Page 78 of Riot

“Yes,” I answer, not sugarcoating it.

“It could ruin me. Everything I worked for, everything I endured to get here . . .” He sits back. “But I owe it to Evelyn, I owe it to you, and I owe it to the boy who only ever wanted to be in front of the camera—the one they killed. I’ll help you, Fallon.” He smiles. “Hell, let them try to kill me. I did that enough to myself through the years each time I stuck a needle in my arm.”

“Poe, are you sure?” I might have driven him here, but I will give him a way out if he wants it. I won’t be like my father.

“You’re right. I can’t escape my past. I’m allowed to be angry. Evelyn would have wanted this. If she was willing to talk, then we should too. We owe it to ourselves. Tell me everything I need to know. I’m with you.”

I tell him everything, and when I’m done, he’s smiling. His expression is cruel and filled with vengeance.

It’s time for the victims to reclaim their power.

It’s time for the victims to become the survivors.

THIRTY-NINE

Idon’t like to admit it, but I’m scared for my girl. Whoever is behind the attack on her and Evelyn’s and the manager’s murders surely have their eyes on her. They were warnings to make her stop, since they knew killing Fallon wouldn’t go unnoticed and they wanted to scare her off, but they should have known better.

Threats just make my girl dig her heels in. She’s not scared of dying. She’s scared of being weak.

It’s one of the reasons I love her, but I’m scared for her. She’s intent on bringing this world down, and I’ll help her, so while she focuses on that, I focus on her safety.

She becomes annoyed by the constant guards, but I don’t care. I also won’t let her out of my sight. Where she goes, I go. It means I cancel nearly all my upcoming arrangements and leave my team flustered, but whatever.

Fallon always comes first.

We spend two days going down the list she has. All but one agrees to help, and we both know when it comes down to it, they still might pull out, so the more the better.

“What now?” I ask, sitting next to her in the living room. She is looking at the papers spread before her, my laptop open as we review the evidence, making sure we have everything in order before we make our move.

“Now, it’s time,” she murmurs and grins over at me. “Elijah knows what to do. Tell him it’s time.”

Picking up my phone, I drop him a text, leaving the finer details to him. We need to keep it as quiet as possible, but once we have the date and time confirmed, we can relay it to everyone we collected.

Fallon sits back. “It’s ready. It’s finally about to be over.”

My phone rings, and I answer. “Okay, so for the dates—” Elijah starts to ramble, his perfectionist side coming out. I roll my eyes at Fallon as she laughs, and when the doorbell rings, she gets up to get it.

“Elijah.” I sigh as he carries on. “Elijah.” I keep repeating his name louder and louder until he finally stops. “I trust you. You know what we need, so you don’t have to run it all by me.”

“You . . . You trust me?” he murmurs.

“Of course. You’ve been with me for years. I’ll let you handle it—” A scream splits the air.

Fallon.

I drop my phone and run faster than I ever have, my heart pounding in fear. I find her in the hallway, surrounded by shattered glass and flowers, but that’s not all. Something glitters between the petals, and when my eyes swing to her, she turns and holds her hands up to show me one of them is cut and bleeding. It races down her arm and hits the floor like rain as she blinks at me.

“I thought they were from you. They have razor blades in the petals. I cut myself.” Her voice is calm, but she’s pale.

“Find out who sent them!” I bark at the guards who rush in. Uncaring about my bare feet, I walk over to her, glass cutting into my soles, but I don’t stop until I’m at her side. Ignoring my pain, I scoop her into my arms and head straight to the kitchen. I place her on the counter and step between her legs, grabbing a hand and lifting it so I can inspect the cuts.

“Sir,” one of the guards interrupts. I don’t spare him a look as I turn her hand.

“They are shallow, just bleeding a lot,” I tell her softly.

“Sir, I have the first-aid kit. I’m a medic in training. Do you want me to help?” he asks.

I debate it, but the idea of another man’s hands on her, especially right now when I’m on edge, has me shaking my head. “I can handle it. Get that mess cleaned up and check the cameras. I want answers.”

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