Page 125 of F*ckboys

Not this time.

Shame and anger war within me, twisting my insides into knots. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the voices in my head to be silent. The man's taunts scrape against wounds that have never truly healed, ripping them open anew.

I'm not like them. I'm not.

When I open my eyes, the man is watching me with a knowing look. Like he can see the rot that festers in my soul.

With a snarl, I grab his hair and slam his head into the concrete floor. He goes limp, unconsciousness claiming him at last.

I stand over his broken form, my chest heaving. The voices quiet, receding into the shadows. In their wake comes a bone-deep exhaustion and a dull ache between my legs.

Shame threatens to overwhelm me as I recognize the signs of arousal. I've become no better than the monsters I hunt. But there's no turning back now.

"You will pay for everything you did," I vow, my voice low and trembling with anger. "And when I'm done with you, you'll beg for the mercy of death."

I turn on my heel and stride out of the basement, slamming the door behind me. The lines between revenge and personal vendettas blur, but I can't bring myself to care. Not when justice is finally within my grasp.

I take the stairs two at a time on unsteady legs, gripping the railing until my knuckles turn white, eager to escape the suffocating confines of that room. With each step, the voices gain strength again, whispering that I'm no better than him. No better than any of them.

But even upstairs, I can't seem to catch my breath. By the time I reach the top, their accusations have risen to a fever pitch. Islam the door behind me, in an attempt to trap the echoes of my sins in the cellar along with the man. The walls seem to close in around me, echoes of the past threatening to drown me in a sea of anguish and despair. I know I need to let this man go, that I've already held him captive for too long. But I don't know how. And part of me still thinks he needs to pay more than he already has.

In the kitchen, I scrub the blood from my hands until my skin is raw and stinging. But no amount of soap and water can wash away the stain on my soul.

Aksel's face swims before my eyes, his smile as charming as it is deceitful. Like all the others, he wore a mask to hide the monster that lurked beneath. I was a fool to believe his lies, to think that he could be different. That any of them could be different.

My hands curl into fists, my nails biting into my palms. The pain barely registers through the haze of anger and bitterness. I want to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all. I want to burn away the remnants of my naïveté and wash away the taint of their touches.

But I can't. I can never be clean again. All I have left is this anger, this thirst for vengeance that threatens to consume me whole. It's what fuels me, what gives me purpose when all else is lost. I cling to it with every fiber of my being because, without it, there is nothing left.

The man downstairs, Harvey, is just a means to an end, a vessel for my wrath. But with every defiant glare, he becomes the face of my tormentors. Aksel, my father, every man who dared to lay claim to my body and my soul. Their sins are carved into his flesh, bleeding and raw under my ministrations.

Let him scream. Let him beg for mercy as I've done. He will find none here. Not as long as there is breath in my body and blood on my hands. I swore to make him pay for everything he's done, and I always keep my promises.

Just like I promised to make them all burn.

Exhaustion drags at my limbs as I make my way to the living room. My gaze lands on a photo of Aksel and I, one I haven't yet damaged, a relic of happier times. Before everything went to hell. Before I became this twisted, unrecognizable version of myself.

Anger surges, hot and bitter, chasing away my shame. Aksel may have broken me, but I won't break for him. I won't give him the satisfaction.

I snatch the photo from the shelf, my fingers tightening around the frame. I haven't been quite ready to take it down, but the time has come. With a snarl, I hurl it at the wall. The glass shatters on impact, our smiling faces fracturing into a thousand pieces. At this rate, I should invest in a glass business. But I really don't care. It makes me feel better seeing the tiny shards of glass coating my condo floor.

Breath rasping in my chest, I stare at the ruined photo. The voices fall silent at last, their accusations fading into the darkness. In their place comes a cold, ruthless calm.

Chapter 72

Fallon

The call comes out of the blue, Roxy's name flashing on my phone. My stomach knots—what now? Did Aksel put her up to this?

I almost don't answer, but some masochistic part of me wants to rip the bandaid off. And if I'm honest, she's a lifeline to Aksel. "Yeah?"

"Fallon, it's not what you think." Roxy's voice is urgent, tense. "The whole situation with Aksel and Mia? There's nothing going on. There are two possibilities. Mia either set Aksel up and manipulated everything to make it look like he was cheating when he wasn't. Or she's also innocent and was just trying to help, but through a catastrophic sequence of events, everything looks so, so bad."

"What?" The word comes out sharp as a knife. "How...why would she do that? The first thing?"

"Well, I have a feeling she's always been jealous of you and Aksel," Roxy says. "She wanted him for herself, and when he wouldn't give her the time of day, she decided to destroy you to get back at him. Or maybe she wantedyoufor herself. Did you ever think about that? It seems like maybe you were spending much more time between work and Aksel that maybe she was feeling neglected. I don't know... but either way, Aksel and Mia are not—and never were—having an affair behind your back. Did they meet without you? Yes. Was that shitty? They probably could have handled things differently. But from where I'm sitting, I can't speak for Mia, but Aksel's actions were one hundred percent out of concern for you."

"But she—." I don't even know what to say, so my words trail off.

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