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fifteen

Protection Detail

Cade (“Red")

Same Asshole: Jelly Roll

M y fingers throb and bleed from an abundance of paper cuts as I count the stolen money, while imposing masked men stand watch over 13 and me, the newest recruits in the perilous world of Masked Mayhem. In the absence of Havoc and Crow, we've been unexpectedly promoted, trusted with one of the highest positions—albeit temporarily—until their return. Had we not killed Johnny, we’d be far from this room, relegated to fucking grunt work, staking out the club's entrances and exits, and lame-ass shit like that.

We've managed to avoid updating the captain about our current predicament, largely to dodge questions regarding the gruesome, dismembered body recently discovered on Boston’s south shore. Plus, there's no way we'd pass a fucking drug test at this point.

As an undercover agent, you learn to embody the role all too well. Sometimes so well that you find yourself living that life, engaged in the very illegal activities you were meant to expose. By the time the higher-ups catch on, you’re already in too deep, and most agents hesitate to come out of their cover. Lately, that’s the feeling creeping over me, though I can’t be certain about 13.

I grew up in utter chaos, thriving on illegal activities. If it weren’t for my older brother pushing me to improve, I doubt I'd be standing here now. This world is dragging me back into the shadows and danger, the very realm I fought so fucking hard to escape.

But then there’s Whitney—fucking Whitney. She’s the reason I keep going, even if she’s not meant to be. It’s fucking impossible not to become obsessed with her. Those light green eyes have pierced through my soul, refusing to let go. She consumes my thoughts, my every desire; it just stings knowing I’m not the only one wanting her in this way. If only I could get Havoc and Crow out of my way, I could make her mine—only mine. Yet they cling to her like fucking leeches, entrenched so deeply in her life that they seem impossible to get rid of.

After counting another stack of cash, I pass it to 13 for a recount before he hands it to Kidd to run through the machine. I look up just in time to see King and D walking in, escorting Tann to the vault for the latest cash drop. My eyes lock with King’s, and an uncomfortable chill skitters down my spine. Something feels different since his last visit, and I know it has to do with Whitney. Once the three of them leave, I turn to 13, whispering to keep my words concealed.

"I think something else is going on," I tell him, continuing my count to avoid raising suspicion.

"Why?" he replies, his gaze fixed on the stack of cash in his hands.

"I just have this feeling. I think Whitney is back."

He shakes his head, puffing on a blunt laced with heroin, his eyes starting to droop from the drug. When he passes it to me, I take a hit, relishing the instant relaxation as the smoke fills my lungs and enters my bloodstream.

"Keep your fucking cover, man. We can't afford a slip-up now," he warns, his voice low and gravelly. "Just don’t go poking around where you shouldn’t."

"I'm n—"

"Red, 13, come with me," D calls as he and King re-enter the room, cutting off my reply.

We quickly pass the pile of money to a nearby member, rising to our feet, eager not to be told twice. In silence, we follow King and D through the neon-lit basement, moving in a straight line up the stairs to the main club. I’ve never been so grateful to be in a strip club; those hours spent counting cash made me feel like blowing my fucking brains out. I crave the thrill, the risk—not being confined to a room with others, unable to act.

I scan the girls dancing on stage, hoping to catch a glimpse of Whitney, but all I recognize is Boston. I quickly avert my gaze, painfully aware of how off-limits she is. We're led up another flight of stairs to King’s office, and the moment I step inside and see Whitney, it’s like a fresh breath of air fills my lungs. I feel invigorated, and I can’t help but smile beneath my mask.

I know she’s still upset with us for what we did to Johnny, but I hold onto the hope that what we had isn’t lost. She greets us with a tentative smile as we enter, taking our seat without command, and I notice that neither Havoc nor Crow is present.

Thank fucking God.

“Gentlemen,” King starts, lighting a cigarette that he hands to Whitney. “I need you to protect Raven here with your fucking lives.” His tone leaves no room for dissent, though neither of us would dare object.

“King, I told you I—” Whitney begins, but D quickly interrupts, concern evident in his voice.

“That motherfucker is still out there, Whit. We can’t let you go anywhere alone. With Havoc and Crow on another job, someone has to fill their shoes.”

