FALLON
My body is on autopilot as we pull off the turnpike, heading toward a familiar town with places that I instantly recognize as they pass by in the window. I’m frozen, knowing that I have to do this, but I don't know how I’m going to do it.
I’ve spent this drive giving more detail to everyone about my past and explaining everything I could remember about Steven, but opening up about his abuse hasn’t made me feel any better.
It hasn’t prepared me for what I’m walking into, the memories that will be triggered by sights, smells, and the things that I’ve buried so fucking deep, I can’t even anticipate what could be unearthed.
Ozzy keeps a hand on the small of my back, but his touch doesn’t reassure me, or keep me in a comfortable state of mind, it only feeds my anxiety, knowing how badly this could send me into a spiral.
“Ready Bambi?” Ozzy asks, and my body is stiff, ready for this, but completely unprepared at the same time.
He talks me through it, but once we pull up to the house, a switch flips inside me, and I’m treating this as a job – nothing more, nothing less. Once I get what I came here for, the gloves will come off, and mercy won’t be a word in my vocabulary.
Ozzy doesn’t know what I’m planning, but he can either help, or take a seat in the van because my mind is made up and for once, there’s no going back.
My thoughts are racing, but I take my time, erasing everything out of my mind except for one thing: my baby.
That’s who I’m doing this for, the life I sacrificed, because of an evil man who continuously proves that he’s only happy if his talons are firmly pressed against our throats.
Nothing else matters, and the job will be complete once I know his identity, or am several steps closer to that revelation. Then, I can heal the parts of me that were broken right here, behind the cheekily painted white door.
Mom did it when she was drunk, hoping to cover the wood with white, and then paint it purple, but she never got that far. I’m not the only person this house has destroyed, and once I’m done with it, there won’t be a shot in hell anyone ever steps foot inside again. These walls, this foundation – they’re done hurting people.
In a moment that I’ll likely replay for the rest of my life, Steven appears at the door, and all the blood seems to have rushed into my face, turning me into the human form of a furnace. I feel like I’m on fire, but I attempt to keep my cool, smiling as I introduce Ozzy and try our planned method of coming in peace.
“... We can take care of that, Bun.” His words come out like venom, stabbing me exactly where it hurts, but I can’t stop myself from reacting, instantly connecting the butt of my gun to his teeth.
The blood splatters all over me, mixed with saliva, but I’m completely unfazed, my eyes only on him as he falls inside the house and onto the floor.
Ozzy ushers us in, and the faint sound of the lock clicking is the only thing that can be heard in the otherwise silent room.
We’re in, but at what cost?
I’m scrambling around the kitchen while Ozzy handles Steven, and the sight of it has me dry-heaving and leaves my hands shaking over every surface I touch.
There’s trash everywhere, empty takeout containers, and bags of empty beers lining every open space on the counter and table.
I’m searching for the laptop, but all I can think of are moments spent in this kitchen, mixing mom’s drinks, or making her carb-filled foods that she’d never eat.
I stumble over the torn carpet that leads to her bedroom, and my heart sinks to the floor when I walk inside, noting that all of her things are missing. It’s a man cave now, with computer monitors lining the wall where her dresser used to be, but as I step closer, I see the laptop I’ve been looking for.
In a moment that steals my breath, I see that her vanity is still against the opposite wall, and I casually stroll over, finding all her jewelry in the top drawer. Right on top is her engagement ring and wedding band, the set she cherished more than anything, and I shove it into the pocket of my sweater, completely surprised that Steven hasn’t pawned it off.
For some reason, that makes me angry, ready to rip the head off his body, and I storm into the room, dropping the computer on his lap.
Ozzy has cuffed him to the chair, and I don’t blink, forcing open the screen until he looks at it, the space for a password blinking rapidly.
“You got this for a minute? I should let them know we’re good, and have Lex get ready for file transfers,” Ozzy asks, looking at me with tenderness, but I can’t bear to meet his gaze, not right now.
I’m not ready to fall apart yet.
“We’ll be fine. We’ve got some catching up to do, don’t we, stepfather?” I smirk, picking my gun up off the floor where I left it, and tapping him on the shoulder with it.
He shakes at the cold metal touching his body, and I watch Ozzy walk out the front door, leaving us alone.
I don’t have much time, so I push the chair to the table, setting his laptop up, and freeing one of his hands.
“Open it up, and pull up the list.”
“Bunny, come on. I know I wasn’t the best, but hurting me won’t change that,” he pleads, turning to face me.
“Don’t fucking call me that,” I command, stepping between the table and chair, placing the gun between us.
