Page 74 of Unmasking Mayhem


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“Promise,” I say, locking my gaze onto hers and letting all my conviction bleed into that single word. It hangs heavily between us, fuller than any other promise I’ve ever made—a vow forged in fire, in pain, and ultimately in love.

With a nod, she closes the gap, the warmth of her body brushing against mine as we embrace. It’s just the three of us now—the remnants of a storm that raged on, but somehow we emerged to find the light again. Together, we can handle anything that lies ahead.

“Let’s get out of here,” Raze says, his voice bringing us back to the reality surrounding us. “No more delays.”

We slip back into the car, the tension lifting just a little. I glance at Whitney in the rearview mirror, hoping to see her ready to fight alongside us instead of haunted by the past. As Raze pulls back onto the road, I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, we are stronger now, with the weight of our pasts behind us and the promise of our future ahead.

With the warmth of her presence next to me, the engine still roaring beneath us, I realize it’s more than just hope—we’re on the brink of reclaiming everything we lost, and I’ll be damned if I let the darkness retake what’s ours. Together, we’re going to rewrite our story, turning the pages one breath, one fight, and one heartbeat at a time.

twenty-three

true love

Raze (“Havoc”)

Thinking Out Loud: Ed Sheeran

The way the morning light spills across Whitney's face has me in a fucking chokehold. Even in the tiny rearview mirror, a halo of light frames the crown of her head, and with her eyes peacefully shut, she looks like an angel. Hawk and I sit in the parking lot of her building, motionless in the car, devoid of the energy to step outside as we watch over her.

I am fucking worn out, both mentally and physically, but I’m determined to be strong for Whitney. She needs us now morethan ever. Though she hasn't shared what went down with Dustin, we can only assume the worst, knowing his history—their history. My heart aches for her, pulsing with the same sorrow I felt all those years ago when we left her behind.

"Should we wake her up so we can go inside?" Hawk asks, his voice laced with hesitation.

"I'd rather not, but we probably should," I reply softly, reluctant to disturb her peace any sooner than necessary.

We both continue to gaze at her, memories washing over us as the air inside the car grows stifling and warm. I crack open my door and pull the keys from the ignition to silence the beeping, but the sudden rush of cool air stirs Whitney from her sleep. She jolts awake, eyes wide with confusion as she takes in her surroundings, momentarily disoriented. It doesn’t take long for recognition to dawn, but it seems to take an eternity for color to return to her cheeks.

"We're already here?" she asks, pulling her hood closer around her face, fingers gripping the door handle—eager to get out yet slightly apprehensive.

"Yeah, we didn’t want to wake you," I reassure her, shifting in my seat to catch her gaze, a faint smile breaking through her tired expression.

But then I notice the bruises marking her lips, remnants of what must have been a savage blow. My blood ignites, a fiery pulse racing through my veins. My fists clench instinctively, but a glance from Hawk reminds me to relax, pulling me back into the present moment—our reality free from Dustin, or so I hope. But I need to know.

"Are you going to be safe here?" I ask, conscious she understands the gravity of my concern. "Is Dusti—"

"Dustin isn't fucking coming back," she interjects, her voice flat as she throws open the back door and steps out, slamming it with finality. "Dustin's dead and never fucking coming back."

Surprisingly, a smirk tugs at my lips at the thought of her killing him; it stirs something within me. I've witnessed her kill before, but this feels different. I don’t need to have seen it to visualize the scene, and the image is fucking intoxicating.

Hawk and I step out and trail behind her as she pushes open the door to her apartment, bracing ourselves for a scene of darkness and destruction. To our astonishment, however, the moment she enters the place is clean, warm, and inviting, the scent wrapping around us like a comforting embrace. Boston zips around, headphones in, diligently tidying up the space without realizing we’ve arrived. But the surprises don’t end there. As we venture further in, we find Red and D seated on the couch, engaged in conversation as they wipe down the table before them.

"What the hell is this?" Hawk mutters, bewildered, casting a cautious glance for King.

The guys look up, putting down their cleaning supplies and grinning at us in silence. Whitney slips off her shoes and heads to her room without a word to them, but the expressions on their faces indicate they expected nothing less from her after the turmoil she’s endured these past few days.

"How is she?" Red asks, concern flickering in his eyes.

"Not great," I admit, exhaling a sigh as I light a cigarette. "But she just needs time; she’ll get back to her normal self." I wish I could believe that, but deep down, doubt lingers. "Where’s King?"

"Not here; don’t worry," D replies, obviously aware of the precarious spiral King has been caught in and clearly unsettled by it.

He stands and heads straight for Whitney's room, causing my hands to twitch with anxiousness. The door cracks open, leaving a sliver between the frame, and I catch whispers floating out, but no signs of distress, reassuring me that she is okay. Takinga moment for myself, I settle into a chair just as Boston enters, her eyes widening in shock. She yanks her headphones out and scans the room for Whitney.

"Where is she?" Panic seeps into her voice when she doesn’t see her.

"Talking to D in her room," Hawk replies, nodding toward the door. "And thanks for doing this for her. We really appreciate it."

"I couldn’t let her come home to this… chaos." She shakes her head, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Everything's nearly finished, so we'll be heading out soon to give you all some privacy."