Page 133 of F*ckboys

The laughter eventually dies down, leaving a slightly awkward silence hanging in the air. I glance around at the familiar faces of my family, all of us processing these surprising revelations.

Next to me, Aksel catches my eye and places his hand on mine. As the newest member of this eccentric clan, I wonder how he's taking it all in.

"Well," he says, clearing his throat, "I have to say, you Dempseys really know how to liven up a family dinner."

His wry tone makes me smile. Trust Aksel to diffuse the tension with humor.

As I look around the table, I'm struck by how even the strangest quirks and secrets can bring people together.

We're bonded by the realization that no family history is without its spice, its rebels, its rule-breakers. Our roots may not be spotless or genteel, but they are ours, flaws and all. And as we raise our glasses in a final toast for the evening, acceptance links us more meaningfully than blood.

No matter what surprises lurk in our pasts, this family has built a home where everyone belongs. Aksel is no longer an outsider, as of tonight, but one of our own.

And nothing, not even Uncle Sal's and King Industries' mafia connections, can change that.

Chapter 76

Fallon

The city streets stretch before me, empty and endless in the pale glow of streetlights. Aksel's voice echoes in my head, urging me to let his driver take me home, but I shrug it off. I need to walk. To feel the chill of night on my skin and sort through the mess of emotions swirling inside.

Satisfaction. Guilt. Lust. Anger. They war within me, shadows dancing at the edge of light.

I shove my hands into my pockets and pick up the pace, my boots striking the pavement with a sharp crack. The rhythmic beat matches the pulse pounding in my veins. I have a playlist of songs that are in sync with my fastest walking speed, and I love nothing more than to charge around the city at lunchtime,headphones blaring, to get my steps in. But there will be no headphones tonight. It's dark out, and I need my wits about me.

In the distance, a dark figure emerges from an alleyway. It turns to face me, and despite the distance between us, I think his face twists into a terrifying smile. I tense, my senses alert, and drop into a fighting stance as the figure, much larger than me, hurtles toward me and lunges at me with a snarl. The figure reeks of madness and desperation. Instinct takes over as adrenaline floods my system. I pivot, snapping out my arm and propelling it right into my assailant's face..

I follow up with a punch, my knuckles connecting with flesh and bone. A single blow that sends my attacker crashing to the ground with a groan.

Breathing hard, I stare down at his body, his features slack in unconsciousness, and his clothes tattered and grimy. Blood trickles from his nose, a vivid red against his pale skin. I have a strong urge to kick the motionless figure, to continue to punish him, but I quell it. I've rendered him immobile, so he can't hurt anyone else, and there are people much more deserving of my time.

I frown, shaking out my hand. What was that about, anyway? A mugging gone wrong? My gaze narrows, scrutinizing his prone form. No, there's something not quite right here. A madness lurked behind those eyes, a cunning sort of madness. Not the unhinged look of a man who randomly steps from an alley to assault a stranger. The madness of a man hired to kill someone known to be tricky to catch. As if—my breath catches. What if this attack wasn't random, and only made to look that way? I can feel the weight of eyes upon me, watching from the shadows. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

Whoever's out there isn't very good at subtlety. I scoff, rolling my shoulders and tilting my chin up in challenge. If this display was meant to intimidate me, they chose the wrong woman.

I move on through the dim streets, leaving the figure behind. As I get further away, I begin to doubt myself. Whoever that guy was, the attack was clearly just random. I'm just paranoid, thinking it was anything more than a coincidence that I happened to be walking past when he stepped out on the road.

The city embraces me in its solitude, bearing witness to the storm within. My pace is quick, and my heart pounds as if trying to break free of my chest. I draw a sharp breath, the cool night air scraping my raw throat. Everything feels amplified in the stillness before sunrise—each sensation, every conflicting thought.

Far away from my attacker, I once again consider the emotions battling in my head. Can love and the desire for revenge exist together? Can I ever truly love Aksel despite what he did back then? I don't know. But for now, I walk alone. I know I need to choose when the time comes. And I will.

The sky lightens to dove gray as the first golden rays of sunrise peek over the horizon. I pause in the middle of an intersection, alone at the center of converging streets. Around me, shadows recede. But within me, they remain. Darkness and light, coexisting yet separate. I stand at the crossroads, unsure of which path to take.

I continue walking, hands shoved in my pockets, boots striking a steady beat. The city surrounds me, silent and empty, mine alone.

My mind replays the night, images flickering through my thoughts like a movie reel. The way Aksel made an effort to get through family dinner smoothly, even sharing self-deprecating stories about his own family in an attempt to fit in. I flash back further, to the multiple times recently that I've gotten to experience Aksel's hands, his mouth, the feel of his body against mine. The satisfaction, the pleasure.

As amazing as those moments were, though, they're now soured by the bitterness clinging to its edges. Because the longer I spend away from Aksel, I've come to learn, the less I believe we're meant to be.

Why did I go to him so many times, especially that first time over at his condo? I knew it was a mistake, and knew I shouldn't give in to the hunger that had been building between us. But in that moment, I couldn't help myself. I wanted to lose myself in sensation, to bury the anger and doubt beneath a rush of endorphins. I wanted it to be him, because I knew my mind would wander to him, anyway.

But my attempt to bury things didn't work. If anything, the conflicting emotions have intensified, twisting my insides into knots. I'm torn between the desire for retribution and this aching need to connect—not just physically, but emotionally. To find solace in another's arms. Aksel's arms.

Chapter 77

Aksel

Fallon sits across from me at my condo's massive kitchen island, hands clutching her coffee mug. Her knuckles are white. Something's wrong.

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