Page 46 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

I can tell he's angry, and I can't blame him.

I just want his life to be better, and I don't want to continue being a burden for him, especially in tough times like this.

Without giving him a remark back, I rip open the bubble and dump the colorful pills into my mouth.

Grabbing the slightly warm beer I've been sipping on since we got to the club, I wash the array of pills down—all different colors, shapes, and sizes—feeling each one slide down my throat and leaving a nasty taste in my mouth.

I hate most of my meds, so I try to make sure I'll be okay while experimenting without taking them.

I don't feel so numb or lonely. My anxiety is under control—there's no more chewing cuticles and picking desperately at any little thing I feel on my skin.

I feel more like myself off my meds than I do when I'm on them.

But they keep the voices quiet. They push the paranoia down as deep as it'll go, just sweeping it all under the rug, so to speak.

And whether I like to admit it or not, they turn me into a functioning member of our society.

"I know you struggle with that shit—taking your meds—but please come to me if you want to not take them or whatever; this way I can help you, and it'll save us both in the long run if something happens; at least we'll know if you took your meds or not.

Just, fuck," he huffs, turning his attention back to the mystery of Whitney's phone.

"Stop keeping that shit from me. I'm your fucking brother, Hawk; you shouldn't be keeping shit like that from me anyway.

If you're having a bad day, just come talk to me.

I'm always here, and I've always been right here with you. "

His sentimental words have my heart in a chokehold. It feels like barbed wire is wrapped tightly around my heart, putting my fragile mind through a mix of emotions that I don't know if I'm strong enough to handle.

“I just don't want to be a burden anymore—to anyone.” I swallow hard, the lump in my throat growing thicker as Raze's genuine concern drapes over me like a warm blanket.

"I know. It’s just, sometimes I can’t fight it, you know? I just feel trapped in my own mind, like I’m watching everything fall apart from the outside and can’t do a fucking thing about it,” I murmur, guilt gnawing at my heart for the strain I put on him.

Raze pats my shoulder, a comforting gesture I desperately cling to. “You’re not a fucking burden,” he insists fiercely, his dark eyes boring into me. "You're my brother. We fight together, remember? Just like we’re fighting for Whitney now.”

My thoughts drift back to her, caught in the eye of the storm, a victim of more chaos than she deserves. “I just… I don’t want to let her down. I can’t lose her, Raze,” I admit, the rawness of my vulnerability lacing my words.

He nods, a flicker of understanding flashing in his gaze. “We won’t. We’ll get her back, I promise.”

With renewed determination, I take a deep breath, and Raze turns his attention back to Whitney's phone. “Alright, let’s see if we can find any clues about Dustin or where he’s keeping her,” he says, his fingers dancing over the screen as he fiddles with the message threads and photos.

The silence stretches as I watch Raze scroll through her texts, tension threading through the air thicker than the smoke from our earlier blunt.

I find myself pacing again, the anticipation creating an itch beneath my skin.

If only we could bypass all of this and get back to where it was just the three of us, carefree and blissfully oblivious.

But reality doesn’t fucking play fair, and every moment I face the truth feels like a jagged edge slicing through me.

I pull my phone out, scanning through my contacts, tempted to reach out to anyone who might help.

But all I find is noise, distractions that lead nowhere and keep me from the singular focus we need.

“Hold up,” Raze suddenly mutters, drawing my attention back. “Look at this.”

I glance over his shoulder to see a text thread with an unknown number—Dustin’s new burner—and my heart sinks. Raze gestures to an image embedded within the messages, a photo of a warehouse with a familiar structure. “This is the one,” he states with conviction, his voice low.

“What does it say?” I ask, leaning closer.

Raze’s fingers fly over the screen. “It’s a cryptic message; he’s telling someone that something is ‘to be collected’ tonight. But there’s also a note about a party later that will play out at the same place…”

My mind races, each word painting a grim picture of what could unfold. “A party? Why the hell would they do that?”

Raze furrows his brow. “To draw attention away, I guess. It’s a perfect cover for whatever he’s planning. If he’s throwing a party, we need to crash it and get in close. There might be more information about her with all those people.”

My anxiety spikes as pieces of the puzzle snap together, the urgency flooded with fear igniting again. “We can’t miss this chance. We need to find her tonight.”

Just then, the sound of muffled voices breaks through the heavy atmosphere. The bass from the club thumps in the background, a constant reminder of the chaos outside. I exchange a glance with Raze, who grimaces, the gears clearly turning in his mind.

“We’ll head out now,” he decides, determination dancing in his gaze. “But we need to think this through—head on a swivel. We can’t afford to get caught. Not now. Not ever.”

Resentful irritation surges through me; I know he’s right, but it’s hard to suppress the tempest brewing, pushing against every wall I’ve built over the years.

“I can’t sit by and watch her suffer—your plan isn’t enough,” I snap, my emotions simmering over.

Raze raises his hands in a placating gesture. “I know, but patience is key right now. If we rush in without a plan, we could lose everything. Hell, we could lose our lives. I won’t let that happen to you.”

