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eighteen

Redemption

Cade (“Red)

Oxy Cotton: Lil Wyte

W ith the weekend upon us and no further disturbances from Whitney's stalker, King and D decide to host a thrilling fight night for Masked Mayhem. The crowd that has gathered appears to have nearly tripled since our last event, heightening my excitement as well as my nerves, because with them, you never know what they have up their fucking sleeves.

Whitney strolls through the basement alongside Boston, their masks still concealing their identities. The knowledge that she’ll be watching the fight only fuels my adrenaline, and I know I have to put on a good show for her if I'm the one chosen to fight. 13 suddenly pulls me aside into the bathroom, a look of concern etched across his face as he lifts his purple glowing mask and turns on the faucet and lowers his voice to a whisper.

"The captain wants us in his office at eight tomorrow morning," he reveals, his expression mirroring the dread that settles in my gut.

Since joining the dark and twisted world of Masked Mayhem, we’ve checked in only once and have been avoiding him and the rest of the team ever since. He either knows too much about what’s been going on and realizes we're in over our heads, or he’s simply due for a briefing because we’ve been dodging him. Either way, the news spins my thoughts into turmoil, amplifying the anxiety I already feel about the fight tonight.

"Did he sound angry, or…?" I ask nervously, scrubbing my hands for the third time in a futile attempt to ease my nerves.

"Nah, but he definitely seemed like something was off, so no matter what, we have to stop in tomorrow." He looks as rattled as I feel, but I’m determined not to let the news ruin our night.

After our hushed conversation in the bathroom, we rejoin the other members in the fighting room. A large, enthusiastic crowd has gathered, encircling a group of fighters who are busy at the end of pummeling one another for the thrill of it all. As I move closer, I spot the man from the other night standing in the center of the circle, his once-vibrant white mask appearing duller than usual. Thankfully, it’s clear he’s not the same individual who’s been stalking Whitney.

"Ah, Red, it’s great to see you!" D calls out as I step into view. "Why don’t you come join us in the center? You’re up for tonight's second fight, after all."

My jaw drops as I step forward, catching a glimpse of Whitney, seated comfortably on Havoc's lap, her front-row seat providing her with an unobstructed view of the impending showdown. I lock eyes with the masked man opposite me, fear evident in his gaze. He’s clearly not cut out for this brutal life; D must have something planned, or else I can't think of why he’d be my opponent.

"It's another fight to the death!" King bellows, sending a jolt of haunting memories from my first fight flashing through my mind and nearly throwing me off balance.

The crowd erupts with cheers, a thick cloud of weed smoke filling the air, offering me a contact high that helps settle my nerves as I prepare for battle. But the truth weighs heavily on me—I can’t bring myself to kill him, nor can I afford to be killed. I’m caught in a precarious position with no easy way out.

As the alarm sounds, the fight begins, and the unsuspecting man before me lunges forward too soon. I quickly retaliate, landing a fist squarely against his throat, causing him to stumble backward and nearly lose his footing. It’s a reaction ingrained in me from my time in the Marines, and one that has stayed with me throughout my law enforcement career.

What happens next is a blur—I lose my composure. I charge at him and unleash a barrage of blows, my fists connecting with his face and body with each strike. He lands a few decent hits, but he's no match for me or the copious amount of training I've had.

“You live by the mask and die by the mask" replays over and over in my head, and I force myself to follow the rules because I'm not trying to fucking die tonight.

I can feel the adrenaline surging through my veins, every punch sending a mix of exhilaration and guilt spiraling within me. The crowd is roaring, and their chants echo around the neon-lit room, pushing me to fight harder, to prove myself. But with every blow, I see Whitney’s face flash before me, her eyes wide with concern, and each impact becomes a reminder of the man I'm pounding into the ground.

“Come the fuck on, Red!” D shouts from the sidelines, egging the crowd on. “Let that fucking rage flow! Show him who you fucking are!”

But rage is the last thing I want to feel. This isn’t just a fight; it’s a mirror, reflecting my fears and my decisions. I dodge his next weak swing and counter with a knee to his gut, watching him double over in pain. The crumpled figure on the floor is losing resolve, and I’m losing my grip on what I’ve become.

“Stop,” I mutter under my breath, my thoughts spiraling as I glance back to where Whitney is still watching, her eyes locked on me. “I can’t do this.”

