Chapter 41 Faith
FAITH
“Have you found it yet?” I called out, trying to keep the edge from my voice.
“I have.” Ryker’s tone was grim as death. “Fucking Wolfe. I’d bet any money he’s the one who leaked it.”
“What is it?” Harper asked, though from the way everyone’s faces had gone ashen, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Gruesome crime scene photos.” Ryker’s jaw worked like he was chewing glass.
The words almost made my knees buckle. Crime scene photos. Online. With my name attached to the carnage. For everyone to see.
“The only purpose of leaking them online is to incite anger and rage,” Ryker continued.
Fantastic. Because my life wasn’t already a dumpster fire of epic proportions.
“But if there are threats against Faith, will the Chicago Police Department investigate them?” Harper’s voice held that desperate optimism of someone who didn’t believe the system worked, but hoped, in this case, she’d be wrong. “Maybe even send someone to protect Faith?”
Ryker’s mouth compressed into a hard line. “Not if the judge has pull with Chicago PD. Which he does.” He scrubbed his face with both hands, and I noticed the fresh split across his knuckles for the first time.
Had he seen the photos before now? He must have, right? He’d probably been at the actual scene, walking through the aftermath while I’d sat in that hospital room. But seeing them now, spread across the internet like some twisted art gallery, surrounded by my address and threats and rage …
I studied his face, looking for disgust. For that subtle shift in his expression that told me he was realizing he couldn’t, in fact, stomach this after all.
Because how could anyone look at those images and then look at me the same way again?
How could anyone see that level of violence and not wonder what kind of person could cause it, even accidentally or in self-defense?
“She can’t stay here,” Ryker said. “We need to move her somewhere safe.”
“I think that’s unnecessary,” I managed. “I don’t want to leave my house. This is where I’m safe and comfortable.” Where I can hide from people who might grow to hate me.
Ryker stepped closer, his eyes blazing with that protective intensity that made my stomach do stupid, fluttery things.
“In addition to these photos, your address has been leaked. You can’t stay here, Faith.
It’s only a matter of time before some nutjob shows up with a baseball bat or worse, ready to confront you the first time you step outside. ”
There. That intensity in his eyes. Was it protection, or was it something else? Was he looking at me like someone who needed saving or like someone he couldn’t quite recognize anymore?
I straightened my spine, channeling every ounce of stubborn bravery I’d learned through years of assholes trying to intimidate me. “I’m not going to let some online trolls scare me out of my house.”
“Faith, this changes everything.”
With the case? Or with us? “Like what?”
“Your safety.” His voice dropped to that lawyer tone he probably used to make juries weep. “There’s a reason they put bulletproof vests on murder suspects when they walk them into courthouses.”
Murder suspect. The words landed like stones in my stomach. That’s what I was now, forever inscribed on the internet. Not just my name and the word murder anymore either. My name was linked to gruesome photos of the crime.
And they served as a graphic reminder to Ryker too. Maybe he’d been trying to see past it, but now the evidence was everywhere. Unavoidable. Undeniable.
Look who I really am, folks. Even if I didn’t kill anyone on purpose or with premeditation, there were plenty of other things about myself I was ashamed of.
Things I’d worked so hard to bury. And if they leaked the crime scene photos this easily, they’d leak everything else too.
Every secret, every mistake, every reason I’d learned to hide who I really was.
All of it laid bare for the world to see. Forever.
My chest tightened. This was always how it ended, wasn’t it? People getting close enough to see the real me and then pulling away. At least when I controlled the narrative, I could decide what people saw. But this … this was my worst nightmare. Complete exposure with zero armor left.
“Jesus, be more subtle about it, why don’t you?” Blake snapped, shoving Ryker’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble back a step.
“Do not start this shit again,” I commanded, stepping between them like a referee at a particularly violent hockey match. Which, apparently, was my new full-time job.
That’s when I really looked at them. Blake sported a growing bruise across his left cheekbone that was already turning an impressive shade of eggplant while Ryker’s split lip had started bleeding again. They both looked like they’d lost fights with a particularly vindictive staircase.
A wet one.
I grabbed two dish towels from the counter and threw one at each of them. Blake caught his reflexively. Ryker’s bounced off his chest.
“Look, let’s all take a minute to breathe, okay?” I insisted, my inner caretaker kicking into overdrive despite everything. “You two need to get cleaned up. You look like you both just lost middle-school wrestling matches.”
“At least I won mine,” Blake muttered.
“You sucker-punched me,” Ryker shot back.
“Your face was in the way of my fist. Not my problem.”
Harper smirked from her perch on my couch, clearly enjoying the testosterone-fueled chaos like it was her personal Netflix subscription.
“And you.” I pointed at Axel, who’d been lounging against my doorframe like he owned the place, looking far too amused by the whole situation. “Why are you here?”
“Dakota’s stuck in some all-day branding meeting.” He shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “She insisted I come check on you. Something about making sure you’re still breathing. Or maybe to make sure you haven’t murdered anyone else.”
“Dick,” Blake shot back while Axel smirked.
But I was grateful for Axel’s teasing. It made me feel less like a contagious disease and more like someone who could still be part of the joke instead of the punch line.
“Says the guy who showed up to beat his sister’s lawyer into hamburger meat.” Axel’s grin was pure provocation. “At least I brought my charming personality.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Ryker dabbed at his lip, wincing.
Axel’s eyes gleamed with unholy delight. “Careful, Counselor. Keep running that mouth, and Blake might rearrange your face again. He’s on a roll today.”
“Why did you come over here?” Axel asked Blake, all faux innocence.
“To clean up Ryker’s knuckles from his first fight today.”
Axel barked out a laugh that echoed off my walls. “Two fights in one day? Watch out, Counselor. You’re losing your shit. Next thing you know, you’ll be getting neck tattoos and riding a motorcycle.”
Despite myself, I smirked. I really did appreciate Axel’s energy right now. When someone shows up at your front door to warn you that the internet might want you dead, laughing about split knuckles felt surprisingly therapeutic.
“Let me get my medical kit,” Blake grumbled, stalking toward my kitchen like a man on a mission to save the world one antiseptic wipe at a time.
“Faith.” Ryker stepped directly in front of me.
Our eyes locked.
His softened, that hard edge melting into something warmer, more intimate.
Or maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see instead of what was actually there.
“See?” Axel’s voice cut through the moment like a chain saw through butter. “This is exactly why Blake was kicking your ass. Stop gaze-sexting Faith, Counselor. It’s creepy.”
Ryker shot him a death glare. “Do you ever shut up?”
“Not even in my sleep. Ask Dakota.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed heavily. I knew they were probably right; I probably needed to move somewhere else, temporarily at least. But before we got the chance to discuss it more, Axel pushed off my doorframe.
“Wait!” Every set of eyes snapped to Axel’s suddenly widened gaze of pure horror, his finger pointing toward the floor like he’d spotted the apocalypse itself.
“What in the holy fuckery is that?”