Those words hang heavy between us, a reminder of how intertwined our fates have become. My grip tightens on my phone as I pull in my breaths, managing to rein in my rising fire.

“Okay,” I concede. “Let’s make sure we have everything we need before we go.”

Raze nods, and we begin gathering anything we might use—both for direct confrontation and for strategic planning.

The urgency pushes me to shove my reservations aside.

Though the world outside feels like a festering wound ready to erupt at any moment, things settle with a fiery determination beneath the surface.

With one final glance at Whitney’s phone, Raze steps up.

“Your turn, Hawk,” he says, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s time to embrace your role as the ‘bad guy’ tonight.”

The thought makes me chuckle nervously. “Just remember, no one knows I’m on meds tonight,” I half-joke, the reality weighing heavily over the dark humor.

“Not an issue,” he says, his demeanor shifting back to being serious. “We just need you focused, okay? For her.”

That light suffusing my heart blooms into determination again. “For Whitney,” I agree, finally feeling grounded in our purpose.

As we finalize our preparations, adrenaline spikes through me, pulsing sharply with every breath I take.

Tonight, everything is a gamble, but for us, a risk worth taking.

We can’t let the darkness win; it’s time to be the light she needs.

We step out of the VIP room and into the club, ready to fight for the life of a girl we love.

Little do we know, the real battle is only just beginning.

The irony tastes bittersweet on my lips as we make our way into the swirling mass of bodies dancing in shadows, the pulse of the music echoing the fight within—the struggle to pull someone from the depths before they drown forever.

“Stay close. King told us we weren't allowed to leave,” I remind Raze as we navigate our way through the crowd, my heart racing, fueled by desperation and hope.

We’ve made it this far—nothing and no one can stop us now.

The chaos of the club envelops us, pulsing lights reflecting off walls dripping with sweat and beer while bodies sway to the infectious rhythm.

In this maelstrom of sound and movement, it’s easy to lose sight of our singular purpose, but the weight of Whitney’s absence keeps that fire ignited.

I feel Raze’s presence beside me, a stalwart anchor in a sea of overwhelming distractions.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Raze mutters, squeezing through a cluster of gregarious dancers. “If King and D are watching us, we’ll need an escape plan—fast.”

I nod, scanning the room as we weave through the chaos, trying to get to the back door. The laughter and music create a treacherous backdrop masking the often sinister dealings that happen in club basements like this one.

“Just let me know if you spot anyone following us,” I reply, voice clipped. “We can’t afford to let any of their guys see us until we’re long gone.”

We make it out the back door, walking into a heavy snowstorm, with giant flurries falling down around us.

I take a breath, inhaling the cold air, trying to keep myself focused, even though the more I think, the crazier I feel.

Raze walks beside me, deep in thought, snow crunching under our feet as we aimlessly travel down the sidewalk with no location in mind.

That's when he takes out his phone and dials a number I can't make out, my nerves attacking my heart even more.

"Red, I need a favor," Raze says into the phone, and hearing Red's name allows me to begin to relax. "Yeah, yeah, I need you to do a little digging on the California Bloods and try to figure out where they might be held up out here on the east coast."

He continues talking, and I can only pick up the odd words slipping out of his mouth as I gaze into the storm-cloaked streets.

“Dustin… Whitney… party,” he says, each mention lacing my heart deeper with urgency.

As I stand there listening, a strange sensation slithers up my spine, tightening around my throat like a vise.

Time ticks away, each second reverberating like a countdown in my mind—the pressure intensifying with every assertion Raze makes into the phone.

The swirling chaos of the night suffocates, a cloud of uncertainty and danger closing in around us.

After what feels like hours, Raze finally hangs up, the weight of his silence adding to my unease.

“Red’s on it,” Raze states, his voice firm yet laden with their unspoken burdens. “He’s gonna check in with some of his connections to see if he can dig up anything on where the Bloods are operating, particularly around this area.”

I nod, my heart racing as the gravity of our situation settles back in. “That gives us a little time to plan. But we have to move fast; we can’t let this chance slip away. The longer we wait, the stronger Dustin gets—and he won’t hesitate to hurt her.”

Raze’s jaw tightens, determination lighting his features briefly, then fades back into worry. “I fucking hate this…” he mutters. “We don’t even know what she’s going through right now.”

“Whatever it is, we’re gonna be there for her. I won’t let her down again,” I promise, my voice steadying against the winds howling around us. “We’ll do whatever it takes to get her back. I’m done feeling powerless.”

Raze laces his fingers through his hair, the frustration evident in how tightly he pulls them.

As we navigate through the angled roads toward Whitney’s last known location, each passing moment lingers like a ticking clock.

Time holds its breath, and with every turn, the shadows merge into the memories of our struggles and our resolve—fueled by the love for a girl caught in the crossfire of a deadly game.

As snow continues to swirl around us like a spectral shroud, the two of us race against time, determined to break every hold he’s had, determined to reclaim her from the abyss before it swallows her whole.

Tonight, we fight for lives and hearts, buried deep beneath darkness but united in a flame of hope that refuses to dim.