Page 109 of 12 Months of Mayhem

It took a moment, and a few breaths where I second-guessed myself and what I was seeing, but eventually, I was sure.

It was Mason’s Dad, Cipher, and his brother, Dime.

Cipher was the president of the club, and from what Mason had told me, Dime hated that their father didn’t pick him to be in charge when the old man stepped down.

“You never fucking listen,” Dime snapped, pacing back and forth.

Cipher crossed his arms, holding his stance. “Because you’re not talking any sense.”

“That’s where the money is, man!” Dime insisted, his arms flailing. “That’s how we’re going to make our name. It’s how we’re going to become kings!”

Cipher huffed out a laugh. “The club is about brotherhood! It’s not about how to fill our fucking pockets, Dime. We have codes we live by, and I’m not about to break them because you want to be cashed up.” Dime stilled, his hands clenched at his sides. “Now, I could have fucking told you this shit back at camp, so can we head back now. I have shit to do.”

“No, you don’t,” Dime replied, raising his arm—the gun he was holding sparkling in the light.

Cipher didn’t even flinch, the look on his face never changing. “You kill me, Mason steps up, and then you’re fucked.”

Dime shrugged almost lazily. “That’s fine because he’s next, and the president’s patch is mine.”

BANG.

I gasped, stumbling back, my feet skidding on loose gravel and dirt as I fought to get away, to run, to hide, to get the hell out of sight. Once again, I was stumbling through the darkness. This time, though, I knew where I needed to go.

I needed to find Mason.

To tell him.

To warn him.

“Hands where I can see them!”

I turned suddenly, high beams blinding me for a second before a couple of cops appeared out of nowhere, grabbing my arms and dragging me with them.

It was less than a block of trudging, the cops asking questions I couldn’t even comprehend before we reached Mason’s truck. Only, it wasn’t just Mason’s truck.

There were two police cars, a handful of cops, and a security guard.

Mason was leaning against the hood of a patrol car when they shoved me forward, his jaw clenched and his arms folded across his chest.

“You kids can’t be out here,” one of the officers said, stepping forward. “Security here has asked you be trespassed. So you need to get the hell out and don’t come back.”

“Fine,” Mason answered, rolling his eyes.

The cop turned to me, narrowing his gaze. “Are you eighteen?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

“Can you prove it?” he challenged.

I couldn’t.

I took Aja’s bag, my ID was in mine.

“I—”

“Didn’t think so,” he interrupted, nodding toward the patrol car. “I’m taking you back to whoever you belong to.”

“Wait a fucking second!” Mason protested, but he was quickly shoved back, two cops slamming him into the side of the car.

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