Page 39 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

eighteen

punishment

Whitney

Locked and Loaded: sKitz Kraven

A fter the terror I experienced because of Dustin last night, I've been sitting on the couch with my gun locked and loaded, rocking back and forth as a torrent of dark, haunting memories rush back to me.

I remember when the abuse began, the isolation, and the night he hurt me so badly that I lost my baby—an act that landed him in prison.

Where he should still be. Yet, somehow he's here, thousands of miles away, watching me with a gaze that makes my skin crawl.

When I finally manage to snap out of it, I'm a disheveled mess.

My face is streaked with mascara from my tears, my lips tremble with fear, and my body shakes as I rock even harder, desperately seeking a sense of calm.

The sudden sound of my apartment door creaking open makes me jump; I instinctively grip my gun tighter, aiming it at the entryway.

“Jesus, Whitney,” Boston exclaims as she yanks her key from the lock and shuts the door behind her. “It’s just me—calm down.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, lowering the weapon to my lap and feeling a flicker of relief at her presence, even if it’s someone I'm currently in an awkward fight with.

Boston quickly notices my tear-streaked face and the aftermath of my emotional breakdown.

She drops her overnight bag at the door and makes her way to the couch beside me.

We exchange a smile, though it’s heavy with unspoken words.

I had to confide in my best friend that her boyfriend drugged and assaulted me, only to be called an attention-seeker and liar—by her.

She reaches for my free hand, intertwining her fingers with mine, and a wave of comfort washes over me, calming my racing heart and loosening my tense shoulders.

When our eyes meet, I know she sees the truth behind mine.

She understands my pain because she has her own pain and her own wounds.

“I’m so sorry, Whitney,” she says softly, her smile fading.

“It’s okay,” I reply, striving to maintain a smile that feels utterly insincere.

“No, it’s not,” she insists, squeezing my hand tighter. “I talked to King, and he told me everything... I even saw the video,” she confesses, her gaze steady, assuring me of her honesty.

A knot forms in my stomach, and goosebumps race across my skin.

My smile falters, but I fight to keep my tears at bay.

She’s telling the truth, and the realization sends a chill through me.

I had feared she would side with King, but her honesty feels disquietingly reassuring.

It's somehow more chilling that she knows.

“Do me a favor,” she urges. “Don’t go to work tonight.”

I raise my brow in question but shake my head. “I have to, Boston. Someone will come looking for me if I don’t,” I insist, recalling King’s threat.

“But, Whitney,” she implores, worry etched on her face.

“I know he’s up to something. Tonight won’t be easy, but I have to go. I’d rather face it on my own than be dragged away and forced,” I admit, forcing another smile.

She exhales deeply and pulls me into a hug—a tight embrace that seems to last forever.

Neither of us wants to let go. She knows something I don’t, but I’m not sure I want to find out.

I realize that the path ahead won’t be smooth, but I’ve learned to compare my life now to worse alternatives, which keeps me grounded.

Reluctantly, I pull away and wipe my tears, shifting the subject. “Are you working tonight?”

“Of course I’m working tonight. I’m always fucking working,” she laughs, but we both recognize the strain in her voice.

She's in danger with King just as I am, a far cry from the earlier days when the three of them—Boston, King, and D—were so blissfully in love. They were fiercely loyal and protective and treated her like royalty. After all they’d been through together, it seemed only fitting that they remained united and happy.

But people change. They changed.

Her boyfriends have taken a turn for the worse, something I know all too well thanks to Dustin.

Boston has endured domestic violence for the past couple of years; it wasn’t that long ago when they were genuinely happy, rescuing her from harm and ensuring that those who wronged her paid for it with their lives.

I can’t think of a time when their love wasn’t bright.

But I’ve witnessed the signs because I’ve lived them.

It took some convincing for her to share her struggles, but when she finally opened up, it only made our bond deeper.

She’s been spending more time with King and D lately, and I know it’s for a reason, but I have no idea what.

“Get out of your head,” Boston says, snapping me back to the present, the darkness rising within me.

“How did you know?” I laugh nervously.

