Page 19 of Wicked Fury

The sting of her palm against my cheek sizzles through my skin, and the sharp crack of the slap slices through the thumping bass of the party. Her eyes blaze with a wildfire that could burn down cities—eyes that are trying to burn me down right now. I didn’t see it coming, didn’t expect her to lash out like that.

“Asshole,” she hisses, breath hot, close enough for me to taste her wicked fury.

“Angel, you hit almost as hard as you hate.” I smirk, despite the smarting red mark I can feel rising on my skin. My heart hammers with a mix of rage and something dangerously close to respect.

“Go fuck yourself.” She spins on her heel, brown hair whipping like a flag of revolt, and storms through the sea of bodies that part for her like she’s royalty—or a bomb.

I rub my jaw, the sensation of her touch a lingering phantom, and I can’t help but smile. The slap was bold, public, a damn declaration of war. It makes my blood race, the prospect of taming that kind of spirit. The thought sends a current of excitement straight to my core, half-anger, half-lust.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I’m pissed she felt brave enough to try that little stunt in front of everyone, but damn if it doesn’t turn me on as well. That sass of hers—I want to wrap my fingers around it, control it, own it.

And ownership has always been a heady experience for me.

The crowd swarms back into the space she vacated, unaware that they just witnessed the latest skirmish in a war of wills. But I’m hyper-aware. Every nerve ending thrumming with the shock of that contact, with the realization that goody two-shoes Shelby is more than a challenge; she’s a craving, and I’m an addict who just got a taste.

“Looks like the princess has claws,” Graham remarks, finally making his way back to my side.

“Claws are just tools for me to sharpen,” I shoot back, voice low and threaded.

“Legal eagle sure has you tangled up, doesn’t she?” Penn sidles up beside me, that perpetual sly grin etched across his face as if he knows the world’s dirtiest secret. He leans back against the graffiti-smeared wall, eyes sparking with mischief under the strobe lights.

“Fuck off, Penn,” I snarl, but it’s half-hearted. I can’t deny the truth in his words. The air is thick with sweat and sin, yet all I can focus on is the ghost of Iris’s fury, feeling the phantom sting on my cheek.

“Isn’t it hot in here, or is it just your temper?” He drawls, the bastard. I want to rip that stupid, backward cap off of his big fat head.

“Penn, don’t you have someone to go stick your dick into?” I snap back, but my voice is like gravel, all rough edges because he’s under my skin, knows exactly what buttons to push.

“Touchy, touchy,” he says, and there’s that fucking smile again. “Maybe you should try my method for cooling down. A little fire play. It’s quite… therapeutic.”

“Only if it’s your ass on the line,” I retort, my words like daggers. “Then I might get some actual enjoyment out of it.”

“Come on, brother,” Penn chuckles, pushing off from the wall, amused. “Admit it. You’re not just looking to break her. There’s something…between you two. Like fire and gasoline. Got you out here acting like a low-key simp.”

“Simp, my ass. I don’t simp for anyone.” I scoff, forcing a dismissive smirk. The taste of danger lingers on my tongue, sweet as hellfire.

“Lincoln, you both have fucking issues,” Graham interjects as he strides past us, his voice cutting through the music and chatter. His piercing eyes are devoid of humor, and there’s a tension in his shoulders that screams he’s about to go blow off some steam in typical Graham fashion.

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, Graham,” I retort, watching him disappear into the throng. Good for him. Less interference for me.

“Looks like you need a new plaything, now that Iris stormed off,” Penn observes, too casually.

“Shut up,” I bite out. The memory alone is enough—a flash of green eyes, a challenge laid bare. I want her, hate her, crave the fight she gives.

I consider following her, chasing the high that comes with our collision course. But then there’s the other hunger, darker, more dangerous. The urge to crush that spirit, to watch her crumble and know I was the one to break her.

“Going after her, big bro?” Penn’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sly as ever.

“None of your business,” I snarl, but it’s hollow. He sees right through me.

“Whatever you say.” Penn backs away with a knowing look. “Just remember, obsession is a one-way ticket to damnation.”

“Then buckle up,” I reply coldly. “Because I’m taking the express lane.”

The party roars around me, but it’s white noise now. My new stepsister is the only sound I hear, the only face I see.

“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself. “I’m out.”

I’m teetering on the edge, ready to bolt from this cesspool of sweat and sin, when she sidles up to me—the blonde with the too-tight dress and too-eager eyes. She’s a smudge in my peripheral vision, all glossy lips and hands that reach for something I’m not selling.

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