Page 20

Raze (“Havoc”)

Studio: ScHoolboy Q

The hum of my bike takes me out of the moment, keeping me stuck in my head thinking about Whitney. Lined up on a dark street on the backroads of Taunton, we prepare for our first race since Red and 13 joined Masked Mayhem, but this is the first time that Whitney and Boston have been allowed to partake in the deadly fight to the finish.

Just like in the basement, out here there are no rules—none except to not get caught. The bikers who join these races don't fuck around, and if you're not careful, they'll have you eating gravel as your mangled bike fucking crushes you. They ride dirty and race dirtier, determined to show the bosses they have what it takes to keep their spot.

With King and D already plotting the next heist, a race is one of the ways to determine who will get to participate, and the turnout this time around has almost doubled from the one we had a few months ago. We race on dark roads that wind and narrow without any warning. Where half the road is full of potholes and the other half is a mix of dirt and gravel, and if you're not alert, you'll lose control in the blink of an eye, and nobody is allowed to stop to come to your rescue.

As the motto goes, you live by the mask and die by the mask, and the same goes for the gritty race to either the finish line or death—you live by the ways of the road or die by the ways of the road, and that's the only fucking way it goes.

Next to me, Hawk straddles his bike, his visor up on his helmet as he looks around, his eyes landing on Whitney, and he shakes his head angrily. Turning to me, he leans in close so I can hear him over the rumble of at least 100 bikes.

"Is she trying to fucking kill herself?" he asks, rage turning his eyes dark and wild.

"It looks like it. This isn't any place for her, so why King and D keep allowing her and Boston to join us is fucking beyond me. I don't like it. I don't trust it." I speak to Hawk but keep my eyes on Whitney, who hasn't stopped staring at me since she pulled up on her bike.

I know she's trying to take her power back from the man who's hunting her, but she's doing it in all the wrong fucking ways.

"You're right to worry," Hawk mutters, shifting in his seat as he keeps an eye on Whitney, his grip on the handlebars tightening. “She doesn’t understand what it means to really race out here. It’s a fucking death wish, and if she isn’t careful, she’ll take Boston down with her.”

As if sensing our conversation, Whitney slips her visor down, determination etched across her face. The engine revs, a raw growl echoing in the night. The other bikers shift impatiently, their excitement crackling in the air, blending with the exhaust fumes that hang heavy around us.

“Focus, Hawk," I say, knowing it doesn’t help to let anxiety gnaw at us. "We’ve got to keep our heads in the game. If we’re distracted, it’s not just a race anymore. It’s a fucking suicide mission.”

The gun fires, and the world around us blurs into a chaotic roar of engines and flying dust. We shoot forward like arrows. My heart races as adrenaline surges through my veins, but it’s hard to shake the image of Whitney riding right behind me, her tenacity a double-edged sword.

Every shift and turn feels amplified in my gut. I weave through the pack, eager to claim my spot at the front, while glancing back to see how far behind Whitney and Boston have fallen, their inexperience already showing. The rough road conditions threaten to toss us aside into the shadows, but I fight the urge to pull back and reel them in; it'll only distract me from my own ride.

Each biker pushes with furious ambition, but I catch glimpses of Hawk cutting through, his resolve evident as he slips ahead, the throttle his best friend. He offers a quick look back at me, his features tightening into a grimace. We’ve been through enough together to know that trust is as much a part of survival as our bikes. Yet, it feels like we’re racing against more than our rivals this time—we’re racing against time itself and the lurking fucking threat that’s always at Whitney’s back.

The course descends into a sharp curve, and the ground bites at my tires, gravel shifting with the momentum. I can sense the pack closing in, a dangerous clamor of metal and bodies merging with primal energy. Breathing hard, I shift gears, bending low over my handlebars, feeling the bike respond beneath me.

