Page 119 of F*ckboys

“Then why didn’t you come to me sooner?” I stride over and grip his shoulder, hard. “I could’ve helped you. Protected you.”

“I didn’t want to drag you into this mess,” he says quietly. “But I’m scared, Aksel. They threatened me. Threatened Amy and our family. I don’t know what else to do.”

Rage and fear curdle in my gut as I pull Carson close. “You listen to me. I won’t let anyone hurt you or anyone else in ourfamily, you understand? That includes Amy. You’re out of this. We’re going to cut ties with these bastards once and for all.”

I feel him nod against my shoulder. Around us, the axes stick in their targets like a ring of silent sentinels. But new enemies have emerged tonight.

And if the Marcellos think they’ll get their hooks in my brother, they have another thing coming.

I release Carson and stride over to retrieve my ax. My hands clench around the handle, slick with sweat, as I turn to face him.

“Tell me everything. Names, dates, details of the threats. I need to know what we’re up against.”

Carson drags a hand through his hair. “About a month ago, I got into a high-stakes poker game. Won big. That’s when they approached me. Said I had a gift, wanted to bring me in on some of their ‘business opportunities.’”

He swallows hard. “I told them no, but then they started showing up wherever I went. Said if I didn’t play ball, they’d go after Amy and everyone else I ever cared about. Even showed me photos of her leaving work.”

The thought of dangerous men like them being anywhere near my sisters or Carson's girlfriend makes my blood run cold.

My ax trembles in my grip. I hurl it at the target, and it splits the wood with a crack like a gunshot.

“Bastards,” I snarl. “They didn't touch her, did they?"

“No, but they made sure I knew they could. Aksel, I don’t care what happens to me, but if anything happened to Amy or Roxy or Raine because of my stupidity—”

“Nothing will happen to her.” I stride over and grip the back of Carson’s neck, our foreheads pressing together. “We end this now. I’ll help keep Amy safe, you hear me?"

Carson retrieves another axe, weighing it in his hand. “I don’t want you involved in this, Aksel. It’s my mess to clean up.”

“Too late for that. You’re my brother. We’re in this together. Just promise me you won't do anything stupid," I say. "No more secret meetings or risky bets. Stay away from the Marcellos and their goons. Let me handle this."

Carson opens his mouth to argue, then closes it with a snap. He knows I'm right. Getting tangled up further will only make things worse.

"I promise," he says softly.

He drags a hand through his hair. “I never should’ve gotten involved with them in the first place. I just...I got drawn into it before I really understood who I was dealing with and what the stakes were. But now—”

“Hey.” I grip his shoulder. “We all make mistakes. What matters is making this right.”

“But how? If I don’t give the Marcellos what they want, they could destroy everything. And if I do, I’m basically signing on to be their puppet for life.” Carson’s eyes meet mine, bleak with despair. “There’s no way out of this, Aksel. I’ve really fucked things up this time.”

“We’ll find a way out, Carson. We always do.” I squeeze his shoulder and summon a smile. “Remember when we were kids and got lost in the woods overnight during that camping trip? Everybody else panicked, but we stayed calm, worked together, and made it out alive. This is no different. The Marcellos are just another problem to solve.”

Carson huffs a mirthless laugh. “Somehow I don’t think they’ll be as easy to outsmart as a couple of hungry raccoons, bro.”

I release Carson's shoulder and step back, surveying the axes embedded in the target. Each weapon represents a threat, shadows gathering on the horizon.

“Maybe not.” I pluck the ax from his hands and add it to the target, where it lodges deep in the wood. “But they're messing with the wrong family. And by the time we’re done with them,the Marcellos are going to realize they should’ve left us the hell alone.”

Chapter 67

Fallon

Something's not right. Grave's instincts were correct about Brynn Waterford. The emails I found on the clone I made of her laptop don't add up. The timeline of events she described to us, the sequence of how things went down with Griffin—it's all fucked.

I slam the laptop shut, bile rising in my throat. That bitch tried to play us. This whole damn time.

Meticulously organized files, providing receipts to back up accusations. On closer look, each piece of evidence seeming slightly off, as if created by the same person on the same computer.

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