“Fine,” she huffs, rolling her eyes.

I can tell she’s still harboring resentment over Johnny. But I’m determined to break through her defenses, to infiltrate the fortress surrounding her heart. After all, my job is to breach barriers—including those surrounding a fiercely guarded woman.

D's words hang heavily in the air as I watch Whitney's expression shift, indecision flickering across her face. The tension is palpable, clashing with the thick cloud of smoke swirling around us. She exhales sharply, visibly weighing the implications of being placed under our protection. I can see that the internal struggle lies not just with her unwillingness to lean on us, but also with the growing attraction she can no longer deny.

“Your safety is important, Whitney. We can’t risk the chance of that motherfucker coming after you,” King asserts, his voice laced with authority.

He shoots a glance at 13 and me, gauging our reactions. I nod, willing to step in.

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” I promise, my eyes locked onto hers, trying to convey the sincerity behind my assurance, as if my gaze alone can breach the distance between us.

The crowded noise of the club dims to an echo, leaving only the rapid thump of my heart. She meets my gaze, and for a moment, the weight of the world falls away. But as quickly as it appears, the connection flickers out, replaced by her familiar wariness.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I can take care of my fucking self,” Whitney retorts, her tone combining defiance and vulnerability.

“We can’t afford to be short-sighted right now,” D cautions, his voice steady. “You don’t realize how dangerous it is. He hasn't been found, but he knows your every move. You’re obviously his only target.”

“Or I might just be the bait,” she shoots back, her chin lifting defiantly, eyes bright with anger.

“Too fucking risky,” I interject, stepping closer. “You’re not going to turn yourself into a target just because you want to prove something.”

My words hang in the air as I take in her reaction, the flicker of her anger shifting to something deeper, something hurt. Whitney’s stilettos click sharply against the floor as she moves away from me, heading for the window. She gazes out into the dimly lit streets of Boston, her silhouette framed by the faint glow of the city skyline.

“It’s always chaos with you guys. I didn’t ask to be thrown into this fucking mess.”

“Shit, neither did we,” I say softly, my voice low enough only she can hear. “But I’ll be damned if we let anyone else dictate your fate. It’s your life, but we care too much to just stand back and watch.”

She brushes her hair back, the light catching her features in a way that makes my heart ache. “Fine, but if this is going to work, we need to respect each other’s space. If I don’t want you around, I’ll let you know.”

“Deal,” I reply, feeling the tension shift slightly as if we’ve begun carving out a new understanding.

King interrupts, tossing his cigarette butt into an ashtray. “This isn’t some kind of fucking playdate. You’re not just here for protection; you’re part of this family, and right now, the whole family is at risk.”

“Right,” 13 adds. “And family looks out for each other. We’ll keep an eye on you, whether you fucking like it or not.”

Whitney turns around, the spark of rebellion in her eyes dimming slightly. “You’ve all been through hell. I get that. Just know that the last thing I want is to be a burden.”

“Then don’t be,” I assert, grateful for the stirring hope in my chest as I reflect on the lightness of her gaze. “Just let us do what we're good at. We take care of our own, and that includes you.”

Her gaze softens for an instant. “Okay, but no babysitting. I can handle myself,” she says firmly, attempting to regain her earlier control, yet I can see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Good,” King replies, his own features relaxing a fraction. “We’ll work in shifts to ensure someone’s always with you. You’d better get used to it till he's fucking caught.”

Suddenly, a loud crash reverberates from downstairs, shattering our fragile moment. I exchange a look with 13—a silent acknowledgment of the inevitable chaos that seems to be the constant in our lives.

“Let’s check it out,” I suggest, moving toward the door, instincts kicking in. “Stay close, Whit,” I add, shooting her a glance over my shoulder before plunging back into the fray.

There’s a small part of me that hopes it will be just another routine night, but in this world, I know that danger is never far behind. As we step back into the chaos of the club, adrenaline courses through my veins. I have to keep her safe—not just from outside threats, but also from my own growing affections. Because if I’m going to protect Whitney, I have to ensure I don’t lose myself in the fucking mayhem along the way.