Page 10

nine

Betrayal and A Broken Nose

Whitney

Serpentine: Vana

W alking into the living room this morning, I was struck by a disheartening sight: needles and empty baggies scattered across the coffee table. I had already been feeling uneasy, hardly sleeping thanks to Havoc's erratic behavior, so discovering the remnants of someone’s drug binge hit me hard. Last I knew, Boston was clean. As disappointment weighed heavily on my chest, I began picking up the trash and capping the used needles, scrubbing down every surface in our apartment with bleach.

I headed towards her room to confront Boston, but she was nowhere to be found. Her belongings were untouched, precisely as I had seen them the other night. If it wasn’t Boston getting high in the living room, then who was? Havoc had been glued to my side all fucking night, even following me to the damn bathroom, and I distinctly remembered him leaving early this morning while I was still awake.

Anxiety churned in my stomach as I recalled the cryptic text messages I’d received and the notes left inside my apartment; a chilling suspicion crept in that whoever was behind those messages had somehow entered my apartment to leave this taunting reminder. It made me feel exposed and deeply vulnerable. I tried so fucking hard to not let this person intimidate me or scare me away from my own home, but I couldn’t stay here any longer, at least for right now.

I took a quick shower, dressed in a hurry, and packed a week’s worth of clothes and essentials. Without a backward glance, I hopped on my bike and sped away, never looking back, determination overcoming dread.

I realized I didn’t feel safe in California or in Boston, and the anxiety swelled at the thought that my own apartment was another fucking danger zone. The only refuge I could think of was the club—despite the recent chaos of a shooting that had nearly taken our lives. Still, it remained the safest place I knew, even if my faith in its security was shaky. My family was there, and I needed to be with them, especially in the wake of everything.

After riding for a while aimlessly, letting the vibrations of my bike lull me into a relaxed state, and attempting to piece together the chaotic fragments of my life, I arrive at the club and pause, momentarily taken aback by its normalcy. The sidewalk is clear of broken glass, the doors are newly replaced—free from the scars of bullets—and the Club Mayhem sign gleams brightly in neon teal, a vivid contrast to the old weathered white.

Damn, they work fast.

As I park my bike and remove my helmet, I survey the workers hustling to ensure the club reopens on time tonight. Normally, Johnny would be out front, likely tipsy, but he's been conspicuously absent; I didn't see him at all the previous night, which feels very off.

I spot Lux and Donovan discussing plans with a contractor, so I approach them, my backpack slung over my shoulder. Cade and Carter, stationed nearby, are keeping watch. Cade’s intense gaze sends a shiver down my spine, an unsettling feeling I can’t shake off as I greet my bosses with a determined smile.

“If it isn’t the lovely little Raven,” Lux says, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re early. Your shift doesn’t start for a while.”

“I know,” I reply, forcing a smile through the fluttering in my stomach. “I was hoping we could talk for a minute.”

The weight of unseen eyes on my back has my nerves on high alert. Noticing my unease, Lux nods, murmuring something to Donovan before gently taking my elbow and leading me away from the bustling crowd into the club through a side entrance. The echoes of our footsteps fill the vast, silent space as he guides me to his office on the second floor, which overlooks the dance floor below through one-way tinted glass. Although I've been here before, the discomfort still feels fresh, and I remain conscious of my worries lingering just beneath the surface.

“Sit,” he commands, his normally upbeat tone replaced by a seriousness that grabs my attention.

I sit on the edge of the chair, crossing my legs to stop the nervous bouncing of my foot. Lux retrieves a sleek bottle of tequila and two shot glasses before settling behind his large black oak desk. He pours us each a shot, sliding one toward me before tapping his glass against mine, both downing the fiery liquid in unison.

“So, Little Mischief, what can I do for you?” he asks, locking his gaze onto mine—a rare intensity that catches me off guard.

I clear my throat, attempting to organize my thoughts. “I think someone is stalking me,” I blurt out.

The color drains from Lux’s face, and concern replaces his usual bravado. “What makes you think that?”

And so, I recount the story—text messages, strange notes, the unsettling feeling of being watched, and the mess of drugs and paraphernalia I had found in the living room. With each word, a weight lifts slightly off my shoulders, but there's still a huge piece continuing to hold me down.

“I packed a bag and was hoping you’d let me stay here for a while until I can figure this shit out.” I clasp my hands tightly in my lap, fingers crossed, praying he won’t refuse me.

His expression darkens, anger and fear flickering across his features. Nodding, he softens just enough to smile. “Choose a VIP room, and I’ll have the cleaners come in for a deep clean. But no one can know you’re staying here—not even the guys, got it?”

