Crow scamper off to prepare while we're left facing the bosses, bracing for the reprimand we know is coming.
"Carter, you’re too fucking drunk to come along, so you can stay back with Tann and the others who didn’t make the cut from the last race," D declares, his tone leaving no room for debate.
"Red, suit up. You’ll be riding with Havoc and Crow," King instructs, pointing me in the direction I need to go.
Without a word, I walk away, leaving Carter to face the music. I have no choice. Some know we're undercover, but King and D aren't among them, and I'm about to risk my cover now. In the adjoining room, I locate a black jumpsuit, the same thing a mechanic might wear, along with a black ski mask and gloves. As I dress, I feel Havoc's penetrating glare, causing tension to rise within me.
He leans in, his expression dark as he whispers, “I know who you are,” his voice dripping with a menacing undertone. “And asmuch as I want to fucking expose you, I also need to thank you for saving my life.”
“Havoc,” I start, scrambling for the right words. “I was just doing my job. I’m not here to bust you anymore—not now, at least,” I confess, noting the flicker of betrayal in his eyes through the mask.
“I knew you were a fucking cop,” he seethes, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as though he were desperate to lash out at me. I can’t blame him.
“Look, you fucking caught me. But since I’ve been here, things have changed. I might have a warrant out for me because I haven’t checked in or provided my captain with the intel he sent me for,” I explain, hoping my honesty will mitigate some of his rage, but it does nothing to soothe him.
“I don’t fucking give a damn. I don’t trust a word you say, Red. Just make sure you have our fucking backs out there and stay away from Whitney, or I’ll blow your fucking cover faster than you can say ‘goodbye,’” he spits, the venom in his tone sending chills down my spine.
He stalks away, joining Crow, and I finish preparing, my mind racing for a way to smooth things over. But nothing comes to me right now. I'm distracted, and that's never a good state before a job. Tonight's more than just racing like before—tonight we're planning to hit a score in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Massachusetts, and as easy as it sounds, it's more dangerous than anything. I take a deep breath and pull the mask over my face, trying to block out Havoc's warning and focus on the task ahead. I glance in the mirror; the reflection of a stranger stares back through the lenses, blending into this world that I’ve both infiltrated and grown to despise.
“Hey, Red!” Crow's voice pulls me back to reality as he slaps a racing helmet into my hands. “Are you ready to ride?”
I nod, forcing a grin that doesn't quite reach my eyes. The truth is, I’m nowhere near ready. I know that every second I spend here could unravel the precarious thread I’m hanging onto in the undercover operation. But leaving now would be just as dangerous, so I push my uncertainty down.
We step into the dim-lit garage where expensive cars and fast bikes roar to life, their engines vibrating through the air like a chorus of angry beasts. Havoc is already seated on one of the sleek black bikes, his focus locked intently on the road ahead, the anticipation sharp in his glare.
