Page 28 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

thirteen

tunnel vision

Going Through Some Thangs: Yella Beezy

I n the dim light of the smoke-filled club, I lean back, my fingers tracing the rim of my glass with a deliberately slow rhythm.

I watch Whitney dance, but something seems..

. off tonight. The spark that's usually in her eyes isn't there.

Her body is stiffer than usual as she dances, and she clings to the pole as if it's her savior, an anchor grounding her to the moment.

I sip my drink slowly, already feeling fucking obliterated, but the voices in my head won't let me stop.

A pill here, a line there, and a drink always in my hand silence them, so I repeat the process over and over so I don't have to listen to them.

And Whitney? She makes them silent and chaotic all at once, and it makes her dangerous for me.

But I can't stay away from her.

I don't want to stay away from her.

She’s like a fucking fire—a blaze that sears my skin, that draws me in with heat I can't fucking control. I shouldn't want her—she’s forbidden and not my type, but wrapped in the kind of light that blinds me—I can’t take my eyes off her.

Every laugh, every fucking glance feels like a dangerous game—a promise of something sweet and bitter all at once.

It’s a fucking craving gnawing at me, pulling me closer to the edge where the shadows linger and my demons awaken.

Love is a cruel fucking irony, isn’t it?

It wraps around my heart like a fucking snake, squeezing tighter with each thought of her.

I’ve danced with fucking demons long enough to know that this kind of desire comes with a cost—a price I know I'd pay. There’s a darkness inside, a raging storm that whispers to me, urging me to take what isn’t mine.

Lust becomes an insatiable beast, hungry for flesh, for connection, forgetting the fucking lines drawn by our fate.

I can feel the heat of her presence, like a flame igniting my fucking emotions.

Each moment she’s near is electrifying; it's a dangerous cocktail of desire mixed with the bittersweet taste of forbidden.

I want to pull her close, to fucking drown in the chaos of her laughter, to paint her skin with the marks of desperation that come from my hands and fingers.

But I can’t.

This obsession is a double-edged sword, one that could fucking shatter everything I’ve built.

The thought of her, so beautiful and out of reach, transforms into a fucking ghost that haunts me at night.

I lie awake, battling my own damn demons, fighting the urge to reach for her, to invite the chaos I fucking crave.

But still, I’m trapped in this fucking dance—an endless cycle of wanting…

of needing something I can’t have. It’s crazy and intoxicating—love laced with danger.

So I sit in the shadows, with my demons by my side, cherishing my need for her, the girl who stirs my fucking soul and threatens to unleash the wild within me.

Interrupting my thought process, King emerges from the staircase, walking right over to the bar, not looking happy. But it's not me who he looks like he wants to fucking hurt; it's Whitney. I shiver when his arm brushes against mine, and he leans over the bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey.

"I thought I told you to go home," he says deeply.

"I was waiting for Whitney to be off," I tell him, putting my eyes back on her as she finishes her dance.

"One of the girls called out, so I put her back on the stage for a few," he states, flicking his eyes between me and her. "But you can take her home. She's done."

I nod, keeping my eyes on her until she's out of sight, heading for the dressing room.

Something is off with King tonight. He's angry.

And it's different from the anger he had when he went off on me and Red in his office earlier.

I do my best to ignore it because I'm not trying to get stuck in the middle of something I can't get myself out of. With King, that's always a possibility.

"I'm gonna go get her, man. I'll see you tomorrow," I chuckle, giving him a friendly pat on the back.

"You'd better not be fucked up, 13," he threatens, and a chill trickles along my spine from the tone of his voice.

I just nod as I walk off, just wanting to see Whitney.

.. and I want to find out what happened between her and King.

As I push through the door to the dressing room, the air is thick with the scent of perfume and sweat, an intoxicating blend that makes my fucking head spin a little more.

I catch a glimpse of Whitney’s silhouette by the mirror, her back turned to me, brushing her hair with shaky fingers.

The fluorescent lights overhead capture the beads of sweat on her skin, turning them into tiny jewels that shimmer against her curves.