Suddenly, as if my thoughts might be manifesting themselves, I see the man’s eyes dart around the circle, likely looking for a way out, a way to escape this grim fate. I take a breath, and rather than throwing another punch, I step back.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I growl, making my voice steady despite the chaos around me.

I can’t betray who I am, not in front of Whitney. The crowd’s cheers begin to falter, confusion rippling through them as they sense the tension in the air.

“What?! You’ve got to be fucking kidding!” D yells, clearly unhappy about my sudden change in tactics. “Finish him, Red! Show no mercy, or your body is what the fucking cops will find in the Charles River tomorrow!”

There’s a heavy silence that falls over the room, an uneasy hush before the chaos of confusion ignites. D glares furiously, and I can see the tension in the crowd rising like a volatile gas ready to explode. Suddenly, King steps forward, his powerful presence commanding immediate attention.

“Red!” he booms, his voice strong and authoritative. “You think this is some sort of fucking game? If you back down now, the whole system we built fucking crumbles.”

As the crowd leans with bated breath, I catch Whitney’s gaze again, and I want so desperately for her to understand what I'm feeling. This isn’t about glory or dominance—it's about humanity.

But at the same time I know that they'll kill me if I don't do as they say. And me trying to prove myself that I'm one of them and not a cop like they all think, I finally come around, seeing things their way.

I apologize to the man in front of me with my eyes before I unleash all hell on him, refusing to quit until he's not breathing.

The moment I decide to dive back into the fray, everything changes. There’s no turning back now. I launch forward, fists flying in a torrent of blood and fury. Each strike feels like a betrayal of everything I once stood for, each connection with his flesh amplifying my guilt until it roars in my ears, nearly drowning out the fucking crowd's screaming approval.

At first, the punches land cleanly—a cascade of aggression—and I’m no longer aware of anything other than the rhythm of battle. The man before me is crumpling beneath the weight of my assault, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I find solace in the chaos, a dark satisfaction buried deep within me. But it’s fleeting, a candle flickering under the weight of a storm.

The realization hits me like a sledgehammer: I’ll never be able to wash the blood from my hands, not after tonight. I can’t escape the man I’ve become, but I can’t relinquish what remains of my conscience.

Punch after punch. The crowd can no longer see the humanity in this fight; they are ravenous for bloodshed, and I am but another puppet fulfilling their twisted desires. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice screams for mercy—mercy for this man I’ve decided to destroy, mercy for the choices I’ve made. But I fucking ignore it, driven by the feral energy of the venue.

With my final blow, I feel the shift. The man’s body slumps to the ground, lifeless and broken. The crowd erupts in a frenzy, a symphony of cheers and hollers, but I'm numb, the victory echoing hollowly in my chest. Whitney’s face comes back to me, her eyes, once shining with excitement, now filled with horror and disbelief, but I can see a flicker of understanding within them too. In that moment, nothing else matters but her.

I stagger back, panting for breath as the adrenaline starts to wear off and reality sets in. Murmurs seep through the crowd, and I watch as the life I just extinguished settles like a black cloud over the room. This was supposed to be a fight for dominance—an act of proving myself—but all I’ve done is ensure that my soul is now fucking chained to this place.

D rushes up to me, his eyes glowing with maniacal triumph. “What a fucking show, Red! You might just be my new favorite!” He slaps my shoulder, hardly fazed by the repercussions of my actions. “You’ve finally earned your stripes!”

But I shake him off. “No more,” I whisper, staring at the lifeless body on the ground, an unshakeable weight settling in my gut. “I won’t do this again.”

The crowd’s energy shifts slightly, their fervent excitement dimming as whispers ripple through them. I feel their gazes harden, panic creeping up my spine. I know the power dynamics have shifted; I’m no longer the underdog striving for acceptance—I’m now a killer, a permanent fixture in this darkness. King’s voice booms again, but it sounds far away through the haze of my thoughts.

“Red! Focus! This is how it is now. You’ve done what was required. Don’t step back now!”

I turn away from him, from D, from the madness that surrounds me. My heart is pounding in my chest as I weave through the crowd, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere, to reclaim some part of myself that wasn’t lost in that brutal beating.

