Page 38 of F*ckboys

Within hours, the internet is ablaze with rumors and damning information about Jacob.

Within days, his business partners start distancing themselves.

Within weeks, his family turns their backs on him, and even his closest friends abandon him.

We lobby tirelessly for a new law targeting revenge porn. We call in favors, make impassioned speeches, and even get some media attention. Slowly but surely, momentum builds around our cause.

"Grave, they're calling it 'Maddie's Law'," I say in awe as I read the news headline a few weeks later. "It's going all the way to Congress and has a ton of high-profile support. Maddie has beenable to channel this into a new career opportunity. We—and she—are really making a difference."

"Damn right we are," he replies, pride shining in his eyes. "For Maddie, and for everyone else who's suffered like her. Don't tell anyone, but doing this kind of work makes me feel warm inside."

"My lips are sealed," I laugh, and then I feel overwhelmed by more serious emotions. "Justice is finally being served," I whisper, knowing that all our hard work is starting to pay off. "And don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're secretly a big teddy bear inside. Thank you for your unwavering support. I appreciate you being here for me."

"Always, Fallon," Grave says, awkwardly tapping me on my shoulder in a side hug which is about as affectionate as he gets. "Always."

"Fallon, look at this," Grave says, showing me a news article that has just been published. "Jacob Daniels: A Life and Career in Ruins."

"Good," I say, my heart pounding with satisfaction. "He deserves every bit of this. Maddie can finally rest easy knowing her tormentor has at last been brought down."

Chapter 18

Fallon

The next day, adrenaline still surges through my veins, and I can't help but grin when I think of Jacob Daniels getting his just desserts. We've done it. Our most recent revenge is a success. I glance over at Grave, who shares a satisfied smirk with me before turning his attention to the door.

"Fallon," he murmurs, "the next client is here." We don't usually have them back-to-back like this, but it feels like the level of douchebag behavior in this city is at an all-time high.

"Send her in," I reply, anticipation curling around my heart like smoke from a burning flame.

The door swings open, revealing Janice Hopkins, our second client. She's a petite woman with layered brown hair and thin lips, and she's wearing a demure floral dress. Her eyes are red-rimmed from crying, and she clutches her purse tightly against her chest as if it were a shield. She has a slight limp as she makes her way into the office. She glances at my overstuffed couch but remains standing.

My anger ignites at the sight of her fragile state, and I know that we're about to embark on another dark path for justice.

"Janice, please, have a seat," I gesture to the chair across from my desk. She nods gratefully and sits, wringing her hands together in her lap.

"Thank you for seeing me," she whispers, taking a deep breath. "I've heard that you two... well, that you can help people like me."

Grave leans against the wall near the corner, arms crossed, and Janice glances at him nervously. He attempts a smile to ease her nerves and, despite the seriousness of the moment, I almost laugh out loud when I get a rare glimpse of his teeth. I forget he even has them sometimes.

"We can, Janice," I smile at her with a warmth that I hope contrasts with the darkness we deal in. "But to best help you, we need to know everything about what's happened. Who's hurt you?"

Tears well in her eyes, and she swallows hard before speaking. "My husband, Dickson Fineman. He's... he's a violent and rageful alcoholic. He goes on these drinking benders, disappears for days at a time. And when he comes back, he's not... himself. He's violent...and I'm not sure whether it's just alcohol he's using at this point."

As she continues to describe the escalating abuse she's suffered at the hands of her husband, my blood boils with rage.

It emerges that Dickson's behavior started out with minor emotional abuse that left her feeling confused about whether he'd actually crossed a line. His verbal barbs soon became moresevere, with increasingly frequent and derogatory comments being made at her expense. And then things turned physical.

Now he's beating her on a regular basis while also abusing her financially, draining her assets to fund his drug and alcohol addiction. He has access to all of her bank accounts, and has somehow had himself nominated as power of attorney through some type of conservatorship arrangement so she can't do anything about it.

Unlike Jacob Daniels, Dickson is a textbook narcissist with a gift of the gab. Janice has tried utilizing the court system and domestic violence resources, but every time Dickson gets in front of the police or a judge he sweet-talks his way out of the situation, making it look like Janice is the violent abuser in the relationship. Unfortunately, we see this all too often.

So here she is, abused and frightened with seemingly no way out. How dare he treat her like this? How can someone be so cruel to another human being? My blood boils as she recounts further details of her predicament.

"During the last attack," she continues, wiping at her tears. "He pushed me backwards, and I fell down the stairs and broke my leg. It fractured in several places and I'll... I'll never walk the same again. And then he tried to strangle me at the foot of the stairs when I was already barely conscious. An Amazon package happened to be being delivered right at that time, and the delivery person rang the doorbell, or I believe I would have died that night."

A shiver runs down my spine at how close she came to death. "Janice, I promise you," I say fiercely, leaning forward in my chair. "We're going to make Dickson pay for what he's done to you. We won't let him hurt you anymore."

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. "I don't know what I would do without you two."

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