Page 41 of Wicked Fury

“By any means necessary.” His fingers rake through his short hair, and his eyes lock onto mine in a way that I’ve never experienced before. It feels like Lincoln is looking right through me, as if he can see every thought I’ve ever had. “You have no idea what I’m capable of when someone comes after what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours, Lincoln. I’m just a game to you.” My words are ice picks, chipping away at his composure. I’m not sure why it makes me so mad when he says things like that, pretending that I belong to him in any capacity. “It’ll never be more than that.”

“You’ll never belong to anyone else, and the sooner you realize that, the easier it’ll be.” He snaps, gripping my forearm with an intensity that sends shocks of heat where skin meets skin.

“Let go—” I try to wrench free, but his grip only tightens, a physical manifestation of the battle we’re locked in.

“Listen to me,” he commands, and there’s a new edge to his voice, one that doesn’t invite defiance. “You’re not leaving my side until I find out who did this. You’re coming with me. Now.”

“Where—”

“Doesn’t matter.” He pulls me toward the door, his body a shield against unseen threats. There’s an urgency in the way he looks at me, a promise that tells me I’m not facing this alone, no matter how much I push him away.

“Fine,” I relent, my pulse thrumming with a mix of fear and something dangerously close to desire. “Lead the way, quarterback.”

“Angel,” he counters, the flicker of a smirk crossing his face as we step into the corridor, knowing full well the game between us is far from over.

“And just where am I supposed to sleep?” My voice shakes, betraying the storm that rages beneath my cool surface.

“Where the hell do you think?” he growls, eyes scanning the length of the corridor, as if expecting shadows to leap at us.

“Seriously? My room’s been turned upside down, and you’re kicking me out of it? Perfect.” The sarcasm drips, spiteful and thick, but my heart betrays me with its erratic beat.

“Your safety—” He starts, but I cut him off.

“Is not up for discussion, Satan’s spawn.” My steps falter, though, because his concern wraps around me like a blanket I didn’t know I needed.

“Dammit, Iris.” Lincoln stops, his eyes pinning me with this intensity. “You’ll sleep in my bed.”

My eyebrows shoot up, a silent question mark arcing between us. A flush creeps onto my cheeks. Part indignation, part…something else. Something warm and forbidden that whispers through my veins, setting them ablaze.

“In your bed?” My voice hitches, a mix of shock and a curiosity that claws at my composure. “You don’t let girls sleep in your bed.” I chuckle, not even caring that I’ve clearly perked my ears up, listening whenever I hear any of the girls in my classes talking about the elusive Blackwood brothers. They all apparently have a no sleepover rule, which I guess is insurance that they don’t have to kick a crying coed out after they have post cum clarity.

“Don’t believe everything you hear about me.” His glare is a challenge, a dare I’m not sure I want to win or lose.

“I used deductive reasoning to assess that it’s most likely true,” I counter, but the thrill of his proximity buzzes under my skin, electric and demanding attention. “Too many girls have said the same thing for it to be completely made up.” The words tumble from my lips before I can lasso them back. My heart’s a jackhammer under the thin fabric of my shirt, betraying the calm I’m fighting to project.

Lincoln leans in, the scent of his cologne—a mix of leather and something darkly sweet—invades my senses. “You’d be the first, angel. Or would you rather be easy pickings for whoever messed with your things?”

“Easy pickings?” I spit back, my body rebelling against the invasion of his space. “I’m not some damsel, Lincoln. I got along fine before I met you.” But the quiver in my voice says otherwise, and I hate it.

His stare deepens and intensifies, infuriatingly handsome in its arrogance. Instead of backing off, he just steps closer. “You’re not staying in your dorm alone. End of discussion.”

“Right, because what you say goes?” I challenge, chin up, even as my body acknowledges the heat radiating from his.

“Damn right,” he asserts, the muscle in his jaw ticking like a time bomb.

I arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest despite the shiver that courses through me. “What’s next? You gonna tuck me in and read me a bedtime story?”

“Don’t fucking tempt me.”

Chapter 17

Lincoln

Ilead Iris down the dimly lit hallway toward my bedroom, trying to process the scene we just left behind in her dorm. The destruction was everywhere - furniture smashed, clothes torn and scattered across the floor, threatening messages written on the walls and mirror. I can feel her trembling beside me, but I don’t want to push her further than she’s already been pushed. I don’t know what kind of trouble she’s gotten herself into, but I’m damn sure going to protect her. Only I’m allowed to terrorize her.

We reach my door, and as the lock clicks open, I’m hit with another wave of protectiveness. This space is mine—every inch of it—and allowing her in feels like peeling back layers of my soul.

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