I find myself outside, the cool night air hitting my skin like a slap. I take deep breaths, trying to quell the storm of emotions brewing within me. There’s a part of me that fears I’ll never be free from the bond I’ve forged with this chaos.

In the distance, I spot Whitney standing alone, her mask now hanging loosely by her side, revealing her pale face twisted in distress. With every step I take towards her, I feel her disappointment loom larger than the shadows surrounding us.

“Red…,” she begins, her voice trembling.

“Whitney,” I breathe, and for once, the weight of my choices hangs directly in the space between us.

I need to explain, to pull her back from the brink of seeing me as a monster, but what can I possibly say that would make sense of tonight? Before I can form the words, I’m struck by the haunting realization of what I’ve become and the danger that still lurks around every corner—both as a fighter and a friend.

The feeling of dread returns, heavier than before, and I hear the words spin out unbidden: “I’m sorry.”

She stares at me, the hurt palpable, and all the darkness closes in. I know this battle I've just fought isn't the fight that truly matters; the real fight is the one raging within me. Instinctively, I reach for her, wanting to bridge the chasm that now lies between us. But the cold walls of Masked Mayhem loom large, and the shadows whisper that I may already be too far gone to save.

Would I stay in this bloody arena, trapped by the chains of my past choices, or would I risk everything to walk away and find some semblance of redemption? The night still unfolds before me, and I know, whatever I choose next, it will determine not just my fate, but Whitney's as well.

Instead of Whitney screaming at me or walking away without saying a word, she steps into my embrace, grabbing the back of my neck and bringing her mouth to mine. I lean against my bike for leverage, diving into her mouth like I'm bobbing for apples. It's hot and electric, and all I want to do is bend her over my motorcycle and fuck her in front of everyone.

So I do.

I swiftly spin her around, pushing her chest against the seat of my bike as I pull my pants down slightly and push her tiny shorts to the side. But just as quickly as the heat of our passion ignited, the weight of the fight hangs heavily on my conscience. This moment, albeit intoxicating, feels like an illusion—a distraction from the blood that stains my hands and the heavy reality I can’t escape. I whisper her name against her neck, savoring the warmth of her body against mine, yet knowing I’m already dragging us both deeper into this abyss that is my life.

"Red," she gasps, her breath hitching as I grind against her.

There’s urgency in her voice, but it cuts through the fog of desire that has settled over me. Not wanting to ruin this fragile connection we share, I pull back slightly, forcing myself to meet her gaze, searching for the understanding that was there moments ago.

"Fuck me, Cade," she whispers seductively, pulling me back against her, cupping my cock and palming it, feeling so fucking good.

But as her fingers dance along my skin, the remnants of tonight's violence shimmer behind my eyelids, threatening to pull me back under. I close my eyes for a brief moment—when I open them again, I can see my blood-stained hands reflected in her glimmering gaze.

“Whitney,” I whisper, the weight of her name heavy on my tongue. “I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts, a fire igniting in her eyes. “I don’t want to hear it right now. I just want you.”

She pulls me closer, and I can’t resist her pull, the way she makes me feel alive amid the darkness. I move again, sliding into her cunt like it’s a drug—the escape I desperately crave. The fire burns brighter, tinged with urgency, and for a moment, I forget everything else.

I fuck her, bent over my bike, fully aware that the others are watching. But I don't fucking care. Her pussy is soaked, my cock sliding in deep with ease, my hand cupping her tits under her shirt as I plow into her viciously.

She moans loudly, pushing her ass back against me, wanting me deeper and wanting more. So I give it to her, using her as a distraction from the bullshit tonight.

"Fuck, yes," she moans again, reaching between her legs to play with her clit to help get her over the edge quickly.

She then reaches down further and cups my balls, cradling them as I pound my cock into her relentlessly, showing not an ounce of mercy as I take out my frustration on her poor little pussy. But she takes it like a good girl, urging me to go deeper and harder until her pussy is squeezing my cock like a fucking vice. Her cum soaks me, dripping down my balls and my legs, landing on my pants where I'll always look to remember this night.

As she shakes and moans through her climax, I pull out of her and violently shove her back against the seat of my bike. I step closer, vigorously stroking my cock as my balls tighten, my orgasm about to erupt. And fuck, when it does, I bust all over her mouth, watching strings of my cum drip to her chest and coat her titties, making them glisten. I make sure everyone who's watching knows that she's fucking mine, including Havoc, but at this point, I don't care what he fucking does anymore.