Every instinct tells me to keep going, to fight harder, but as we near the climax of the race, I can’t shake the foreboding feeling that something is about to shift in this wicked dance. The finish line draws nearer, but my eyes remain locked on Whitney, who’s somehow managing to stay in the mix. It’s reckless, intoxicating. I shouldn't admire her daring, but I can’t fucking help it.

Suddenly, a roar from the rear catches my attention—a biker has veered too aggressively into the turn, losing control and crashing hard against the unforgiving asphalt, causing a chain reaction as more bikers lay down their bikes or get thrown off of them before they can react. The sound is sickening, and my chest tightens as I feel the ripple of fear race through the group.

“Shit!” I yell, instinctively slowing down to navigate around the wreckage. Hawk follows suit, his protective instincts kicking in hard.

Then I see Whitney, her bike swerving fiercely as she struggles from behind the chaos. My heart drops. She’s too close to the edge of destruction, too oblivious to the danger.

“Hold on, Whitney!” I scream, pushing forward despite the chaos behind me, determined not to let anything happen to her. Not here. Not now.

As the finish line looms ahead, the shadows of what led us here haunt me, but I won’t let that stop me. The race isn’t just for bragging rights tonight—it’s for survival. And if I have to turn my bike around to save her, I will. We all might have masks to keep up appearances, but somehow, she’s the one unmasking deeper fears—fears of not only racing but living in a world where danger lurks away from the racetrack.

And as I push forward, my grip set on the throttle, I vow to keep her safe. Because whether I like it or not, this fight is just as much hers as it is mine.

Without hesitation, I crank the throttle and pull ahead, heart pounding as adrenaline courses through my veins. The roar of engines fills my ears, but all I can focus on is Whitney and Boston. I need to get to them before they’re swallowed by the chaos of twisted metal and shattered dreams.

“C’mon, c’mon!” I mutter under my breath, weaving through the racers like a calculating predator, ducking and dodging with precision.

I spot Boston a few bikes ahead, waving frantically as she tries to guide Whitney back toward the pack. Fear laces through me; she needs to abandon that reckless streak if she wants to play this fucking game.

The bikes buzz around us, menacing and aggressive, demanding full attention. But as we breach the edge of the wreck, I can see the chaos unfurling in my mind’s eye—a vivid flash of horror. The screeching tires, the system of bodies crumpling to the asphalt, the splintered fragments of broken hopes. I refuse to let that fate touch us, and with a fierce grunt, I push the bike harder, feeling its responsive growl grow louder as I chase after them.

I’m gaining ground, but it feels like the world is shifting beneath me—the ground writhing with danger I can almost taste in the air. The finish line is close, but I haven’t crossed it yet—and there’s no way I’ll abandon anyone in this mess.

Just as I’m about to break through the tangled mess of racers trying to maneuver around the wreck, I see it—a flash of blue against the darkened silhouettes of bikes. Whitney’s visor mirrors my panic, and it’s enough fuel for my fire. If she can fight through the fear, so can I.

“Hawk!” I shout, not bothering to turn my head. I know he’s right behind me—he always is—and the unspoken bond between us fuels my determination. “We have to get her out!”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but I feel his resolve solidifying like concrete. As he maneuvers expertly through the chaos with an unmatched grace, we surge closer, our makeshift team racing against time in a relentless game of survival.

I see Whitney struggling to steady herself, the glassy surface of her helmet reflecting the starlit sky. Just then, as fate would have it, an errant biker swerves into her path, too lost in the frenzy to see her. Time seems to slow as my heart drops in my chest, every primal instinct screaming at me to intervene. Without thinking, I lean hard to the left, my bike slipping toward Whitney’s line.

“Get out of the way!” I shout again, my voice breaking through the roar of bikes.

In that frantic second, I watch the biker collide with the edge of Whitney’s path, and everything falls into a blur—the screech of tires, the sound of metal colliding, the potential for catastrophe that threatens to spiral out of control. She manages to swerve, her instincts kicking in as she barely avoids the incoming threat. I’m closer now, just steps away. I reach out, pushing all limitations as the distance between us shrinks.

