Page 16 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

eight

unmasked

Whitney

Next to You: Mike Jones

T he bruises around my neck scream at me as I gaze into the mirror, struggling to concentrate on brushing my teeth. Dark, defined bite marks and welts mar my arms and chest, chilling reminders of the brutality inflicted by Crow just nights ago.

Don't get me wrong; I enjoy a bit of roughness in intimacy, even the thrill of being choked during sex. But what Crow did crossed an unforgivable line, and the memory still haunts me. Strangely enough, I find myself blaming Dustin for Crow’s actions, rather than Crow himself.

If it weren't for Dustin’s relentless physical, mental, and sexual abuse over the last five years—his demands for whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted—I doubt I would be feeling this way toward Crow.

Dustin has left me fucking broken, ruined for any other guy, and it’s far from a good thing.

He has warped my perception of intimacy, love, and connection—he has tainted it all.

I’m consumed by the fear that any man I allow into my life will enact upon me the same torment he did: the emotional, physical, and mental abuse, the degradation—nothing resembling love or affection—and every horrific experience he fucking put me through.

After spitting a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink, I flip on the faucet and watch the blue foamy swirl mix with the water, disappearing down the drain as I zone out, trapped in a haze.

Everything around me moves in slow motion, the weight of my fears and worries suffocating me.

And then there's the chilling realization that Dustin is back.

I'm almost certain he's the one who's been stalking me.

But how is that possible from prison? A shiver creeps down my spine, a tremor of goosebumps scattering across my skin.

Once I finish brushing my teeth, I quickly cleanse my face, meandering through my morning routine even though the chaos enveloping me feels insurmountable.

Everything has shifted, and I hate change, so clinging to my routines feels essential.

Needing to pee, I lower my underwear and sit on the cold toilet seat, shivering as I hug the bottom of my T-shirt around my arms. My gaze drifts to the window, where darkness looms, remnants of the thunderstorm that woke me up hours ago.

Yet, on the windowsill, a line of purple daisy flower petals catches my attention, eerily arranged as if playing a game of ‘he loves me, he loves me not. ’ My heart skips; anxiety spikes in my gut as I follow the petals to a folded piece of paper waiting at the end of the ledge.

“Not again,” I sigh, fatigue weighing heavy on me after the past few weeks.

As I finish and wipe, I pull my underwear back up and flush the toilet, my hands trembling as I nervously reach for the paper.

My heart races like the clouds from the storm outside.

I don’t open it immediately; instead, I tuck it into my bra before heading to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee.

My body aches. My heart aches—fuck, my heart aches.

But the hardest part is not knowing how to mend any of it, especially with Dustin so close.

The paper feels like a fucking burning coal against my chest, a searing reminder of my trepidation.

Even as I settle into my chair on the balcony, the rain pours down in heavy buckets, and I sip my coffee before reading whatever message awaits me.

I sit for a moment, reflecting on my life choices.

I escaped an abusive relationship only to stumble into a life tangled in crime, sex, and drugs.

I shake my head, wondering how Raze and Hawk have done.

Do they have brighter futures than mine?

Do they think of me as often as I think of them—or have I faded from their memories entirely?

They've probably forgotten. Who could blame them?

Finally yielding to the relentless heat of the paper against my skin, I pull it out and hold my breath as I unfold it. My eyes widen at the words, my heartbeat slowing while my mouth turns dry, as if I just smoked a blunt.

In a flash, I crumple the note and toss it into the water-filled ashtray, hoping to destroy it. But just as it sinks, my phone buzzes—two text messages arrive back-to-back. I take a shaky breath and click on the thread, bracing myself for what awaits.

You’re mine, Whitney, and I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me—including your foster brothers.

A gasp escapes my lips as I scan my surroundings, searching for any eyes that might be watching. But, just like every other time, I see no one. My hands tremble violently as I reread the message, confusion washing over me. Why does he involve Raze and Hawk?