“Do you know how to use that?” He sneers, and my blood boils again, nearly blinding me with rage.
“Find out.” I press the barrel under his chin, leaving an indent on his skin, and forcing his eyes into mine, while my finger rests comfortably on the trigger.
I could end his life right now, and not feel a fucking thing.
But Ozzy’s words ring loudly in my head, reminding me that business comes first.
“Listen, someone is trying to kill me. This man kidnapped me a few months ago, and I have no idea who he is, but he knew about this ,” I pause, tapping my fingers across the keyboard, poking the screen with my index finger. “He knew all about me, from this . So pull up the fucking list, Steven, and find him for me.”
He doesn’t say anything more, typing the password and opening up a massive spreadsheet. From what I can see, it’s names, card information, and links that are labeled as verification .
This isn’t my strong suit, but luckily, we have Lex for this side of things.
“Do you have a name?”
“Mr. A. is all I know,” I say, giving additional information on the day I was kidnapped, and tidbits about being followed in Jacksonville.
“It’ll take me a bit, but I can narrow it down. I also have credit cards and driver’s licenses,” he explains, and my head is spinning, nearly about to fall right off, until Ozzy walks back in.
He’s sweating, almost out of breath, but his tense muscles relax when he sees me.
“What did I miss?”
“We’re getting somewhere. It’s a big list.” I roll my eyes, keeping my focus on the laptop, but stealing glances at him so he doesn’t worry about me.
Ozzy knows how painful this is for me, but I can’t lean on him right now. I can’t worry about if he’s worrying about me. It’ll just spin us in a cyclone and distract us from our goal.
Still, he tries his hand at affection, but I shrug him off, knowing I can’t let this opportunity slip away.
“I have twenty-seven clients who fit the timeline and are from Florida. Is there anything else that could narrow down the search, Bun – Fallon?”
“He’s older, fifties, maybe sixties,” I reply, his fingers flying across the keys as he adds the information into his filtered searches.
Time ticks slowly, but my rapid breaths and racing heart rate tell a different story, one that feels like everything is moving at light speed.
My ears are buzzing, so much so, that I don’t realize Steven is speaking, attempting to point my attention to his screen.
My gaze is stuck on the front window, a spot where we had ideas for hanging plants in the summer, and a Christmas Village in the winter. I thought the dealership was haunted, but my mother died here , and I feel her presence in every little thing I can see.
“Fallon, I think I found him. Do you recognize him?” He repeats, and I’m snapped back into reality.
A photo of a man is pulled up and zoomed in so the focus is only on his photo, and although it’s grainy, I’d know it anywhere.
There’s that son of a bitch.
Gotcha, Mr. A.
“That’s him, Ozzy. It’s him,” I say, and he comes over, getting a closer look at the screen.
“I don’t recognize him,” he whispers, dropping his head slightly.
“What else do you have on him?” I ask Steven, waiting while he pulls up a new window.
“If it’s real, I have credit card information, and the details on his license. The last time he logged onto the website was … six days ago,” he says softly, and I shut my eyes tightly, shrugging off that last harrowing detail.
“What else should we know about this software, this client list?” Ozzy asks, just as we’re greeted with company.
Like clockwork, Oliver, Lex, Journey, and Max burst through the door, weapons in hand as they take their chance to clear the house.
It’s been ten minutes since Ozzy left and returned, but I could’ve sworn I’ve been here all fucking day.
“Uh, it’s nothing complex,” Steven says, looking around at the guys as they form a circle around us.
“Write down everything I need to know. Passwords, firewalls, anything relevant,” Lex asserts, placing a notepad and pen in front of the laptop.
“The photos. We want the copies, the edits, the cameras, any flash drives… every-fucking-thing ,” Oliver says, taking Steven’s chin in between his index finger and thumb, not letting him look away.
I’ve never seen him so worked up with such determination, and I can’t watch, the emotions becoming too much to handle. When I left here, I had nothing . No person in this world knew who I was, but over time, I found my people, and they are defending me.
This is my trauma, my past, and none of them have any obligation, but when it comes to the family we’ve built – they always show up.
It’s a full-circle moment, one that I’ll never forget, and only further solidifies the choices I’ve made.
I was burned by them, broken by Ozzy, but I’m still here. I’m still riding with them, and as much as I’ve been saying ‘ one day at a time ,’ one day always becomes forever, and I think today has turned that sentiment into reality.
Forever.
“All – all of it is yours,” he stutters, rushing to write down all the things asked of him.
