Page 147 of F*ckboys

My rapists are back. And they want more.

"We have to leave. Now." I grab Aksel's hand, panic clawing at my chest. "They're coming for me. We're not safe here anymore."

Recognition dawns on his face.

"They're still coming after you? Even after all this time?" His eyes darken with rage, but his voice remains calm. "We're not running from these bastards. I won't let them terrorize you anymore."

"Please," I beg. "I can't lose you too. We have to go!"

He pulls me into a fierce embrace, one hand tangling in my hair. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. We'll face this threat together, and I'll destroy anyone who tries to hurt you. You're mine now, Fallon, and I protect what's mine."

Maybe his words should scare me. But all I feel is love, and gratitude, and the safest I've felt in years.

The terror in me suddenly dissipates, Aksel’s support for me galvanizing my fears into an opposite set of emotions. Strengthand courage and the desire to right the course. It’s time to take back what’s mine.

My rapists have no idea what's coming for them. And this time, I won't stop until all four of them are dead. Just like I tell my most secret of clients, sometimes the justice system just isn't set up to help the victims, and you have to take matters into your own hands.

As we leave the beach, our hands entwined, the diamond on my ring finger catches the dim light and sparkles like a promise. The same beach where we used to spend lazy afternoons together as seniors. Where Aksel saved me from drowning and breathed life back into my broken body, right at the heart of our intense rivalry in junior year. Just like he's doing now, sheltering my battered soul and putting the missing pieces back together with his love.

Aksel's grip on my hand is iron-clad, unwilling to let go even for a second. I cling to him just as tightly, drawing strength and comfort from his presence. We stand in the semi-darkness of the beach at night, the only illumination coming from a pale sliver of moon and the distant glow of city lights.

"We'll get through this," he murmurs against my hair. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Fallon. Never again."

I lift my head from the sanctuary of his chest to meet his gaze. The steely determination in his eyes steals my breath. "Together," I say softly. "We'll face this together."

He smiles and presses a tender kiss to my forehead. "Together. Always."

The moment is shattered by a gunshot in the distance, followed by a startled scream. Aksel's arm tightens around me as we both peer into the gloom. Waiting. Watching.

My rapists are out there. Coming for me. And when they see Aksel, they'll be coming for both of us.

And we'll be ready. I no longer have to do this alone.

Chapter 82

Fallon

The heavy scent of roast beef and potatoes fills my nostrils as I slide into my seat at the head of the table. My family's familiar voices chatter around me, a deceptive veneer of normalcy that does little to mask the tension simmering beneath.

Cheston's gaze flickers to mine, stormy gray eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second before his attention shifts back to his plate. The jagged scar running along his jawline seems more pronounced tonight, a reminder of secrets we've buried in the past.

Fenton stabs at his meal with more force than necessary, his knuckles whitening around the knife clutched in his fist. The wounds I inflicted on him years ago have left more thanphysical scars, fracturing a bond that I'm not sure can ever be mended.

Bronson's laugh cuts through the tension, too loud and abrupt to be genuine. He tries too hard to lighten the mood, a pathetic attempt at obscuring his own role in the events that tore this family apart.

The ghosts of our past hang over this table, vengeful specters that refuse to be silenced. With each strained laugh and cutting glance, they grow more vocal, screaming accusations and ugly truths in a language only we can understand.

This meal is a farce. Beneath the civilized trappings of silverware and small talk, we are beasts circling each other, waiting to draw first blood. The Dempsey men have always had a taste for violence, a dark legacy passed from father to son. But as I've come to realize, the bloodlust, the taste for vengeance, did not escape the female side. I, too, am fascinated by death and darkness.

Tonight, that violence simmers just below the surface, threatening to erupt in a storm that will shake the very foundations of this house. The secrets we've kept for so long demand to be unleashed, and none of us will escape unscathed.

After all, in this family, we've always settled our debts in blood.

Cheston's eyes meet mine across the table, a silent warning. He knows what demons stalk my thoughts, recognizes that dangerous glint in my gaze. As always, he hopes to curb my reckless impulses, and contain the damage before it spirals out of control.

Too late for that. The bloodlust is upon me, sharpening my senses until I can taste the metallic tang of violence on my tongue.

Bronson opens his mouth again, spouting some inane comment I don't care to acknowledge. With deliberateslowness, I curl my fingers around the handle of my knife, relishing the cool press of metal against my palm.

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