“Whitney!” I yell, but any attempt to reassure her is drowned out by the beastly choir of engines and chaos around us.

In a last-ditch effort, I extend my arm, fingers gripping her jacket as I pull her closer—more than just to save her from this moment, but to show her that she doesn’t have to face this alone. The frantic vibes of the race pulse through us as I steer to avoid the wreck chaos while holding her secure.

We clip through the air, weaving dangerously into open space just as the finish line breaches us like a beacon of hope ahead. The thrum of engines shakes my core as the end flies by, but it feels as if the real race is still yet to unfold.

We manage to roll past the crowd, and suddenly the world around us bursts into cheers and screams, the thrill of victory exploding as tires still cling to asphalt. The roar of camaraderie envelops me, but all I can focus on is the tight grip of Whitney in my hold.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I demand breathlessly, glancing at her face, reflecting a mixture of exhilaration and defiance.

“I’m not letting anyone take control of my life, not even you!” she pushes back, but I can see the shimmering doubt flickering behind her resolve.

Hawk joins us, brows furrowed with concern. “That was reckless! You could have been—”

“—taken down by that fucking crash,” I retort, cutting him off. I feel the heat rise in my chest, adrenaline mixing with anger. “If you’re going to ride with us, you have to understand the stakes. It’s more than just a race; it’s fucking survival out here!”

“Then tell King and D to stop dragging me into this!” Whitney snaps, voice rising with emotion. “I can handle myself. I don’t need rescuing!”

“Maybe you don’t, but you need to know how to race!” I counter, my heart racing. “This isn’t just for you; it’s for all of us. We don’t leave anyone behind, but you keep putting yourself in fucking danger!”

Her eyes are blazing, and for a moment, it feels like the world shrinks down to just the two of us, a collision of fire and ice. I inhale deeply, forcing a calm to settle inside me.

“Look, this isn’t about me trying to control you. It’s about the fact that these races are lethal. What you do affects us all. Just… think for a fucking second. You want your power back? You can have it, but not like this.”

Whitney’s guard lowers a notch, the tension in her posture wavering as she searches my gaze. A silence stretches between us, and for once, it feels raw, unfiltered. I remember the moment we shared before the race—a flicker of something more than just adrenaline-fueled chaos beckoning beneath our masks. I swallow and try to break that tension.

“They may allow bikes in the race, but you need to learn when to throttle back,” I finally say, voice even.

She nods slowly, her anger dissipating as understanding settles in. “I’ll do better,” she promises, her voice steadier now.

I give a curt nod and let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. This time, it feels like it's more than just about racing. We’re in this together, masks and all, and whatever is lurking in the background is nothing more than a shadow compared to what we’ve just survived.

I sit on the roof of the club, drinking alone, trying to accept the loss of a few close members out on the track. It feels surreal, and winning the fucking race doesn't feel as good as it should. Though we all know what we sign up for when we sell our souls to Masked Mayhem, the reality of it is that we just can't prepare ourselves for the loss of a friend.

Hawk is enjoying himself at the party Maksed is having for the winners, but I had to sneak out here to get some air. I needed a reminder that life, even though we don't treat it as such, is a precious thing, and we must protect it while living it to the fullest.

I hear the unmistakable sound of heels clicking against the shingles on the roof, and I know right away that it's Whitney coming to talk about the race and hopefully why she decided joining was a good fucking idea.

She appears from the staircase, a silhouette against the glow of the party below, her hair slightly tousled by the wind. There's a determination in the way she holds herself, and despite everything, I feel an odd sense of comfort in her presence.

“Thought I’d find you up here,” she says, her voice carrying over the roof. There's an edge to it, a blend of curiosity and the weight of unspoken words that hangs between us like the smoke from the blunt in my hand.

