Page 50 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

twenty-two

battling demons

Hawk (“Crow”)

I Need a Doctor: Eminem, Dr. Dre

A nother layer of snow falls, covering the dirty slush coating the ground.

There's a bitter chill in the air, and it's bringing the voices in my head out full time.

They never shut up. I never get a moment of peace.

My meds aren't even working, and Raze has made sure I've been taking them.

This is why I fucking hate them. They turn me into a person I fucking despise.

Plus Whitney hasn't come home yet. We haven't even heard from her.

The guilt I carry with me is almost crushing.

It's enough to pull me under and keep me there.

I couldn't save her. I couldn't even fucking find her.

I let her down again... after I promised I'd always be there when she needed me.

I fucking failed her, and I'm not sure how to live with myself, especially when the voices taunt me all the time.

My demons haunt me, each one reminding me of Whitney.

"Get out of your head," Raze says, nudging my shoulder to try and snap me out of whatever funk I've found myself in.

"Easier said than done," I mutter, licking the blunt paper before meticulously rolling it all together. "We fucking failed her."

"I know, but we're not giving up. We didn't come this far and go through everything we did just to lose her now," he softly says, sighing loud enough for me to hear. "We'll find her, Hawk; don't worry."

We sit in silence as I spark the blunt, our feet dangling off of the top of the fire escape as we watch below, waiting to see if we see her or anything that might help us find her.

So far there hasn't been anything useful.

We fought King to leave the club, and in the end we won.

He's spiraling fast, for reasons we're still trying to figure out.

Against his better judgment, he caved, and we're no longer trapped like fucking prisoners.

But freedom feels like a curse without Whitney.

Each minute that ticks by only thickens the knot in my stomach.

I take a long drag from the blunt, feeling the familiar burn in my throat, hoping it'll drown out the relentless noise in my mind.

Raze shifts beside me, the warmth of his body a brief comfort against the cold creeping in.

“Do you think... do you think she’s scared?” I whisper, exhaling a cloud of smoke. The light from a distant street lamp flickers, casting uneasy shadows around us.

“Yeah, probably. But she knows you, Hawk. She knows you won't stop looking for her. That’s why we can’t give in to the fear,” Raze replies, his voice steady, anchoring me for a moment.

I want to believe him. I really do. The truth is, each scenario I envision paints Whitney as lost, either trapped or worse. It twists like a dagger in my gut. Guilt claws at my insides, slick and persistent.

“I just... I can’t shake this feeling that I messed up somehow. Like if I had just—”

“Stop,” Raze interrupts, his tone turning sharper. “Stop blaming yourself. You didn't do anything wrong. Whatever is going on with Whitney, it’s not your fault. Believe that.”

I turn to look at Raze, his earnest gaze meeting mine. There's warmth in his voice, the kind that tries to chase the icy grip of despair away. For a fleeting moment, I see the fierce loyalty that makes me hold onto hope.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, I do. She needs us to stay strong. We owe her that much. You owe yourself that. The more you doubt yourself, the more the shadows win.”

The shadows. I feel them creeping closer, the voices rising in volume, chipping away at any flicker of strength I still cling to. But Raze's words echo in my mind, a gentle reminder that even in darkness, I have a choice.

“I guess we should hit the streets again,” I say, trying to shake off the gloom. “Maybe we’ll find something, anything that points to her.”

Raze nods. “Let’s retrace our steps from last night. If we go that way, we might get lucky.”

We stand up, the chill biting at our skin as we climb down the rusty fire escape. Each step feels heavy, but every inch I move forward is a small act of defiance against the voices that swirl within. Outside, the world is muffled, covered in snow, but my mind races with determination.

“Raze,” I call as we hit the ground. He turns, and I can see the concern etched on his face. “Can I count on you? Like, really.”

He crosses the distance between us, clasping my shoulder firmly. “Always, Hawk. It's always been us against everyone and everything.”

With one last glance toward the darkened alleyways of our fractured city, we step into the storm, ready to fight against the odds and bring her home.

But we only take a few steps in the freshly fallen snow before my cell phone rings from inside my pocket.

I hastily fish it out with shaky hands, almost dropping it in a puddle.

