Page 47 of Wicked Fury

“Only thing she wears to bed is a smile,” I retort, casual as a quarterback sidestepping a tackle. But inside, a coil winds tight, ready to snap. I grit my teeth, feeling my anger rise. Iris may be innocent, but she’s mine. And no one talks about her like that.

I’m a caged animal on the practice field, fury churning in my gut like a storm. Every taunt about Iris is another bar in the cage, every snicker a tightened screw. My blood’s a live wire; I can feel it sparking under my skin, yearning to ignite.

“Watch where you’re throwing, Blackwood!” Brandon yells from across the field, his voice dripping with condescension.

The name ‘Blackwood’ echoes, mocking me. It’s not just my name; it’s an expectation, a legacy. And right now, it feels like a damn shackle.

“Maybe you should watch where you’re standing,” I spit back, my words slicing through the thick tension.

Brandon struts over, chest puffed out like he owns more than just the turf beneath his cleats. “Or what, your highness? You’ll tattle to Daddy?”

My smirk flickers. Wrong move, Brandon.

I snap. The world tilts as I launch myself at him. My fist connects with his nose, a satisfying crunch that drowns out the surrounding gasps. Blood spurts, bright against the green field, and Brandon stumbles back, hands cupping his wound. I stand over him, breathing hard, fists still clenched and ready.

“Blackwood! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Coach’s bellow cuts through the chaos.

I straighten up, but there’s no remorse in my stance, no apology in my eyes. I’m a predator, cornered and snarling, even as Coach storms over.

“Lincoln, in my office, now!” Coach commands, pointing toward the building with a finger that might as well be a loaded gun.

In the silence of his office, trophies and team photos bear witness to our standoff. The way he’s looking at me pins me to the spot. A challenge issued without words.

“Son, you’re the leader of this team. Your actions set the tone,” Coach starts, his voice deceptively calm.

“Then maybe they’ll learn not to push me,” I retort, defiance coating my words like armor.

“No, Lincoln.” His voice sharpens, cutting through my defenses. “You don’t get to lose control. Not here, not ever.”

“Sometimes control’s just an illusion, Coach.”

“An illusion you damn well better maintain, or you’ll find yourself watching the season from the sidelines.”

His threat hangs heavy, a guillotine poised above my head.

“Understood, Coach,” I say, my tone empty of submission.

“Good. Now get out there and set it right. Show them who you are.”

“Always do,” I mutter, already turning for the door.

“Lincoln,” Coach calls after me, a final warning in his voice. “Don’t make me regret keeping you on that field.”

But regrets? They’re for those who fear consequences. And me? I chase them like the thrill before the hit, the rush of the game, the heat of desire.

Walking back to my teammates the metallic tang of blood hangs heavy in the air, clinging to the back of my throat like a bad omen. That’s what I get for letting my guard down—a show for these vultures.

“Looks like the boy can’t handle a little blood,” Penn cackles, his voice slicing through the tension on the field. He bends over, clutching his stomach, his laughter clashing against the hush that’s fallen over the others.

I glare at him, my fists clenching and unclenching. The desire to wipe that smug grin off my brother’s face is intense, but then again it always is. This is what Penn does.

“Maybe he needs a kiss to make it better,” Penn continues, his words dripping with insinuation.

“Shut the hell up, Penn,” I snap, my voice low and dangerous.

Across from us, Brandon’s complexion is ashen, shoves wads of tissue up his nose, trying to staunch the flow. His eyes meet mine, the silent hate there loud for busting his shit wide open. Maybe next time he’ll think twice about talking shit to his quarterback. His fucking captain.

“Since our intern decided to be MIA today, guess you’ll have to play doctor yourself,” Coach barks out, his attention fixed on the dude. “And if that doesn’t work, maybe try shoving a tampon up there. Heard it works wonders.”

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