I treat Whitney like my personal cum dumpster, covering her and leaving her a mess when I'm done. I don't even help clean her up because I want her to wear my cum for the rest of the night.

The ruthless grip of reality snaps back to me, and I suddenly find it impossible to drown out the noise of my conscience. While I'm lost in her, out there—beyond the intimacy of this embrace—the echoes of cheering and cruelty still linger in the air, a constant reminder of what I've done.

Before I can take it too far, I pull back slightly, drowning in her warmth but grappling with the storm raging inside me.

“Whitney, we can’t.”

She pulls away, brows furrowing in confusion and frustration. “Why not? You just killed a man in front of an entire crowd! You’re a fucking killer now, Cade. Accept it.”

The way she says it slices through me, and I tighten my grip on her shoulders, searching her face for something—anything—that would anchor me.

“You don’t understand. I didn’t want to do it. I was trying to hold back, but the crowd…” I trail off, the admission hanging between us.

“The fucking crowd wanted blood,” she snaps back. “And you gave it to them. You chose to be part of this. You chose to be their monster!” The hurt in her voice hits me square in the chest, but I can't falter now.

“Please, Whitney,” I plead, stepping closer, desperate for her to see my intent. “I’m not going to be this person. I never wanted to be. I thought I could protect you...”

“But you were losing yourself, Cade. And I can’t watch that happen.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and it feels like a noose tightening around my heart. "That's what happens to those who join Masked Mayhem."

I let out a shaky breath, knowing I'm at a crossroads. The fight might have ended physically, but the real battle rages on in the background—a battle not just for my life, but for Whitney’s trust and respect.

“Let’s just breathe,” I murmur, trying to mend the rift with my words. “I won’t let this be us. We’ll find a way out of this together. Just… give me a chance.”

For a moment, I see contemplation dance across her features. But the doubt lingers, pulling her gaze to the ground.

“You think it’s that easy to walk away from this? To cleanse yourself from the blood that’s now on your hands?”

“Yea,” I emphasize, my desperation growing. “We can figure this out. I can’t lose you like this. Not now.”

But as her expression shifts, I see the truth behind her sadness. Behind her pain, she knows something I don’t; she knows that I may already be too far gone. Her silence weighs heavily, and I press on.

“I’m not that man anymore, Whitney. Not really.”

She shakes her head, her lips pressed firmly together, and I feel the bitter sting of truth.

“You need to be careful, Cade,” she whispers, pulling her shorts back down. “This world doesn’t let you leave easily. We both know that.”

And that’s when I see it—the darkness lurking behind her own gaze, the fear of where this path is taking us. I catch the frail trembling of her body, and it ignites something deep within me. Sensing the shift, the realization of what I must do looms large.

“I’ll confront them,” I declare, my brows knitting together. “I’ll face King and D and make it clear that I’m done with this.”

Whitney’s eyes widen, a complex mix of concern and admiration pooling within them. “Cade, do you really think they'll let you just walk away after tonight? They never let anyone walk away, trust me.”

“Maybe not,” I admit, a surge of defiance thrumming in my chest. “But I owe it to myself to try. I won’t allow them to have any more hold over me. Not like this.”

"This is the shit you signed up for. You're in it for good, so you might as well get fucking used to it," she says, wiping my cum off her face but leaving it on her chest.

Stepping into her space once more, our eyes lock, and I see a flicker of hope return. Our connection—however fragile—remains alive, a strand connecting us, one that I refuse to sever.

In that moment, the battle lines are drawn. I’m no longer just a fighter for survival; I’m a man determined to reclaim his humanity and protect the one person who makes it worth fighting for.

With a final look into her eyes—a memory of the woman I’m fighting to save—I pull away. The weight of the night looms with uncertainty, but I won’t waver from this path of redemption, not now or ever.

As I stride back into the chaos, determination fuels each step. I will face the darkness that lies ahead, even if it means facing my demons head-on. The shadows of Masked Mayhem may whisper threats, but I’m ready to take control—ready to carve a new path even amidst the blood-spattered memories.

My journey towards redemption fucking starts now.