Page 42 of X's and O's

Taking out the entire list in a short space of time wasn’t the worst plan. If it saved Doc the grief I’d had to go through, then it would be worth it. “We’ll take care of it. You should go be with them.”

Doc stood, picking his keys up off the coffee table. But his gaze touched all of ours in turn. “I know you think you’re invincible, but you’re not. You’re still flesh and bone and blood. Nobody goes after any targets until wecan make sense of this. I’m not going to have you all triggered and losing control.”

“He means you, Whip. You’re messy when you’re triggered.”

I gave X a wry stare. “Really? I’m the one who’s messy? Mister I Got So Stab Happy I Didn’t Notice a Whole Grown-Ass Woman Was Watching.”

He glared at me. “Don’t talk about my woman’s ass unless you’re talking about her donkey.”

Ace leaned over. “She has a donkey? Can I see it?”

I rolled my eyes. They were both idiots.

Grayson ignored our bickering. “We have to assume that it could be anyone on that list or multiple targets working together. Going after anyone, especially splitting up to take targets by yourselves because you’re rushing to get them all, could be walking into a trap. So just don’t. Please. Promise me. I can’t be worried about all of you as well as my family.”

His gaze fell on me, and I knew why.

Doc might have been the glue that held this group together. But I was the one who held the other men in check.

And I was a man of my word.

Doc’s eyes pleaded with me.

“You all heard the man. Nobody goes after the list until we have more info.”

I pulled out my copy and ran my eye down the list of names.

It was long. And it meant nothing. They were just words on a page.

Any one of them could have sent that letter.

I needed to find out who.

They weren’t the only one who could send threatening rhymes. I picked up a pen and scrawled text below the threatening note.

You wrote your rhyme, you made it fun,

But trust me, this is far from done.

11

VIOLET

Iwas used to rejection. High school had been full of it. I’d towered over most of the boys until senior year, and they’d taunted me constantly. I probably wouldn’t have even cared if they’d called me giraffe, like they had Lindsey Powell, who had been tall and slender.

But I was tall and thick.

So they’d called me Ogre. Trunchbull. Or troll.

My twenties hadn’t been much better. I’d done what every single woman did. Got on the apps, hoping to meet someone who would love me the way I read about in romance novels.

But I very quickly realized there was no Prince Charming to be found amongst the dick pics and catfishing.

I didn’t know why I’d thought writing to a prison inmate would be any different.

But for over a year, I had thought it was. Only for it to blow up in my face the moment he saw me in person.

My face flamed with embarrassment. I’d stared down at my hands on the bus ride home, trying to hide the salty tears that dripped down my face from the other commuters. By the time I got back to my apartment, I was struggling to keep it together at all.