But along with the sweat, there are fresh bruises that she didn't have when she got to work.

"Hey," I say softly, taking a step closer, my heart pounding in my chest.

She glances back, her expression a mixture of surprise and hurt, maybe, but it fucking cuts through me like a knife.

“I thought you were going home,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper, but there's an edge to it that screams for my fucking attention.

“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” I lie.

She goes back to her reflection, and I know I should leave her be, but I step forward, drawn by the pull of her presence. "Is everything okay?"

For a quick moment, her eyes flash wide, the vulnerability hitting me like a fucking freight train.

“Just tired,” she says, her voice steadier now, yet thinly veiled with something dark and hidden.

It’s not just tiredness. I can see it. I can feel it, that tension hanging in the air, thick and strangling. My instincts kick in, my mind racing with thoughts that maybe King did something more than just raise his voice this time.

“Whitney…” I start, but the words get stuck in my throat.

"I’m fine," she insists, turning back to the mirror, but her voice cracks—it betrays her.

She looks at me with those beautifully haunting eyes that somehow hold sadness and fire all at once. I step closer, creating a space so close that I can almost fucking feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"You don’t look fine," I say, letting the honesty slip through. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Her breath catches, and I see her eyes flick to mine. For a moment, it feels as if the world outside ceases to exist. There's nothing and no one but us.

“I—" she begins, but then her words falter as King's fucking voice echoes in my mind.

I shake it off. I shouldn’t care what he thinks. I shouldn’t care about any of this. But I fucking do.

"What the fuck happened between you and King?" I blurt out, feeling my anxiety crushing my insides.

She looks at me like she wants to cry... and like she's just been slapped at the same time. And then the look of betrayal washes over her face, and she backs away, quickly throwing on her hoodie.

"Nothing. Leave it alone," she assures me, a smile appearing out of nowhere. "Are you going to walk me home?"

A wink and a lick of her lips help me relax, but they ignite something dark within me, and all I fucking want is her. I grab the back of her neck, digging my fingers into her skin roughly. My teeth graze her lip, and I bite it before deepening the kiss.

"Mmm, I fucking want you, Carter," she moans seductively, my name rolling off the tip of her tongue.

It seems she's trying to distract me from bringing up King, but it's not working. I regretfully pull away, loving being able to tease her and keep her on edge. Cupping her face in my hands, I force her eyes on mine, seeing a secret she's trying to keep hidden.

"Not here," I tell her, just wanting to get out of here.

I grab her hand, and we walk out the back door, the cool air slapping us in the face.

It's not a long walk to her apartment, but the fucking urge to fuck her right here, right now becomes overwhelming.

We walk in the darkness, feeling at home, sirens and gunshots in the distance, but enough to break the silence between us.

"Do you want to stay the night?" Whitney asks, being the first one to speak since we left the club.

"I thought that was a given," I laugh, pulling her as close to my body as I can.

All she does is smile, letting me know that something is definitely wrong.

I've never seen her so... quiet. Quickly my feelings change from curiosity to need, and the side of me that needs to have her needs to have her now.

I spot a motorcycle parked on the street and drag her over to it, bending her over the seat.

"Bend over, baby. I want to fuck you right here."

She hesitates for just a breath, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. But the way her eyes glint in the moonlight hints at a wildness I can’t fucking resist.

“Right here?” She whispers, an edge of disbelief in her voice, but it’s edged with hunger too.

“Right here,” I confirm, my voice low and gravelly. I lean down, my breath warm against the back of her neck, tasting the adrenaline coursing through me. “Let everyone see how badly I fucking want you.”

She shudders at my words, the anticipation hanging thick between us, buzzing in the cool night air like the vibrations of a guitar string.

My body reacts to her quickened breaths, and it fuels the fire within me.

With a spark of defiance from her unresolved feelings, she bends over the sleek metal of the motorcycle, her body sculpting itself beautifully against the hard lines of the bike.

The curve of her back and the subtle sway of her hips are enough to send a rush of blood to my cock, making it hard instantly.

“God, you’re fucking stunning,” I breathe, unable to tear my eyes away from her.