“Just needed some air,” I reply, gesturing to the chaos that rages below. “You know how it is. The loss… it’s hitting hard.”

She nods solemnly, taking a seat next to me, her gaze drifting out over the city. “I know. I still can’t believe they’re gone. It all happened so fast. One moment they’re racing, and the next…” Her voice trails off, and the silence stretches, thick with grief.

“Yeah. It's one hell of a reminder that in this life, things can change in the blink of an eye.”

I take a swig from my bottle, letting the bitterness of the alcohol settle on my tongue. It’s comforting in its own way—a distraction, a numbing agent for the pain of losing someone who fights just as hard as we do.

Whitney shifts, her elbows resting on her knees as she looks at me, searching for something in my expression. “I didn’t mean to put myself in danger out there. I just wanted…”

“To prove you could hold your own? I get it.” I lean against the brick ledge, the coolness grounding me as I consider her words. “But this isn’t a playground; it’s a fucking battlefield. And we’ve already lost too many.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me to be a part of it?” She challenges, a flicker of the old fire igniting in her voice, tinged with vulnerability. “Are you just going to keep trying to protect me, or are you going to let me prove that I can fight my own battles?”

I turn to face her, the seriousness in her eyes striking a chord deep within me. There’s strength there—a resilience that reminds me of what we fight for, what we all risk on these brutal roads.

“It’s not about control, Whitney. It’s about seeing the bigger picture. You’re fighting more than just those races; you’re fighting for your fucking life and for the lives of those around you. I don’t want to see your ass get hurt.”

“It sounds like you don’t believe I can handle it,” she says quietly, a challenge lacing her words.

“Believe me, I know you can handle yourself.” I rub the back of my neck, frustration creeping in. “But every time you test those limits, a part of me can’t help but think it’ll end badly. And I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“Then let me show you I’m not afraid,” she says, her voice firm. “Let me prove I can race, and I can survive this. Not just for me but for us, for everyone who’s left.”

Her passion ignites something within me, and I realize how much I admire her—how much I can see the fighter in her, nestled beneath layers of fear and grief.

“Okay,” I relent, taking her words to heart. “You want to race? Then let’s make sure you know how. No more reckless steering into danger or seeking out risk for the hell of it. I’ll help you learn to ride—ride smart.”

A soft smile breaks across her face, an unexpected lightness returning to her spirit. “You’d really do that?”

“Yeah,” I reply, warmth flooding through me. “Might as well embrace the chaos together, right? But you need to promise me you’ll listen. It’s not just about winning; it’s about surviving.”

“I promise,” she replies, sincerity etched across her features.

A silence falls upon us, but this time it’s different—filled with a sense of responsibility and vision ahead. I can see the night’s starry skies through the haze of our discussions, the city shimmers beneath us, and in the distance, I can hear the muffled laughter of the party.

“Listen,” Whitney says, drawing my attention back. “I know the stakes are high, and I’ve made mistakes. But I need my power back—not just to prove my worth among the bikers, but to reclaim my life. And if you’re going to help me, I need you to trust me, too.”

“Trust is earned, not given,” I reply with a side-eyed look.

She rolls her eyes but chuckles softly, that spark of mischief that got her her nickname suddenly returning. “Guess I’ll just have to work on earning it, then.”

I feel my heart swell as she inches closer, our bodies radiating extreme heat just from being in each other's presence. My hand instinctively goes to her thigh, and I playfully squeeze the ticklish spot above her knee, her carefree laugh echoing in the silence of the night. The intense and serious attitude from moments ago is suddenly replaced by nervous energy and absolute need as I stare into her eyes, being brought back to our past when we'd lie together on the roof of the group home regardless of the weather just so we could get away from the hell we were going through inside.

So many nights I was Whitney's safe place, and she was mine, which only tightened our bond and made the feelings I had for her grow immensely. The way she smiles at me, lost in the gleam of my eyes, makes me feel like she's thinking of the same thing, but of course, neither one of us wants to open up about it since we're both hiding behind a mask of some sort—mine you can see, but hers you can't.