“Yes, I understand. Thank you, Lux,” I exhale, a rush of relief flooding over me. “Have you seen Boston?”

“Yeah, she spent the night with me and Donovan the last couple of nights. She hasn’t been back to your place,” he replies.

A wave of gratitude washes over me; at least she wasn’t the one using it in my living room. Yet, the concern shifts—if it wasn’t Boston, then it has to be the stalker, and that terrifies me even more.

“Are you ready for work tonight?” Lux asks, pouring me another shot.

“Oh, yes, of course.” I smile, downing the shot, and my mind randomly drifts to Johnny as I slide my glass back to him.

“Another, huh?” Lux remarks, recognizing the weight resting on my shoulders.

“Yeah, and I could use another after this,” I laugh to lighten the mood. “By the way, I haven’t seen Johnny around in a few days. Do you know what’s up?”

Lux’s demeanor shifts again; his jaw clenches tight, and his eyes darken like a storm brewing. The atmosphere thickens, and I can sense that something's wrong. I lean back in my chair, waiting for an answer that feels like it will never come.

“Whitney,” he snaps, tense and defensive. “Don’t ask fucking questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“Lux, please, I just need to know what happened to him.” My voice trembles as I steel myself for the worst.

He sighs, handing me the tequila bottle. As I grip it, he pulls me to my feet, rounding the desk with a swift motion. I collide with the corner, pain jolting through my hip. Lux flicks on some music, reclining into his leather chair, his legs spread casually.

“You want to know what happened to Johnny?” He challenges, eyes gleaming with dark mirth. “Then fucking dance for me. You've always been my favorite.”

I hesitate momentarily but take a swig of tequila, letting the burn dissolve in my throat. Leaning into him, I begin to sway to the beat, trying to block out the fact that he's both my boss and Boston’s boyfriend.

“Turn the fuck around,” he commands, his hands gripping my hips and urging me to face away from him.

I comply, keeping my legs pressed together as I sway, my palms resting on his knees while I dance, blocking out my trepidation. A low groan escapes him, and I feel an unsettling thrill coursing through me.

“Dance for me, Little Mischief,” he growls, yanking my pants down a little, a strange powder being dumped on the top of my ass.

Despite the chaos, I smile, but the situation feels wrong. I feel the sharp touch of a cut straw, and my pulse quickens as he sniffs a line off my ass before smacking my cheek hard, forcing me into an uneasy rhythm. Although the tension simmers beneath the surface, I learned long ago to submit to Lux’s demands.

“What happened to Johnny?” I press, urgency lacing my words.

“He didn’t make the cut,” Lux replies casually as he pushes deeper into my personal space. “Masked Mayhem had to make examples of those who don't know how to act in my fucking club with my girls.”

I recoil, a wave of rage and betrayal crashing over me. “What do you mean?”

“Red and 13 acted on the orders. You should ask them,” he says nonchalantly, brandishing his power, this time sniffing a line off my other ass cheek while my anger continues to flare. " 13 snapped his neck, and Red slit his throat."

I'm fucking livid but also heartbroken knowing Johnny had been caught in the crossfire of their brutal world. I needed to find them to figure things out, and as I rushed to get dressed before someone walked in and thought the worst, I swung open the door, almost smacking into Boston before storming down the hall, chaos brewing inside me.

“Hold on—” Boston calls as I push past her and Donovan, pain and fear clawing at my throat.

I burst outside, the sun long gone beneath the horizon, frantically searching for Cade and Carter amidst the crowd. The tension heightens; the full moon hangs low, and stars twinkle overhead as I finally spot them, standing in a circle watching a fight between some of the MM members. Ignoring Havoc and Crow calling my name, I charge toward Red and 13, my fists clenching in preparation.

Wearing his mask, Red opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, I strike him hard in the face, feeling the satisfying crunch of impact echo through the air. He staggers back, blood seeping from his nose and running down the front of his white shirt, but I don't stop there; I swing at 13, connecting with his jaw and cracking his mask with my first punch.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” 13 shouts, while Red takes my punches without defending himself, knowing his ass deserves every single one.

“Are you fucking done?” Red snaps, taking his shirt off to use it to hold his bleeding nose, trying to distract me with his tattoos and muscles, but it doesn't work, and I'm far from fucking finished.

“How could you do this?” I scream, feeling the adrenaline course through me as rage pours from my heart.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Red challenges, stepping closer as if trying to provoke me further. "You broke my fucking nose, Whitney!"

