Page 39 of F*ckboys

Grave nods solemnly, and we all share a moment of understanding. This is why we do what we do—to help those who can't help themselves, to bring justice to the ones who've suffered.

"Leave it to us, Janice," Grave reassures her. "We'll take care of everything."

"Th-thank you both," she looks from him to me, her apprehension toward Grave now vanished.

As she stands up to leave, I feel a surge of determination flowing through me. Another chance to right a wrong, to make someone pay for their actions. Fuckboy only begins to describe the level of asshole we really deal with on the dark side of our operations. I'm glad we have my more lighthearted education programs as a cover for this most important work.

"Be safe, Janice," I tell her, watching as she limps out of my office, her head now held high despite the pain she carries.

"Another monster to put down," Grave says as the door clicks shut. And I couldn't agree more. Dickson Fineman will get what's coming to him.

I clench my fists, the fire of revenge burning hotter than ever.

I can't shake the image of Janice's tear-streaked face from my mind as I lean back in my chair, my fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. Grave's dark eyes meet mine, reflecting similar thoughts.

"Strangling her wasn't enough for that bastard," he growls, his voice low and filled with anger. "He had to tell her he wished she was dead. Can you believe the nerve?"

"Unfortunately, I can," I reply, my own voice dripping with disdain. "And we both know that it's not just about the physical violence. It's the psychological impact, too. The fear that comes from knowing the person who's supposed to love you could endyour life in an instant." My heart aches for Janice, and I know that Grave feels the same way. "We've seen it too many times."

"Exactly," Grave agrees, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "And the stats... someone who's strangled their partner before is hundreds of times more likely to eventually murder them. We need to act fast, Fallon. We can't risk him hurting her again."

"Agreed," I nod. "So, what's the plan?" I ask, my determination solidifying as we brainstorm how best to exact our revenge on Dickson Fineman.

Grave smirks, and I can tell he already has an idea forming in his mind. "Well, considering our friend Dickson likes his liquor so much, why don't we give the man what he wants?"

"Go on," I encourage, intrigued by his train of thought.

"Waterboarding, but with vodka," Grave suggests, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Let him feel the same suffocating helplessness he inflicted on Janice. Let him drown in his own vice. He's been physical toward Janice—he's disabled her and almost killed her—so I feel like it's appropriate."

I can't help but grin at the poetic justice in Grave's plan. "That sounds perfect. It's time to make Mr. Fineman realize the gravity of his sins."

"Let's do it," Grave agrees, his voice filled with dark resolve. Together, we'll make sure Dickson Fineman pays dearly for the pain he's caused Janice. "And then, of course, we've got to dismantle this ridiculous conservatorship situation. But I'm sure Dickhead will be more amenable to signing away his 'rights' once we're done with him."

We work into the night mapping out our next steps.

With each plan we devise and execute, our bond grows stronger, fueled by our shared quest for justice. And as we prepare to face yet another monster, I know that together, we are unstoppable.

Chapter 19

Fallon

Although things are going well at work, the need for control in my personal life gnaws at me, a hunger I can't ignore any longer. I sit on my couch, scrolling through an online dating app on my phone. This is my answer—another night of no-strings-attached sex with a man I'll never see again. The perfect way to assert my dominance and forget about the smoldering gaze of Aksel King. As long as it goes better than last time when, no matter what I tried, I couldn't get that asshole out of my mind.

"Fuck you, Aksel," I mutter under my breath as I swipe left on yet another profile that reminds me of him. It's not even that the other guys really look like him at all. It could be merely one facial feature, the fit of their T-shirt, the fact they breathe air—anything at all—that brings him to mind. He's got me all twistedup inside and I hate it. I crave control, but he's thrown me off balance. I need to regain my footing, and prove to myself that I'm still in command.

My thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating for just a moment before swiping right on a man who looks absolutely nothing like Aksel. He's on the shorter side, and has a wild mess of bleached curly hair—the complete opposite of Aksel's tall, muscular frame and meticulously styled, closely-cropped dark hair.

The man messages me almost immediately.

Netflixandchillwyou: Hi there pretty lady. Wyd?

It's a douchey screen name but I guess it's to the point. I reply, keeping it short and detached.

Me: Fallon.

No personal details, no connection. Just two consenting adults meeting for one explicit purpose.

Netflixandchillwyou: Your place or mine?

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