Page 65 of Wicked Fury

“Seems you already have Blackwood,” Jenson says, his voice low and dangerous.

“Day’s not over yet,” I reply, feeling the heat rise inside me.

“Let’s see if you can keep that confidence behind bars,” he sneers, standing up.

“Only bars I’ll be behind are the ones serving whiskey when this is over,” I throw at him as my thoughts race.

Whatever Nicole’s play is, I need to unravel it before it knots around our necks.

Then, like a hurricane tearing through the station, the door slams open. Rex Sterling—more shark than man—storms in, his presence a mountain of big dick energy. “This farce ends now,” he barks, and it’s music to my fucking ears.

“Mr. Sterling, we’re conducting an interrogation?—”

“An interrogation based on fabrications and fantasies. You have nothing on him.” Rex’s voice could cut steel, and I swear I can see it slicing through bad cop’s smugness.

“Lincoln Blackwood, you’re coming with me.”

“About damn time,” I mutter under my breath, standing up so fast the chair screeches against the floor like a scream. I can feel the resolve hardening inside me. I’m going to find out what the fuck Nicole’s play is, and she’s going to wish she never crossed paths with me.

The handcuffs come off, and the relief is short-lived. There’s work to be done—the kind that requires cunning and a heavy dose of Blackwood ruthlessness. Rex leads the way, and I follow, my steps fueled by a blend of anger and adrenaline.

We step into the bustling precinct, to the sound of ringing phones and clattering keyboards. Cops hustle about, oblivious to their surroundings. To serve and to protect my ass. But then, there she is—goddamn leech, her eyes latching onto mine like hooks into flesh.

She’s leaning against the wall, nonchalant, but her eyes are sharp. Like she’s a puppet master holding all the strings.

That smirk of hers creeps across her lips, oozing satisfaction and secrets. It’s a look that says she’s holding all the cards and enjoys watching me squirm. A shiver rips down my spine, not from fear—Blackwoods don’t do fear—but from the touch of betrayal.

“Keep walking, Lincoln,” Rex murmurs, his hand firm on my shoulder.

“Plan on it,” I reply, my eyes locked with Nicole’s for a split second longer. She thinks she’s won this round. But she doesn’t know who she’s playing against.

“See something you like?” Nicole calls out, her voice, a knife wrapped in cheap polyester, cutting through the air between us. But it isn’t until she turns into my periphery, dangling that locket like bait, that my pulse grinds to a halt. My eyes narrow on the tiny silver trinket she twirls in her fingers with an expertise that screams practiced manipulation.

I can’t help but fixate on the iris flower etched into the metal—delicate petals that mirror the ones gracing Iris’ skin in that secret place only I’ve been privileged to kiss. The locket swings hypnotically, and a dark realization claws its way up my throat, choking me with its implications.

“Nothing worth seeing here,” I retort, but it’s a hollow victory.

“Enjoy your freedom, Lincoln,” she calls after me, her tone all sugar and no soul. “It won’t last.”

Rex ushers me out of the building, his grip firm but unnecessary. I’m a man possessed, and when I find Iris, I’ll make damn sure nothing, and no one ever threatens what’s ours again.

“We’re wasting time, Sterling,” I bark, my steps long and determined. “There’s a snake that needs beheading.”

As we disappear into the city, the locket’s image burns behind my eyelids. Nicole may think she’s playing chess, but I’m about to show her how her ass is simply playing Uno.

The engine’s growl fades into the distance after dropping me off at the house, leaving me stewing in silence. My fists clench and unclench as Rex Sterling’s sedan disappears around the corner. A tang of exhaust lingers in the air.

“Fuck,” I spit out, scanning the street with hawk-like focus. Every shadow seems to mock me, whispering secrets. I need to move, need to think. And goddamnit, I need to find Iris before this shitstorm gets any worse.

“Think, Lincoln,” I mutter under my breath, before walking back into the house.

Chapter 27

Iris

Ipace the length of the Blackwood’s living room, the heels of my boots clicking against the dark wooden floors in a rhythm that would drive me crazy if I wasn’t already so preoccupied. Lincoln’s arrest is a serrated blade twisting in my gut, and no amount of opulent luxury can dull the edge.

“Dammit, Lincoln,” I mutter to myself, trying to shake the image of the intense way he looks at me sometimes. I’m not supposed to care this much—it’s irrational, it’s dangerous, it’s...

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