Page 86 of Wicked Fury

I wrench my attention from Lincoln’s big body hovering over my father as they fall to the ground. I can hear Lincoln’s fists bashing into my father’s bones. “Don’t you fucking say her name,” Lincoln growls, and I turn on my heel, fleeing toward the football field. My sneakers slap against the pavement, each step echoing the frantic beat inside my chest. The night swallows me whole.

The scent of wet grass and earth fills my nostrils as I push myself faster, driven by an urgency I can’t name. My breaths come in sharp bursts, slicing through the silence that blankets the campus.

I skid to a stop at the edge of the field, the stadium lights casting long shadows across the turf. A shiver ripples down my spine, and it’s not just from the chill in the air. This field is his domain, where Lincoln reigns supreme, and for a brief, foolish moment, it makes me feel safe.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut. I can still feel Lincoln’s eyes burning into my back, searing through layers of fear and doubt. And damn if that doesn’t kindle something else entirely—a heat that buzzes under my skin, coiling tight in my belly.

“He’ll find me. I want him to catch me,” I whisper to myself.

Chapter 36

Lincoln

I’m a caged beast. Every muscle in my body tensed as my fists pummel into the flesh that dares to bruise her. Iris’ dad is beneath me now, his face bloody from my rage. He gasps for air, but I don’t relent. I’m lost in the fury, in the vision of him manhandling her, the way his filthy hands looked against her pale skin.

“Gotta protect what’s mine,” I grunt between punches, the taste of vengeance heavy on my tongue.

He spits blood and vile words, trying to goad me further, but I know this isn’t about him anymore. It’s about her, about the way she looks at me.

“Never again,” I promise through gritted teeth, my voice low and deadly. “I won’t let you touch her again.”

My cross swings wildly from my neck as I lean closer, making sure he hears me over the sound of his own groans. “She’s not yours to break.”

I straighten up, rolling my shoulders back, feeling the adrenaline coursing through me. My knuckles sting, a mix of sweat and blood that seeps into the splits in my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the rush, the power surging within me, urging me toward my fallen angel.

I watch Iris take off, her long waves catching the last light of day as if they’re taunting me, beckoning me to follow.

I can’t help but groan; the thrill of it all kicks my heart rate up a notch. Every step she takes fuels my instincts. She needs this—the rush, the escape from her own twisted thoughts. She needs a way out. Damn, she needs me. And I’ll be the sanctuary she’s looking for, the escape from the chains her old man’s locked around her life. I’ll be the hunter, the one who brings her back when she’s too far gone in her own mind.

“Run, Iris,” I mutter to myself, tasting the anticipation on my tongue. “Make me work for it.”

Dan Shelby groans behind me, his body struggling against the concrete. He’s nothing but a road bump, now just a memory fading fast as I set my sights on the only prize that matters. My muscles coil, ready to spring into action, every fiber of my being screaming for the pursuit.

“Sorry, old man,” I say without turning back, the words laced with a coldness I don’t bother to mask. “Daddy’s little girl has other plans tonight.”

“Lincoln, don’t you dare—” Dan tries to warn, but I’m already gone, my feet pounding the pavement.

“Too late,” I call back over my shoulder, the sound swallowed by the night.

I’m stuck between the urge to find her quickly and the knowledge that dragging this out will make it so much sweeter for both of us. No one is around to see as I dart around objects until I cross into the tree line of the woods that separates this parking lot and the rest of campus.

“Run faster, angel,” I call out, my voice a low, taunting echo in the night. “But remember, I always catch what I’m after.”

I know my taunt reaches her somewhere in the trees because I hear her legs hitting the ground harder. My little stepsister never quite learned how to run soundlessly. I’m about to hit the other side of the tree line and slow down, savoring the euphoria that’s pumping in my veins.

The back of the football stadium looms ahead, and something in my gut is telling me that’s where Iris is headed. It’s perfectly us. The place that means almost everything to me. It’ll be empty, everyone gone for the night.

“Lincoln, you’re insane!” Her laughter rings out. Oh, how she knows how to push my buttons, to stoke the fire.

“Insanity’s only a fifty-yard throw from genius,” I shoot back, the glee audible in my voice. I navigate the corridors behind the stands, each turn a step closer to her.

The field opens up before me, an expanse of emerald under the nighttime floodlights. The stands rise like silent guardians, their emptiness echoing our solitude. I swear a gust of wind carries the scent of lavender—the scent that drives me mad.

“Gotcha,” I whisper to myself as I see her silhouette dart across the thirty-yard line, her form a fleeting wisp.

“Give it up, angel!” I roar, my voice filled with equal parts amusement and arousal. The sound of her name on my lips is a sacred mantra, one I intend to chant against her skin in whispers and screams alike.

The chase thrums in my veins, every beat of my heart screaming her name. I’m closing in now, every muscle coiled, ready to spring.

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