In a matter of minutes, the notepad is filled, and all of Steven’s equipment is being lugged out of the house, leaving Ozzy and I alone with him, again.
I’m wandering around the house, looking for things that were my mother’s, but nothing is left of her here. It’s as if these walls have vacated her soul, allowing it the freedom she never found.
“Fallon! Fallon, I have something else to tell you. Please, listen to me!” Steven yells, just as my hand grasps the doorknob to my old room.
I sigh, thankful for the disruption, and walk back into the living room. There’s nothing left in that room for me, but something about me is so curious as to what he did with it, that I couldn’t stop myself from almost ripping off another bandaid.
“What is it?” I cock my head, a bored look on my face as I contemplate all the ways to end this.
“The dark-haired guy. The one who didn’t speak, but stayed by the back door, is he one of your friends?” He asks, his eyes darting between me and Ozzy’s.
“Why?” Ozzy steps in between us, creating a barricade with his body.
“I was speaking to Fallon.”
“And now you’re talking to me. Why ?” Ozzy repeats, pulling the blade from his pocket and placing it on the desk.
I step to the side, watching both of their faces as they speak, noting how this moment mirrors a scene in an old-western, known as the stand-off.
Maybe, Ozzy won’t be so against my plan if they have it out, if Ozzy gets the pound of flesh he’s been waiting for since the day I confessed the truth about my abuse.
“He’s on the list.”
We both break our necks, searching for each other in the room and when our eyes meet, there’s nothing but understanding between us. Those four words hit like bricks, and we’re on the same page now more than ever.
“Journey?” I ask, stepping closer until I’m beside Ozzy.
Journey.
Fucking. Journey.
“How would you know what he looks like, that fast?” Ozzy takes over, his doubt and loyalty clouding his judgment, but I’m certain that Steven is right.
He’s had something for me since the day I came to the dealership, and this explains it all.
“Driver’s license. It’s a requirement when signing up, to upload proof of a valid ID. I may have been the worst stepfather and a morally questionable man, but I’d never let anyone hurt you, Bunny. I made sure you were safe, by knowing who they were,” he answers, and my heart momentarily stops beating in my chest.
This is when I detach myself from reality, floating through all the flashbacks of my pain, on a mission to exact revenge for what was stolen from me.
“You were a fucking pervert. For Christ's sake, you still are!” I scream, unable to filter the rage any longer.
I let every piece of me flourish in the light, every side of that darkness I’ve buried myself in for the last three months comes creeping out, and I release my anger on him.
My punches land as if I’m boxing, one right, one left, and repeat, until Ozzy tears me away, my arms still swinging in the air.
It’s not fair, but it’s not over yet.
I charge back at him, spitting in his face before I crack his jaw one last time, Ozzy’s voice booming over me as he scoops me up, and drops me on the couch.
“Enough, Bambi. For one fucking minute! And then, he’s all yours!” He yells, holding his hands on my shoulders until I look into his eyes.
My breaths are labored and erratic, but I feel fucking alive, like I’ve been burrowed inside a hole, and hibernation is finally over.
“Tell me about Jason Crowell. He’s on your list?” Ozzy crouches down, getting eye level with Steven, an anger fueled inside of him that I’ve never seen before.
“Yes, that sounds right. I recognize the face. Kill me for saying this,” he pauses, swallowing as he looks between the two of us, almost as if he’s bargaining for mercy. “But I know the frequent users. Especially nowadays, when the photos aren’t new, he – your friend – is a regular.”
In a moment I thought I’d never, ever, fucking see, my Greek God breaks .
He snaps, decimates, and nearly evaporates as the information soaks in, the realization crashing down that one of his best friends has betrayed him in a way that can never be mended.
His eyes are glazed over, and his expression is blank, but his breathing is intense, and I note how his hands are balled into fists by his sides.
I’ve never seen him so stiff and disassociated, the sting of Journey’s perversion will be felt throughout the entire crew, but Ozzy thinks of these guys as family, and this is a major blow to that brotherhood they’re supposed to share.
I should feel something, but I don’t. I’ve spent months with Journey – Jason fucking Crowell – but I’ve always known something was off with him, especially regarding me.
Cinderella.
I’ve always been an unattainable princess to him, and this explains why, because I’ve been portrayed that way for years.
I’m painted as nearly every man’s fantasy, the blonde girl next door who parades around in lingerie, waiting for you to come find me. At least, that’s how my stepfather made me out to be. That’s how I’m viewed, as an imaginary princess for those who can’t differentiate between what’s real, and what’s a dream.