Unable to stop myself, I gently push her down onto the roof, rolling on top of her with my body pressing against hers, propped up only on my elbows as my fingers glide smoothly through her silky brown hair. She parts her legs enough for me to position myself in between them and teasingly slides her hands up the back of my shirt, her nails raking up and down my skin and giving me goosebumps from the heat of her touch.

Using the blue bandana I keep in my pocket at all times, I gently place it over her eyes, not bothering to tie it around her head. Once I'm sure her eyes are covered and she can't see me in the dark, I pull off my mask and set it on the cluster of shingles beside us, going in for a kiss as I struggle to maintain my steady breathing.

As our mouths collide, fireworks go off around us, heightening our senses and igniting the mood to the point where I fucking need her now—all of her. I delve into her warm mouth, exploring every delicious inch with precision and curiosity, taking my time with her. I grind against her as she slides her hands down to my ass, cupping it and pulling me into her so she can feel the friction between her legs even more.

"Whitney," I moan against her lips, feeling myself giving in to the spell she has me under.

"Hmm?" she moans, turning her head to the side as my lips trace a line across her jawline down to her neck, my teeth gently nipping at her skin.

"You know I fucking want you, right?" I tell her, slipping my hand between our hot, anxious bodies and reaching up her shirt to play with her breasts, her nipples hard enough to cut glass as I pinch and toy with them, getting hard and even more turned on by the sound of her moans as they travel directly into my ear.

"I want you too, Havoc," she breathes heavily, her chest heaving as she feels my cock poking against the thin fabric covering her pussy.

"Let me fuck you, baby. Let me show you how good I can make you feel," I beg, needing every inch of her like the air I need to breathe.

"God, yes," she gasps, the eagerness in her voice igniting a fire in my gut.

The sound of her consent is everything I need, everything I’ve been waiting for, and the sheer intensity of the moment makes my head spin. Removing my hand from its playful torment of her breasts, I slide it slowly down to the hem of her skirt, fingers working deftly to bunch it up and lift it over the curve of her ass. Whitney's breaths come faster, choppy and desperate, and with every moment stretching out between us, the tension thickens to a point I can almost fucking taste.

“Are you sure?” I ask the question, barely a whisper, my heart racing as I pause, needing to know she’s completely ready for this. “I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

“Just fucking kiss me, Havoc,” she urges, her voice low yet demanding, my pupils dilating as the hunger within her bubbles over.

Without a second thought, I dive back into her mouth, swallowing her moans as I eagerly push her thong down over her hips, exposing her smooth skin to me. I trace my fingers along the edges, teasing just enough to make her squirm beneath me. I love the way she writhes, instinctively craving more of me, and it drives me fucking wild. With a light tug, I pull her thong down to her thighs, reveling in the sight before me—her body, soft yet fierce, the embodiment of everything I crave. I feel her heartbeat thudding beneath my palms as I glide my hands back up to her waist, savoring every inch of her.

When I look down, need and desperation tangle within my chest as I take in the smoothness of her pussy. The wish to claim her as mine floods through my veins, but I want to savor this—this moment where we’re fucking untouchable, caught in a whirlwind of passion and possibility.

“Please,” she breathes, her voice barely more than a plea, urging me on. “Don’t make me wait.”

I can’t deny her, or myself, any longer. In one swift motion, I position myself over her again, my body a mere breath away from hers as I lean in to meet her lips, my fingers trailing down to cup her pussy. I can feel her warmth radiating against me, and it sends shockwaves through my body as I brush my palm against her, teasing with soft touches that grow bolder with her whimpers.

“God, Whitney,” I groan against her mouth, my heart pounding as I feel her body arch into me, silently begging for more.

I glide my fingers between her warm lips, savoring the slick arousal that greets me.

