Page 52 of Wicked Fury

“Whoa, man!” Brandon’s voice cuts through the fog of my rage. I spin on my heel, glaring at the underclassman who’s made the mistake of crossing my path. His eyes are wide, the wrong place at the wrong time written all over his expression.

“Didn’t see anything, did you?” I step up close, invading his space.

“Uh—no, nothing,” he stammers, backpedaling against the lockers.

“Good.” My voice is a low growl. “Keep it that way. And never look me in the eye again if you know what’s good for you.” The threat hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. He nods like a puppet, and I pivot away from him before my anger finds another outlet.

I yank my phone out, thumb flying across the screen, a message to my brothers and Ramsey.

Failed drug test. Benched. Iris might be behind this. I moved all her shit to the house, and she’s pissed. Need to make her confess.

Failed drug test. Benched. Iris might be behind this. I moved all her shit to the house, and she’s pissed.Need to make her confess.

My Dipshit Brother

Settle down killer

I knew Penn's reply before it comes, but there's no settling. Not when everything I've fought for is slipping through my fingers because of some twisted game Iris is playing.

Need your help Ramsey

I text next, my mind racing as I concoct a plan.

Got a job for your hacker ass. Dig into Iris' shit. Find me something dirty.

Rams

Already on it. Give me 20

Comes the reply. Quick, efficient, Ramsey doesn't disappoint.

Good. Find something I can use

I text, the last bit of hope clinging to the possibility of clearing my name.

Rams

Alright, alright. I'll see what I can do

He replies after a tense minute, and I release a breath I’d been holding in my chest.

Thanks

I type out, though gratitude isn't what's fueling me. It's a burning desire to make Iris pay for trying to strip me of my legacy, piece by piece. She thinks she can play me? No one plays Lincoln Blackwood and walks away unscathed.

She wants a war? She's got one

G-Wagon

Careful, Linc. Don't let obsession become your downfall.

My brother warns me, but it's too late for caution. Obsession is already leading me to hell, and Iris Shelby is about to learn that the hard way.

The metallic clank of weights and the scent of sweat hit me the second I burst back into the gym. Adrenaline still courses through my veins, driving me forward. My brothers, scattered among the weights and rubber mats, are eyeing me probably wondering how far I might snap right now.

“Graham,” I bark out, my voice slicing through the tense air. He looks up, nodding once, a silent agreement passing between us. “Spot me.”

I shrug off my hoodie, leaving me in my tank top and revealing the sinew of my arms that I’m about to push to the limit. The bench is cold against my back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from my core. The barbell hovers above, loaded with plates that promise a sweet distraction. I want it to hurt.

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