But I’m not that girl anymore.
I’m the one you should fear, the purple-haired woman with a shit ton of trauma, and a very powerful band of boys behind me who’d kill to keep me safe.
Right now, I can guarantee that Journey is terrified of what’s happening inside this house, and he’s scrambling, trying to build his defense.
Finally, Ozzy turns his attention to me, rather than staring into the abyss, and he motions for me to follow him into the kitchen.
He rakes his hand through his hair, the stress painted on his beautiful face, and it breaks my heart to see him so hurt over this.
“What the fuck, Fallon? There’s no way … you just revealed everything to the guys, how would he have known?” Ozzy’s rambling, pacing around the tiled floor, his shoes sticking to the ground as he walks.
“The only way it’s true is if he knew who I was when you brought me to the dealership. Meaning, he’s been a subscriber longer than I’ve known you,” I say softly, laying out the facts calmly so as not to get him worked up.
We’re still supposed to be focused on the mission, and it isn’t over until we leave this house.
“I will gut him, I swear to God, Bambi. If he’s even looked at one photo of you –”
“Ozzy, look at me. We will get to the bottom of this, I promise you. It makes sense, especially with what Pepper told me.” I cut him off, taking his hands in mine.
I realize, I never got to tell Ozzy the truth about the fight between Pepper, Lex, and Journey, and this is going to send him over the edge.
“What about her?” Ozzy asks, a dead stare in his eyes that I’ve never seen before.
“The night of my birthday, when we had our own room, Pepper caught Journey listening at the door and trying to peek through the curtains to watch us. They got into it, and he claimed he was lost or something, but she got creepy vibes from him and his intentions,” I explain, and before I can even take a breath, Ozzy picks up a glass bottle and smashes it against the wall.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he mutters, the caged animal inside of him begging to be unleashed.
“We have someone else on the top of the list,” I interrupt his manic pacing, and he looks straight into my eyes.
“Fallon … are you sure? I know what he did was wrong.”
“Not a question. Are you with me, or not?” I ask, opening the door if he wants to leave.
This is my fight, my mess, and I won’t hold it against him if he chooses to walk out. I came here knowing what had to be done for me to move forward, to live peacefully, and I’d never force Ozzy to be my accomplice.
“I just want to make sure you thought this through, Bambi. Raz was self-defense, but this is murder, and I don’t want it to destroy you,” he says in a hushed voice, brushing his thumb across my cheek.
I reach for him, pulling him down by the neck and pressing his lips onto mine. I bunch my fists into his shirt, dragging him until our bodies are touching, and his hands land firmly around my waist.
“Thank you,” I breathe, breaking our kiss and opening my eyes into his.
“For what?”
“Always looking out for me. But this time, I don’t need you to worry about me. I’ll be destroyed if I don’t do this,” I whisper, keeping my grasp on him tight.
“Okay, my beautiful girl . I’m following your lead,” he says, reaching into his pocket and handing me his blade.
The metal shines in the light and catches me in a trance, the sting of its tip still seared into my memory.
Without another word, I walk back into the living room where Steven is still cuffed to the chair. He’s staring out the front window, and I could catch him by surprise, but I refuse to let him off that easily. He’ll have to look me in the eyes and discover what I’m truly made of, what he forced me to become.
I step in front of him, and his eyes perk up, meeting the blade in my hand. Rather than begging or bargaining, he seems accepting, almost as if he knew it would come down to this.
“Fallon, I am sorry for what I did to you, the things I made you do. It's… despicable,” he says softly, and I don’t move, flipping the handle back and forth between my hands.
Ozzy stands behind him, waiting for my signal, and I take a deep breath.
I’m not afraid to take his life.
I won’t feel remorse once his eyes go cold, or further down the line when his face attempts to creep back into my subconscious.
It’s been a long time coming, and when I give Ozzy a slight nod, he holds Steven’s shoulders strong, giving me a canvas to work with.
Do I slice his throat, ensuring he goes quickly?
Do I start on his chest, cracking his ribs and sternum as I work my way up?
Maybe, I rip the beating heart out of his body and leave it on the floor to be rendered useless.
The options are limitless, but, I’m not in the mood for torture – we’ve already been here too long.
“You didn’t break me,” I say, looking into his eyes as I plunge the knife into the side of his throat.
He gasps, desperate for air, and his blood stains my hands, splattering across my neck and chest.
His blood-curdling screams will be stuck in my head until the day I die, but not in a way that’d haunt me. It’s satisfactory, how his screams resemble those of a little girl, and I’m beaming with pride. I’m healing that fifteen-year-old girl who just wanted to keep her mother alive, and I feel like I'm on top of the world.
