Page 39 of Unmasking Mayhem


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"Their fucking secret is out, and so is yours. Your little stalker ex decided to text me to let me know that you've been fucking lying to me." He's got a fire in his eyes that makes my skin feel like it's melting off, and the feeling of smoke infiltrating my lungs hits me out of nowhere.

"I didn't know until Dustin texted me too," I admit in a whisper, watching him methodically clean his gun with his favorite bandana.

"The fucking point, Whitney, is that you fucking knew they were undercover and gathering intel about me, your boys, and even you."

"Red said they weren't going to do what they—"

"You're fucking naive if you believe that shit, Whitney," he yells, slamming his hand on his desk and making everything shake, including me.

He stands up, bringing his gun, and backs me up against one of the glass walls, putting his gun to my lips, an evil, deadly gleam in his eyes. My heart pounds like never before. I'm trapped, still too fucked up from the drugs to do anything to help myself, so I try to remain calm.

"If I find you lying to me again, about anything, I leak the tape of you riding my fingers and begging for my cock," he laughs, pushing his gun further in my mouth. "But first, you're gonna have a part in those traitors' punishment, and you know me, Whitney, I don’t give any motherfucker mercy."

My heart sinks immediately, because I know what he's getting at, and if I'm right, Red and 13 are going to end up like Johnny, but their death will be at my hands.

thirteen

tunnel vision

Carter (“13”)

Going Through Some Thangs: Yella Beezy

In the dim light of the smoke-filled club, I lean back, my fingers tracing the rim of my glass with a deliberately slow rhythm. I watch Whitney dance, but something seems... off tonight. The spark that's usually in her eyes isn't there. Her body is stiffer than usual as she dances, and she clings to the pole as if it's her savior, an anchor grounding her to the moment.

I sip my drink slowly, already feeling fucking obliterated, but the voices in my head won't let me stop. A pill here, a linethere, and a drink always in my hand silence them, so I repeat the process over and over so I don't have to listen to them. And Whitney? She makes them silent and chaotic all at once, and it makes her dangerous for me.

But I can't stay away from her.

I don't want to stay away from her.

She’s like a fucking fire—a blaze that sears my skin, that draws me in with heat I can't fucking control. I shouldn't want her—she’s forbidden and not my type, but wrapped in the kind of light that blinds me—I can’t take my eyes off her. Every laugh, every fucking glance feels like a dangerous game—a promise of something sweet and bitter all at once. It’s a fucking craving gnawing at me, pulling me closer to the edge where the shadows linger and my demons awaken.

Love is a cruel fucking irony, isn’t it?

It wraps around my heart like a fucking snake, squeezing tighter with each thought of her. I’ve danced with fucking demons long enough to know that this kind of desire comes with a cost—a price I know I'd pay. There’s a darkness inside, a raging storm that whispers to me, urging me to take what isn’t mine. Lust becomes an insatiable beast, hungry for flesh, for connection, forgetting the fucking lines drawn by our fate.

I can feel the heat of her presence, like a flame igniting my fucking emotions. Each moment she’s near is electrifying; it's a dangerous cocktail of desire mixed with the bittersweet taste of forbidden. I want to pull her close, to fucking drown in the chaos of her laughter, to paint her skin with the marks of desperation that come from my hands and fingers.

But I can’t.

This obsession is a double-edged sword, one that could fucking shatter everything I’ve built. The thought of her, so beautiful and out of reach, transforms into a fucking ghost that haunts me at night. I lie awake, battling my own damn demons,fighting the urge to reach for her, to invite the chaos I fucking crave. But still, I’m trapped in this fucking dance—an endless cycle of wanting… of needing something I can’t have. It’s crazy and intoxicating—love laced with danger. So I sit in the shadows, with my demons by my side, cherishing my need for her, the girl who stirs my fucking soul and threatens to unleash the wild within me.

Interrupting my thought process, King emerges from the staircase, walking right over to the bar, not looking happy. But it's not me who he looks like he wants to fucking hurt; it's Whitney. I shiver when his arm brushes against mine, and he leans over the bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey.

"I thought I told you to go home," he says deeply.

"I was waiting for Whitney to be off," I tell him, putting my eyes back on her as she finishes her dance.

"One of the girls called out, so I put her back on the stage for a few," he states, flicking his eyes between me and her. "But you can take her home. She's done."

I nod, keeping my eyes on her until she's out of sight, heading for the dressing room. Something is off with King tonight. He's angry. And it's different from the anger he had when he went off on me and Red in his office earlier. I do my best to ignore it because I'm not trying to get stuck in the middle of something I can't get myself out of. With King, that's always a possibility.

"I'm gonna go get her, man. I'll see you tomorrow," I chuckle, giving him a friendly pat on the back.

"You'd better not be fucked up, 13," he threatens, and a chill trickles along my spine from the tone of his voice.

I just nod as I walk off, just wanting to see Whitney... and I want to find out what happened between her and King. As I push through the door to the dressing room, the air is thick with the scent of perfume and sweat, an intoxicating blend that makes my fucking head spin a little more. I catch a glimpse of Whitney’ssilhouette by the mirror, her back turned to me, brushing her hair with shaky fingers. The fluorescent lights overhead capture the beads of sweat on her skin, turning them into tiny jewels that shimmer against her curves. But along with the sweat, there are fresh bruises that she didn't have when she got to work.