"What's that?" I asked, playing dumb.
"My fucking son, and I want him back." He glared at me, and although a wave of relief washed over me now that the truth was out in the open, I knew we were far from being out of danger.
Foley wouldn't stop hunting me and the people I loved unless someone stopped him.
eighteen
killer instincts
Hitch
Brady and I stood paralyzed outside the mill, though the biting wind wasn't to blame. Foley's confession to Fallon had hung in the air, a revelation that knocked the wind out of both of us. As I turned to gauge Brady's reaction, a figure limped into view from the edge of my vision. It was War, and he wasn't empty-handed.
He approached us, a gun clutched in one hand, the other pressed against the bandage wrapped around his fresh wound. I was stunned, but not surprised. When it came to Fallon, War—much like myself—would risk everything.
"Judging by your faces, you heard what Foley was hiding, didn't you?" War asked, his usual swagger replaced with raw shame. The shift was jarring.
"Foley's your fucking father?" I managed, the words still barely registering.
"Unfortunately, yes. I only found out tonight, snooping around his place before the festival." He clenched his jaw, gripping the gun tighter. "I don't know why I never remembered, but finding a picture of myself as a kid... it all came crashing back."
Suddenly, Fallon's screams sliced through the night, ripping us from the swirling past and plunging us back into the present. We had to get to her, no matter the cost. It was strange, though; Foley was always surrounded by his security detail. Tonight, he was alone with Fallon, a vulnerable target.
Armed and resolute, the three of us stormed the mill, methodically clearing each room until we reached Fallon. We burst through the final door, guns raised, and froze. Foley had Fallon in a chokehold, her back pressed against his chest, a gun jammed against her temple.
"Come any fucking closer, and I'll shoot her," he snarled.
Deep down, I knew he wouldn't. He loved her too much. His love for her was twisted and obsessive, but even I understood that kind of love could be deadly.
"It's over, Foley," Brady said, taking a step forward.
"It's far from over, Brady. I want my fucking son," he spat, tightening his grip on Fallon.
"That's never going to happen," she rasped, her voice barely a whisper as Foley tightened his grip around her throat.
Our eyes met, and it was as if we were connected. I knew she wanted me to take the shot, but the proximity between them made it too risky. I couldn't risk it; I couldn't risk hitting her. War, however, raised his gun, his fury palpable as he stood beside me.
"You won't shoot, son. Not when there's even the smallest chance you'll miss and kill the love of your life," Foley taunted, but War didn't flinch.
He refused to be drawn into the web his father was spinning. He stood his ground, silent, his gaze locked on Fallon's. I watched her lips move, counting silently, and a wave of protectiveness washed over me. I wanted to hold her and never let go. But I couldn't take the shot. Not yet.
Before another word could be uttered, War fired. A single bullet tore through Foley's forehead, and he crumpled, releasing Fallon. She scrambled to us and collapsed into her brother's arms, tears streaming down her face.
And just like that, the nightmare was over. But the easy part was done. Now came the hard part, the reckoning. We had to grapple with the secrets, the lies, and the painful truths that had surfaced. We had to figure out how to move on, how to forgive, and, most importantly, how to live with these new realities.
It wouldn't be easy, but the three of us were ready to fight for it.
nineteen
a killer christmas
a week later
Fallon
The week after Foley's death had been a whirlwind. A week since the truth of my life had unfurled. A week since the world knew Julian was mine, not Brady's.
Christmas morning arrived, and the snow fell fast and heavy, thick flakes blanketing everything in white. I sat on the porch, nursing my coffee and drawing on a blunt, trying to still my frayed nerves. Hitch and War were inside with Brady, orchestrating the final preparations for Julian's wake-up call and his inevitable descent downstairs.