I don’t blink, keeping my gaze locked into his as he takes his last breaths, and I’m the last thing he will ever see. Ozzy reaches around, tearing the blade out of his throat, blood purging from the wound before he sticks it back in, a barely there squeal escaping from Steven’s lips. He wanted a pound of flesh too, and I can’t think of something more poetic than how this story has ended.
“We’re burning it down,” I say, finally looking up at Ozzy, who is also covered in blood.
The sight of him is almost too much, and I bite my lower lip, attempting to keep myself in check. He’s disheveled, his curls knotted around his face and his beard slightly stained, but when I look at his hands, I can feel my body trembling. His rough, calloused hands are dyed a shade of dark red, almost like a crimson, and I can’t tear my eyes off him.
“How do you propose we do that?” He asks, regaining my attention as I look around the room.
“The only thing he cared about more than his perverted little hobby was the lawn. He’ll have gas in the shed out back,” I say calmly, picking up anything we may have touched.
I make quick work of the room, and I hear Ozzy step out the back door, the screen gently slamming behind him. We don’t have much time, as there is a dead body in the living room, and I want this place to go up in flames.
I find a pile of old newspapers in the kitchen and lazily toss them around, drizzling vodka from the nearly empty bottles on the paper, hoping it accelerates how fast they’ll catch.
“We’ve got half the can, maybe less,” Ozzy says, coming back inside with a bright red gas can.
“Let’s do this.”
I’ve never intentionally started a fire, and definitely not one big enough to burn down a single-story house, so I let Ozzy take the lead, watching as he carefully pours gasoline on the papers I dropped. Once he reaches the trail I made leading to Steven’s body, it’s a straight shot, and he dumps the rest of the contents all over him, soaking his body with enough gas to hopefully start an inferno.
“Wait by the door, Bambi. I’ll light it,” he orders, and rather than fight, I let him handle this.
I’d hate to blow myself up with the house, and I trust he can handle this with precision.
The moat I constructed with the papers effectively traps Ozzy in a literal ring of fire , and there’s a chance he gets caught without a path to safety.
I swallow the lump of panic forming in my throat, my eyes trained on him, as he seems to be unfazed by the possibility of not coming out of this alive.
My world feels like it’s crumbling, and the thought of losing Ozzy nearly paralyzes me. My chest hurts, like I’m having a heart attack, and it all clicks into place at once.
I don’t care that he left me anymore.
I don’t care that we’re being hunted by a sociopath.
I need him.
I love him.
“Go. Now, Fallon!” He yells, but I refuse to move.
“I’m not leaving without you, Ozzy,” I tell him, a sternness in my voice that makes it sound more like an order, rather than a stance I’m choosing to take.
“ Fallon !”
“ Ozzy .”
We’re in a standoff, but I won’t break. Not after all I’ve overcome. I’m not taking one more step without him beside me.
Finally, he concedes, and I watch as he flicks his lighter, the flame making contact with a soaked piece of the newspaper. It takes a few seconds, but once it’s engulfed, he tosses it on Steven, the flames instantly licking his body and initiating a roaring blaze.
The paper trail begins to light, and Ozzy tries to dodge the rapidly growing fire. Just when I think he’s trapped, he leaps over the flames, landing on the other side and scrambling to get back on his feet.
“Come on.” I grab his hand, pulling him out of the front door and down the steps.
We dart across the street, running from the burning house still hand-in-hand, and just as we reach the van, a loud bang rings out in the distance. When I look back, the whole house is going up in flames, the smoke billowing from the rafters, and Ozzy drags me through the door, dropping me on the seat beside him.
Before I can sit up, Max speeds off, and I swear, I forgot everyone was here. In that house, it was just the three of us, and the choices I made.
“Jesus fucking Christ! Nobody said we were burning down a fucking house!” Max yells, slamming his hands on the steering wheel as he navigates out of the neighborhood.
“It’s her fucking call, just drive.” Oliver defends me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as we all get comfortable on the middle bench.
The adrenaline is still coursing through my veins as we hit the turnpike, and in the distance, I hear the sirens beginning to grow, but we’re out of here, heading for Newark Airport to meet Cami and Pepper.
This mission was successful, and we got exactly what we came for. Now, it’s time to send Cami off and find Pepper’s birth mother.
The countdown is in the back of my mind, two days until I’m officially deemed a criminal, wanted for murder, but the funny thing is – I just became a murderer ten minutes ago.