Page 118 of F*ckboys

Just like I ruined us.

The glass lies shattered at my feet, a reflection of the wreckage inside. And I wonder if I'll ever be able to piece myself back together again. Or if I'm broken beyond repair.

Chapter 66

Aksel

The thump of an ax embedding itself in wood greets me as I walk through the door. My gaze sweeps the dimly lit room, taking in the mismatched furniture and buckets of axes lining one wall. Punk music pumps in the background, and I smell the distinctive scent of cheeseburgers and spilled beer.

Carson waves me over from one of the makeshift throwing lanes. “You’re late.” Of course he'd pick this place. It's just so…him. Colorful, trendy and a little bit hipster-ish. A little jock-y, a little dorky. Carson, in the form of a venue.

“Traffic.” The excuse falls flat. I was stalling, the idea of socializing in public about as appetizing as a chocolate-covered fish with cheese sprinkles.

He hands me an ax. “Well, hi to you too, brother. Also, we’re not leaving until you can at least hit the outer ring.”

I grip the ax, feeling the weight of it, and step up to the line. With a practiced motion, Carson sends his ax flying. It hits the bullseye dead center.

Show-off. “What’d you want to talk about?” I ask, stalling again.

Carson gives me a look that says he knows exactly what I’m doing. “Just throw the ax, Aksel.”

I throw. The ax glances off the edge of the target and clatters to the floor.

“Pathetic,” he scoffs.

“I have other skills.” I waggle my eyebrows at him. There's something about my younger brother that always cheers me up, even when I'm in my darkest of moods. There's little that brings me more joy than being able to make him laugh. Tonight is no exception.

“Ew. Shut up and throw.” But there’s laughter in his voice. The sound eases some of the tension coiling in my gut.

I pick up another ax and throw again. This time it sinks into the second ring. Not bullseye, but at least I hit the damn target.

“Better.” Satisfaction colors Carson’s tone. He throws another ax, the rhythmic thunk of metal on wood keeping time with my thoughts.

As fun as this is, something’s off here. The texts, the choice of meeting place...Carson’s stalling as much as I am. My concern ratchets higher. This isn’t just brotherly bonding. Whatever Carson has to say, I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.

The next ax flies from my fingers, finding its mark in the center ring. But my mind isn’t on the game. It’s on Carson, and the sinking suspicion that this night is going to take a turn. Still, if he's reaching out to anyone for advice, I'm glad it's me.

Carson lines up his final throw, muscles flexing under his t-shirt. But his hands hesitate on the ax handle.

“Spit it out.” I cross my arms, axes forgotten. “You're very good at this, but I know you didn’t drag me out here for a round of lumberjack. What’s going on?”

He meets my gaze, his blue eyes troubled. “I got into something, Aksel. Something...bad.”

Everything in me goes still. “What did you do?” My voice emerges flat, hard as the ax handles.

Carson looks away, dragging a hand through his hair. “Not me. Them. Some guys...they want me in on their operation. High stakes poker games, cybercrimes. Big money shit.”

The words land like a blow to the chest, stealing my breath. “Cybercrimes? Are you insane?”

“I turned them down,” he says quickly. “But they’re not taking no for an answer.”

“Who are they?” I demand. “Give me names, Carson. Now.”

He rakes a hand down his face. When it emerges, his expression is bleak. “The Marcello brothers. Word is they’re tied up with the Italian mafia.”

My heart stutters. The Marcellos. This is worse than I feared. “You can’t get mixed up with them. They’re dangerous. We've had beef with them in the past and it was rough.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Carson snaps. He hurls his ax at the target, and it strikes the bullseye with a violence that makes me flinch.

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