“Just like that,” she breathes, urging me deeper, and I relish the way she melts beneath my touch.

I want to give her everything, and I want to take everything. My fingers dance and tease around her clit before dipping inside her tight pussy, pushing her ever closer to the edge with every thrust while I kiss and nip at her neck and shoulders, every touch intertwining with her soft gasps and moans.

“Tell me how it feels,” I demand, my voice low and rough, echoing the jagged edge of my need for her.

“So good… You feel so good, Havoc,” she replies, her voice tinged with a mix of desperation and ecstasy, pushing me further into a haze of lust and longing.

The evening hums around us—sounds of the party below, laughter mingling with music, but up here, it becomes a world entirely our own, our little bubble of desire and burgeoning intimacy.

I replace my fingers with my cock, aligning myself at her entrance as I stare at her wearing the blindfold, giving her a chance to back out if she needs to. But she shakes her head and moans in need, the fire in her sounds unmistakable, and I can't fucking resist any longer.

With a calculated thrust, I sink into her, slowly filling her up, and the sensation sends us both spiraling into raw bliss. Her wetness envelops me, molding around my cock like it was meant to be.

“Whitney,” I breathe, losing myself in the rhythm of our connection.

“More,” she gasps, demanding, almost pleading, her body arching to meet mine as I begin to move inside her, gradually building a pace that feels electric.

Each thrust pulls a gasp from her lips, igniting an inferno of desires that I thought I buried beneath the burden of our reality. I bury my face into her neck as I lose myself to the intoxication of our union, the world beneath us forgotten. It’s just me and her, and the rhythm of our bodies, intertwined in an unrestrained dance of pleasure. I thrust deeper, challenging both of us to embrace this moment fully, to cross into this new territory together.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” I murmur, the words tumbling out of me as I intensify my pace, desire spiraling between us.

The way she moves in synchronization with me fills the air with soft gasps and whispers of pleasure that reverberate through my chest and drive me faster, higher, my cock so deep inside of her she feels the pressure in her stomach as the tip of my cock presses against the spot that makes her come undone.

“Just... like... that,” she encourages, her nails digging into my back as I ram into her, urging me for all that I have while her words spur me on.

I can’t hold back any longer. I channel everything I’ve been feeling—the urge to protect her, to claim her, to share this chaos of our lives, and to make her scream my name. With one last powerful thrust, I lose myself in her pussy, an energy surging through me like a wild river. I bury my head in the crook of her neck as I come, the moment pulsing through both of us like a fucking tidal wave.

Her legs lock around me as I fuck her harder and deeper, faster, just like she begs. Trying to keep the friction going, she moves her hips in rhythm to mine, putting added pressure on her clit that begins to make her legs shake as her pussy clenches around my throbbing cock. I fill her with my cum, and she soaks me with hers, our bodies trembling in unison as we let go, not afraid to let each other watch as we completely unravel for one another, my lips and teeth claiming her neck and leaving small bite marks behind.

We cling to each other as the world around us continues spinning, lost in the heavy, intoxicating aftermath of our passion, heartbeats racing at matching rhythms, as if the entire fucking night was meant just for us.

In the hush that follows, I realize we’ve crossed a line and reshaped the fabric of our dynamic. But in this mayhem, there’s finally clarity. I want Whitney—her fire, her strength, her laughter—everything that makes her fucking fight for control.

And what I thought was a dangerous rebellion has turned into something entirely different, a powerful bond sparking between us under the familiar night sky.

“Are you ready for this?” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face as I catch my breath, hoping to ground the moment in reality amidst all the racing shadows.

“Always,” she whispers, leaning forward to capture my lips, sealing a promise that sizzles in the air around us.

Together, we’ll embrace the chaos, every curve of the road, and every twist of fate will only intertwine us closer. Because in this reckless game of life, every moment we share, no matter how wild, is one worth fucking fighting for.