Page 67 of Wicked Fury

“Nicole is behind everything,” he growls the words and he’s vibrating with anger. His voice is a blade, slicing through the tension that’s coiled tight in the room.

I stiffen, not just at the assertion, but at the ripple of muscle I feel under his shirt as he gestures emphatically with his free hand. “Nicole? The girl I tutor?” Lincoln looks down at me through dark lashes and nods, bringing his hand up to brush my hair away from my eyes. I feel numb and can’t even articulate how I feel about this news.

“Nicole?” Penn’s eyebrows shoot up like he’s surprised.

“I humiliated her in front of everyone at that party a while ago,” Lincoln says, scorn tainting his words. Each syllable is laced with a dark certainty that makes me shiver. “She wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone, and I was in a bad mood that night. Not to mention in the locker room after talking to Coach.” Lincoln shifts his feet, pressing closer against me.

“Shit,” Jeremiah mutters as concern shadows his eyes.

“Right, because public humiliation always ends well,” Graham quips, unable to stop the sarcasm from dripping off his tongue despite the gravity of Lincoln’s revelation.

“Point is,” Lincoln barrels on, ignoring Graham’s jab, “ever since then, it’s been one thing after another. I saw her at the police station. She had Iris’ necklace that was missing when her room was broken into. All of this has been carefully constructed, and we need to have a solid plan if we’re going to prove that she’s a psychotic bitch.”

I swallow hard, the taste of unease bitter on my tongue. “The first day I was assigned to tutor her, she asked me about you. Said she saw us talking the day of my speech…remember when your mom came? Never mind, that doesn’t matter. I just assumed she thought you were cute, but now I’m wondering if she orchestrated getting set up with me for tutoring,” I confess, looking up at Lincoln. “She showed up to our last session with bruises she couldn’t explain. Acted like she didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t know you’d even met her, so I never said anything to you.”

“She’s been setting this up for a while,” Lincoln breathes out, his voice low and gravelly. It reverberates in the air between us, leaving goosebumps marching down my arms.

I fight off the chill creeping under my skin and reach out, my fingers brushing the warm skin of his arm. A shiver courses through me as I feel the thrum of his life beneath my fingertips.

“We just need to get her to confess, right?” My question is barely above a whisper, but it feels like it echoes through the entire room. The need to protect him claws at my insides, fierce and unexpected.

He looks down at my hand on his arm, his smirk softening into something surprisingly tender. The heat of his stare says he wants to eat me alive right now despite everything he’s going through. That ignites something deep within me, and I bite back a groan. We’ve got bigger fish to fry than whatever this inferno building between us is. But damn if the sizzle doesn’t feel like it could burn down the whole mansion.

Penn’s usually light-hearted demeanor is nowhere in sight, his usual smirk fading into a thin line. Jeremiah’s hand hovers over Oakley’s back, protective as ever, but there’s a tremor to his touch that wasn’t there before.

“Are we seriously talking about a revenge plot?” Graham can’t seem to help the sharp edge in his voice, his words slicing through the heavy silence. “This isn’t some teen slasher flick.”

“Feels like one,” Penn mutters, running a hand through his hair, the motion jerky. “I do happen to own a Ghostface mask, if we need it.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively and I can only imagine what debauchery has happened in that mask.

“Of course you do,” Lincoln says, rolling his eyes.

“Enough,” Graham interjects, his tone brooks no argument, and I watch as the others straighten up, eyes locked on him. His authority is a tangible force, pressing down on us, reminding me that beneath the posh exterior of the Blackwood brothers is a bedrock of steel and survival instincts.

“We need to figure out who helped Nicole, get them to crack so we can push her over the edge,” Lincoln says, voice grim, and it sends a shiver down my spine. His eyes meet mine, and something unspoken passes between us not unlike a silent vow that we’re in this mess together.

Chapter 28

Lincoln

I’m pacing the length of our living room, the air thick with tension. Penn, Graham, and Jeremiah are scattered around the room, their faces like storm clouds ready to burst. Oakley’s perched on the armrest, her legs crossed, the picture of concern wrapped in a frilly floral dress that I’m sure gives Jere blue balls. I roll my eyes and just like that, my attention is back on my angel. Iris stands near the fireplace, arms folded over her chest, biting that lip of hers—always thinking. I can barely tear my eyes off her since she’s wearing one of my hoodies and it damn near swallows her. She changed out of her jeans from earlier, and all I can see is the hem of her black skirt, her thick, black tights, and the loafers. My little lawyer barbie.

“Lincoln, you gotta get ahead of this,” Penn’s voice slices through the silence, sharp as a scalpel. “It’s your word against hers.”

“Like hell I do.” My voice comes out colder than I intend. “I didn’t touch her.”

“Doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do,” Graham interjects, his tone rational but strained. “It’s about perception.”

“Perception can kiss my ass.” I shoot back, stopping in front of Iris. Her green eyes hold mine, and I see the flicker of something fierce.

“Assault is no joke, Linc,” Oakley says, her voice soft and mixed with concern.

“Neither is being falsely accused,” I shoot back, my jaw tightening as I meet each of their gazes. I know what I did and didn’t do.

“Enough!” The deep bellow belongs to him—Robert Blackwood, dad, the head motherfucker of unscrupulous shit. He strides in, suit jacket flapping like the wings of some predatory bird. The frustration etching lines deeper into his expression.

“Clean this mess up, Lincoln,” he growls, pointing a finger at me like it’s a loaded gun.

“Because it’s always on me, right?” My words are laced with sarcasm. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”

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