“You’re lucky that’s all I fucking broke, Red! How could you betray Johnny like that?”

With that, I can’t bear to wait for their answers any longer. I know why they did it—fear, blind ambition—but that doesn't excuse their actions. Betrayal stings like a fresh wound, and I need to escape their presence, even with a stalker on the loose.

I shove my way past the two of them, heart racing, fists still clenched. I can feel their glares boring into my back like hot needles, but I don’t care. My mind races as I push through the crowd, heart pounding in my ears. I need to get as far away from them as possible—their bloodied faces, their excuses, their justifications. They think they’re untouchable, that their actions have no consequences, but I know better. Johnny deserved better.

The cool night air embraces me like a familiar friend, but it does little to soothe the tempest building inside. The shrill sounds of the brawl behind me fade away as I wander into the empty alley beside the club. Leaning against the cold brick wall, I close my eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths. I can hear the distant thump of bass from the club, the party moving forward without me, and it makes my fucking blood boil.

Why did it have to be Johnny? Maybe it was na?ve of me to think that they were somehow different, that loyalty meant more than power and greed. The loss still stings, the memory of his goofy smile playing in my mind like a haunting melody. I thought things could be better, but as I wipe away the angry tears forming at the corners of my eyes, I realize that nothing has changed. The world of Masked Mayhem is ruthless; it’s a dog-eat-dog existence, and even love gets tossed aside when you’re looking out for number one.

With my pulse still racing, I reach for my phone, my finger hovering over the contact. I want to call Boston, but the insurmountable weight of my emotions keeps my hand trembling. Instead, I remember that she’s already looking for me, trying to catch up. I’ve been avoiding her, disappearing into this dark corner of the alley because I’m not ready to face her yet—not everything I want to say is safe. Not when seeing her might break me further.

I wander deeper into the darkness of the alley, searching for solace amidst the shadows until I hear footsteps echoing faintly behind me. I whirl around, thoughts racing, brows furrowed. My heart skips a beat.

Boston emerges from the end of the alley, panting slightly, but her features are set in a determined look. "I knew you’d come here."

“Why?” I retort, trying to maintain the edge in my voice, but it falters. “Why would you even want to talk to me? Didn’t you hear what they did to Johnny?”

I know I shouldn’t lash out at her, but the anger is still simmering just beneath the surface. Her face falls; she looks as if I slapped her.

“Of course I did, Whitney. I heard about it all, and it breaks my heart. But we need to stick together now more than ever. What we’re up against is bigger than our personal issues; we can’t keep fighting each other.”

“Sticking together?” My tone is bitter as I step closer, anger and hurt flooding my system. “You were so deep in this world you didn’t even notice what was happening around you. You were too busy falling into Lux’s trap, oblivious to what that meant for the rest of us. We’re just pawns in their game, Boston!”

Taking a deep breath, she steps toward me, concern etching lines on her face. “I won’t pretend like I’ve made the right choices, but shutting me out isn’t going to solve anything. You need me right now.”

I shake my head, ripping my gaze away from her pleading blue eyes. “Do I? I don’t need anyone right now, especially not someone wrapped up in all this chaos. I just want to protect what’s left of our lives, and I can’t do that if I’m caught up in this mess.”

“Look, I know you’re hurting. I know Johnny was like a brother to you. But I came to find you, didn’t I? I don’t care how deep into this world we are; I care about you. Whatever happens next, you don’t have to do it alone.”

The warmth in her voice penetrates through my wall of anger. I close my eyes, battling the bittersweet tension rising within. “You shouldn’t have to worry about me. I understand that you’re going through things too, but I can’t carry your burdens.”

Before she can reply, I hear a commotion from the club, a mix of laughter and shouting abruptly cut short. My instincts kick in as dread washes over me. There's something off.

“Did you hear that?” I whisper urgently, glancing back toward the entrance to the alley.

Boston straightens, anxiety creeping into her voice. “Yeah, it sounds bad.”

We exchange glances, and without another word, we understand exactly what needs to happen. We brace ourselves, edging closer to the noise. Whatever was brewing in the darkness of the club was about to boil over, and we might be the only two in a position to stop it.

Drawing on our similar history, we push our fears down and take cautious steps toward the chaos looming ahead. As we round the corner, visions of vengeance dance wildly in our minds. I look over at her, and for the first time in what feels like forever, we wear the same determination on our faces.

Whatever threat awaits us now, we’re facing it together. And that might be enough to tip the scales in our fucking favor.