Page 54 of Wicked Fury

She’s hiding it well, but she's not smarter than you.

Rams

Man I’ve torn through everything. There’s nothing. You know I don’t miss shit.

Ramsey doesn’t fuck up. But this—this can’t be happening. My chest tightens with a wicked fury that threatens to detonate, and I’m gripping my phone so hard it might snap in half.

“Then she’s more cunning than we thought,” I grind out, pacing now, a caged animal itching for a scrap. Who else would dare cross me?

A breath shudders through me, and for a moment, I’m lost in the image of her. Those eyes that hide shadows darker than mine, her full lips smirking at the chaos she’s caused.

“Fuck,” I breathe out, the word a curse against the power she holds without even knowing it.

Ram, dig deeper. She's gotta have slipped up somewhere. She's not walking away from this.

I punch the words out, each one a vow, a curse.

Rams

Can't create evidence that doesn't exist cousin. I'm telling you it's a dead end.

Dead end my ass

I snarl, anger curling tightly inside me. It's a serpent, ready to strike, to poison everything in its path—including me. But I don't care. All I can think about is making Iris pay for playing me like a damn fiddle.

Rams

Trust me, Lincoln. If it was there, I'd have found it.

Ramsey insists, his text a slap of cold logic across my seething emotions.

I make my way across campus, the sounds of my brothers’ banter fading behind me. They’re talking strategies, plays for our next moves, but all I can hear is the thud of my heart ringing in my ears.

“Lincoln, man, maybe it wasn’t Iris,” Jeremiah ventures, a note of reason in his voice, but it grates against my raw nerves.

“Look at the facts,” Penn chimes in, his analytical mind dissecting possibilities. “Who else stands to gain from screwing with you? Whose chick have you fucked lately?”

“Or maybe someone who wants Iris out of the picture?” Graham suggests, his biceps flexing as he grips his gym bag tighter.

“None of that matters,” I spit out, my jaw tight enough to crack walnuts. “Who’s fucking side are you on? Because right now you aren’t acting like my brothers.”

“Easy, tiger,” Jeremiah chimes in, ever the voice of reason, but there’s a fire in his tone too. They know the stakes are high, and they’re with me, ready to stand or fall together.

“Let’s just play it smart, huh? If we off legal eagle and it doesn’t fix all your problems, then you’re gonna have to deal with the problem still and won’t even have her to torment.” Penn suggests, but his smirk tells me he’s ready for the thrill of the hunt as much as I am.

“Smart,” I scoff. “Yeah. I’m thinking real fucking smart now.”

And then it hits me, a wicked idea blooming like a nightshade flower. If the evidence won’t come to us, then we’ll have to craft the trap that will make Iris Shelby fall into it. Because if there’s one thing I know about playing the game, it’s that every player has their breaking point.

And I intend to push Iris to hers.

Chapter 22

Iris

The room is a war zone—clothes strewn like casualties across the floor, open drawers gaping like fresh wounds. I shove my belongings into my duffle bag with more force than necessary. The scent of Lincoln’s cologne clings to everything, a constant reminder of the hold he has on me. It thickens the air, making it harder to breathe. I need to get out of here before he comes home and holds me hostage. The longer I’m around him, the more he pulls me under his damn spell.

Oakley leans against the door frame, her eyes wide and uncertain. I can tell that she’s torn between leaving and diving into the fray to help me pack. I can tell she wants to say something, anything that might ease the dramatic charge of unrest. But what can you say when the storm is brewing right in front of you?

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