“There’s a look in your eyes that I can spot from a mile away.”

She embraces me again, holding me close as the howling wind batters the branches outside, punctuating our heartbeats with its rhythmic symphony.

And so we sit in silence until the moment comes to get ready for work—an obligation neither of us wants to face, but we both know the frightening alternative if we don’t.

As I rise from the couch, the air around us feels electric with so many whispered fears.

I can almost hear the tension crackling like static from an old TV.

Boston follows me, her movements hesitant, as though stepping into the dark abyss that awaits outside.

I know she wants to reach out again, to shield me from whatever awaits us or me at work tonight, but we both understand the world has a way of turning drastically against those who try to avoid it.

“Do you have your keys?” she asks once we both reach the door when we're ready, her voice low, laced with concern.

I pull them from my pocket, the metal cool against my skin. “Yeah, I have them.” But my stomach twists at the thought of making the journey to work; a place that once felt safe is now another fucking battlefield.

“Remember to stay alert,” she says, peering into my eyes as if searching for the courage she’s trying to inject into me. “I’ll be right behind you.”

I nod, appreciating her presence even in its uncertainty. The truth is, I fucking need her—her strength to guide me through what might be a night of pure hell. We’ve often leaned on one another in dark times, and as we step outside into the cold, snowy air, I take comfort from our bond.

The streets are ominously quiet, the kind of silence that whispers premonitions of impending disaster.

I glance over my shoulder, catching Boston's eyes fixed on me with a hint of worry etched across her pretty features. Despite everything we’re facing, there’s warmth in the way she walks beside me, ensuring our footsteps sync as we make the snowy trek to the club, the streetlights guiding our way.

As we walk, the air seems to thicken with unsaid words, and I find myself replaying the events of the last few nights in my mind—King’s twisted smiles and Dustin's threats echoing in my ears like a dark symphony uninvited.

I squeeze my keys tighter, feeling them dig into my palm, a small comfort against the anxiety that runs rampant in my veins.

“Hey,” Boston says, breaking the silence, “if things get too tense tonight… just call me, okay?” Her voice is steady, but I can hear the undercurrent of fear beneath her words.

“I will,” I promise, though I know it’s more likely that I’ll face whatever happens on my own. I’ve always been a fighter, after all, even when the odds are stacked against me. “I can handle it.”

“You know I don’t doubt your strength, right? I just… I worry about you.” Her sincerity tugs at my heart.

“I know. I worry about you too,” I admit, glancing sideways at her.

In this dance of friendship and survival, we are each other’s anchors, but the seas we’re navigating are fucking treacherous and unforgiving.

As we turn the corner, the glow of the neon club lights flickers in the distance, pulsating to the beat of the music that spills onto the street.

A wave of unease washes over me—this was supposed to be my sanctuary, a place to escape, to lose myself in the music and the crowd.

Now, it feels like a trap laid out for me by twisted fate.

Boston gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze as we approach the entrance, her presence grounding me. “Remember, stick together and don’t let anyone isolate you, okay? King or D…”

I nod, but a fear grips me; what if I don't have a choice?

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, pushing the door open.

The heavy bass of the music slams into me, the usual vibrant atmosphere now feeling suffocating.

The club is alive, people laughing and dancing, dancers swinging around poles with their masks on, but I feel as if I’m immersed in another world, completely disconnected from the love swirling around me.

I scan the crowd, my heart racing as my gaze lands on a familiar figure—King, leaning against the bar with his signature smirk etched across his face, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk.

He catches my gaze, and a thrill of fear jolts through me, twisting like a knife.

I can’t read his expression, but as he locks onto me, I feel exposed, almost naked under the weight of his scrutiny.

“Whitney,” he calls out, raising a hand in greeting, his voice smooth and confident, as if nothing had ever happened between us.

I can’t let him see how unsettled I am; the last thing I want is to feed into his twisted game. “Hey!” I manage, forcing a smile that I hope looks convincing.

Boston shifts closer to me, her protective instinct flaring, but I take a breath, reminding myself that I need to face this head-on, not as a victim but as a survivor.