The area code is a California one, and seeing it makes my heart beat frantically.

"Hello?" I answer, holding my breath in anticipation.

"Hawk? Hawk, it's me, Whitney," a soft voice whispers from the other end, and my heart almost falls to my fucking feet. "I need you to come get me. Please bring me home."

The sound of her begging and her shaky yet calm voice is enough to send me over the edge.

I drop to my knees, thrusting my phone into Raze's hands, leaving it up to him while I catch my breath and pull myself together.

I don't want her hearing how emotional I am because I don’t know how she's feeling and how hearing my worry will affect her.

Relief rushes all through my body, instantly warming me even as the snow drifts down in flurries around me.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I stay knelt in the snow smoking, still trying to get my heartbeat under control.

"Hello?" Raze asks, still in the dark about who is on the other end of the phone.

"Raze, it's me. I need you to come get me," she repeats, her voice booming through the speakerphone.

"Whitney? Are you alright? Where are you?" Raze panics, scrambling to try and compose himself.

"I'm in California... I need help getting home. I have nothing," she states, not giving any extra information other than the bare minimum.

But that's okay.

She's okay.

She's safe.

Most importantly, she's coming home.

After planning a time and place to pick her up, Raze hangs up the phone and yanks me to my feet, literally dragging me down the sidewalk toward Club Mayhem.

Both of us are too stunned to speak, so we run—we run like children in the snow, excitement coursing through us that slightly masks the pain I still feel.

But I'm happy. This is a happy moment, and I'll be fucking damned if I let my demons get the best of me.

They will not win tonight.

The cold, wet snow splashes against our shoes as we sprint down the street, navigating the familiar path we took countless times before.

Every step feels lighter, infused with hope, and I can hardly recognize the feeling after everything that’s happened.

The city, once cloaked in shadows and doubt, now sparkles as the streetlights dance off the fresh snow.

As we reach Club Mayhem, the familiar sight of its chaotic energy fills me with a sense of purpose.

I inhale deeply, letting the surrounding sounds drown out the chaos in my head.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper to myself, though Raze keeps shooting me glances, his brow furrowed, perhaps worried I’ll slip back into my spiral.

“Just focus—get what we need and get out,” he advises, urgency in his voice.

He seems to feel my tension, always one step ahead of me. Inside, the music thrums against my chest, a heartbeat of its own in the pulsing atmosphere. I scan the crowd, and D catches my eye.

“Let’s get a car and get the fuck outta here,” I say, though I can feel that nagging sliver of anxiety creeping back into my mind.

Raze nods, already moving toward the bar.

I follow, but my feet feel like they’re anchored to the ground.

The laughter and cheers of dancers swirl around me, a vivid reminder of the disconnect I felt when Whitney was gone.

While Raze orders cold beers for the road—something I haven’t tasted in a long while—my gaze drifts around the room.

I catch sight of familiar faces, some weary and masked like mine, others glowing under the neon lights, completely untouched by the worries that plague me.

It’s then that I spot King, slumped in a corner booth, a shadow of his former self, staring out the window with a gaze that seems lost in another world.

I can’t help but feel a mix of sympathy and disdain.

After all the havoc he wreaked on our lives, there’s something pitiful about his current state.

But seeing him also stirs something deeper inside me—an unwillingness to let my doubts seep back in.

I shake my head, focusing again on the task at hand.

“Hawk?” Raze nudges me, snapping me back to reality. “We have to move. You good?” He dangles keys from his fingers and nods back at D, relief gleaming in his eyes.

“Yeah. Just… thinking. Let’s go,” I reply, pushing past King’s chaos as we head toward the door.

Every second that passes until we reach Whitney feels like an eternity, but I know I have no room for doubt anymore.

We bolt through the parking lot, the snow crunching beneath us, and hop into one of D's older racing cars, the engine rumbling to life as the warmth seeps through the cold metal.

Raze flips through the glove compartment, searching for whatever weapon there might be.

His fingers graze over a chrome pistol, and he grins as he shuts the compartment.

“Alright, we've definitely got enough cash to get us there and back, and enough protection... just in case... I think,” he says, pocketing the live rounds that were loose under the pistol. "I’m not going to let anyone get in our way."