Stop looking so damn afraid, baby. You know I love you, and I’d never hurt you again.

My jaw drops, yet no response escapes me.

I fight back tears, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

This confirms that it’s him watching me.

He’s out of prison and coming after what he wants, unwavering in his pursuit, and he doesn't care who stands in his fucking way—and what he wants is me. ..

What your foster brother did to you last night wasn't right, baby. He hurt you, and now I’m going to fucking hurt him.

Crow isn’t my foster brother, Dustin. Just leave me alone.

Now you know I can’t do that, Whit. You mean Crow didn’t tell you who he really is? Strange. What about Havoc? Has he come clean yet, or should I shoot his ass again?

Fear grips me, sending my heart racing as I drop my phone to the floor, eyes wide, unable to blink away the shock from Dustin's disturbing confession. Are Havoc and Crow really Raze and Hawk? If that’s the case, why hadn’t they told me sooner?

My throat tightens, and I find myself gasping for air—even outside—confusion and dread swirling in my chest like a fucking tornado.

The truth begins to wrap itself around my thoughts, squeezing relentlessly.

The shadows of the missing pieces in my life stretch out before me, and the implications hit harder than the torrential raindrops before my eyes.

I lean down, scrambling to pick up my phone, hands shaking too violently to type a coherent response.

My heart races as I realize that the warmth of trust I thought I felt with Havoc and Crow now feels like a cruel joke.

Each kiss, every intimate moment, now tainted with betrayal; nothing but fucking tricks played beneath my nose.

I turn and glance out at the gray skies before me, seeking an anchor, hoping that the storm might wash away my fears.

But the downpour only deepens the sense of entrapment; doubts drip like the rainfall on my windowsill, gathering into puddles of confusion and betrayal.

My brain spins—questions and fears collide with the blunt reality of my situation.

Could it all really be a game to them? Was my innocence merely collateral in their twisted lives?

I take a breath, trying to ground myself.

This can’t continue. I won’t fucking let it.

I didn’t survive all the shit that I’ve endured just to be pawns in some fucking sick game played by men who should've been my saviors—the very ones who stood by me when I had nowhere to go.

Desperation floods my veins, pushing me off the chair and onto my feet, pacing the small space of the balcony.

I need fucking answers. I need clarity.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes again, my breath hitching as I see a new message from Dustin.

Remember, I’ll always be watching you. Don’t try to run. You’ll only make it worse.

The finality of his words sends dread creeping through my limbs, a chill I can’t shake.

It’s over; I have to end this—now. With clenched fists, I slip my phone into my back pocket and rush inside, desperate to find a way out of the corner I’ve been backed into.

My mind races as I recall the times Crow and Havoc have come to my aid, their comforting presence so soothing compared to the madness swirling around me.

But with their true identities revealed, I’m left asking myself if they’ve ever truly been there for me or if my na?veté simply led them to this moment of hell.

I rummage through the drawers in the kitchen, searching for something—anything—that can serve as a weapon until I can get my gun from the bedroom.

I find a paring knife; it’s small, but it’ll have to do.

The metal is cool against my palm as I grasp it, preparing to fight if it comes to that.

Dealing with Dustin has always required more than just emotional fortitude.

I need to confront the truth. I need to face Crow and Havoc.

Let them clarify shit themselves. If they’ve been hiding this from me, they owe me an explanation, and one way or another I'm going to fucking get it.

A loud bang echoes through the apartment like a gunshot, and I freeze mid-breath.

I inch toward the door, heart racing wildly as I glance through the peephole.

My stomach drops. In the hallway, Crow stands with his back to me, his leather jacket hugging his shoulders, a dark silhouette obscured by the crack of the door.

My heart trembles at the sight of him, provoking a mixture of relief and fear.

Why is he here now? What does he want? I clench the knife tighter, a bitter taste of uncertainty lingering in my mouth.

“Whitney,” he calls, his voice a low rumble, “I know you’re in there. We need to talk.”