Page 63 of Wicked Fury

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he counters, the smirk now fully on his face. But his eyes... They’re deadly serious. “I’ve told you that you’re mine. However, you need to reconcile that in your head is fine with me. No elaborate equation you concoct will change that fact. You belong to me, and that won’t change. Ever.”

“That sounds pretty archaic, Lincoln.”

“Call it what you want,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, sending a jolt straight through me. “It won’t change the fact that I’d burn the world down before I let someone hurt you.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” I ask, my breath hitching. “No one can hurt me…except for you.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement, angel,” he replies without hesitation, the words hanging between us.

The game goes on and the air turns chilly, nippy at my skin. I try and watch the game even though I don’t really know what’s going on when I see the mysterious man who snagged my father’s attention earlier. He’s still there, lurking on the sidelines, but he’s watching us now.

“Lincoln,” I hiss, nodding subtly toward the figure. “That guy, he’s still watching us.”

He doesn’t even glance that way, just shrugs off my concern with the easy confidence of someone used to owning the room. “Just my old man keeping an eye on the game, or more likely, on me.”

“Your dad has a hobby of glaring holes into people?” I quip, but my attempt at levity falls flat against the feeling of unease in my chest.

“Hey,” Lincoln says, voice low and steady as his hand finds mine, a silent pledge of protection. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Not while I’m here.”

But before I can argue that it’s not my safety I’m concerned about, everything flips upside down. The sudden presence of police officers walking up the bleachers slices through the tension between Lincoln and me like a cold blade. I expect them to walk past us, but before I can figure out what’s happening, two of them latch onto Lincoln with a grip that’s all business, while the third steps forward, flipping open a small badge wallet with a practiced motion.

“Lincoln Blackwood! You are under arrest,” the officer declares, and the world grinds to a halt around us. My heart slams against my ribcage, and I can’t seem to drag enough air into my lungs.

“Wait, what? On what charge?” I demand, my voice sharp as broken glass.

“Lincoln Blackwood, you have the right to remain silent,” the officer continues, and I watch helplessly as they start to pull him away.

“Get off of him! Lincoln, don’t answer any questions,” I snap, my words slicing through the thick confusion. But no one answers. I feel the panic clawing up my throat. If you’d asked me the day of my father’s wedding if I’d care if Lincoln was dragged off by the police, my answer would have been very different than it is now.

I push forward, stupidly thinking if I could just get to him, touch him, it’ll be okay. It’s in this moment that I realize just how much I need Lincoln. I’m shoved back by the officer who’s smirking at Lincoln. Almost relishing this.

“Hey!” Lincoln barks, his usual smoldering look now ablaze with fury. “Don’t you fucking touch her.”

“Lincoln, what’s happening?” I blurt out, the plea naked in my voice.

“Stay back,” he growls, struggling against the iron hold, eyes locked on mine with a ferocity that commands obedience. But obedience has never been my strong suit.

“Like hell I will,” I retort, stepping closer even as another officer moves to block my path. The world shrinks until it’s only the two of us.

Chapter 26

Lincoln

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” The cop’s voice drones on, but the words are just background noise now. My mind races, and my heart hammers against my ribcage like it wants to break free. This is bullshit—got to be some kind of mistake.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, my gaze darting to Iris, her eyes wide with shock. There’s no time for sweet talk or assurances; this is fucked. With a flick of my wrist, I toss my phone and keys her way. “Find one of my brothers,” I command sharply. “Tell them ‘Code Blackbird.’ You got that? Code fucking Blackbird.”

Her hand snatches the items from mid-air, a testament to her reflexes. She nods, determination setting into her sharp cheekbones as she bites down on her lip. It’s a look I’ve come to know and crave—but not tonight. Tonight, that bite is laced with fear, not passion.

The metallic click of handcuffs cinches around my wrists, cold and impersonal. They’re pulling me away, dragging me out of the stadium, my quarterback status counting for jack shit. The ground beneath my feet feels unstable as my sneakers scuff against the concrete.

“Easy, QB,” one officer sneers, shoving me forward into the back of the cop car and all I feel is fucking annoyance. Another thing in my fucking life going off the deep end.

“Looks like we finally got one of you Blackwoods,” sneers a cop with an expression that tells me he chews gravel for fun. His eyes gleam with malice and something else... satisfaction, like he’s just scored the winning touchdown at the fucking Super Bowl. “Heard about your little game with Nicole, Lincoln. Sounds like you played too rough for her liking.”

Nicole? My head spins faster than a damn tornado. I haven’t touched anyone but Iris. Skin to skin, breath to breath—she’s my obsession, my fallen angel. Nothing and no one else comes close.

“Listen, officer…” I start, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “…you’ve got the wrong playbook. I don’t know what fantasy league you’re playing in, but I wasn’t even near a Nicole.”

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