Page 94 of Wicked Fury

“Monster? Sure, I can be.” I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, “But right now I’m just a man who protects what’s his. And Iris… she’s mine.”

The terror in Nicole’s eyes is exactly what I needed to see. She thought she could play with fire. Now she’s about to get burned.

The locket’s weight feels right in my pocket, a solid reminder of what’s waiting for me on the other side of this. A delicate thing meant for her delicate neck. I rub the metal between my fingers, a talisman of hers, and something flares inside me—a fierce possessiveness that tightens my gut. I can’t wait to give it back to her.

“Is this what you wanted?” I taunt Nicole, voice dripping with mockery and spite. “To see how far you could push me? To test my limits?”

She backs away, cornered, her eyes wide with terror. The walls of the room close in, the air thick with the scent of old wood and fear. Her breaths come out in short, ragged gasps, the sound grating against my heightened senses.

“Lincoln,” she whispers, but I’m beyond words now, beyond the point of reason or mercy. This is the moment, the hinge on which everything balances. I step closer, my shadow swallowing hers.

“Did you think you could touch what’s mine and live to talk about it? To try and ruin my life?” My hand closes around her throat, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, finding the rhythm of her frantic pulse. Her skin is warm, almost feverish.

“Lincoln, please—” she chokes out. I’m lost in the storm of emotions that plays to the tune of her desperation.

“Please?” I echo, my grip tightening, a smirk twisting my lips. “There’s no ‘please’ where you’re going.”

The pressure builds, and her struggles turn frantic, clawing at my arm, kicking out in futile resistance. I feel her life, fragile and fleeting, under my hands. It’s intoxicating, the power, the control.

And then, there’s the silence—the sudden, stark absence of her struggle. Her body goes limp in my arms, and I let her slide to the ground, a broken doll abandoned in the dust.

“Goodnight, Nicole,” I whisper to the void she leaves behind, but there’s no satisfaction in it, only the cold, hard resolve of what had to be done. I straighten up, the darkness in me receding like the tide, leaving nothing but the grim aftermath.

Nicole’s lifeless body lies at my feet, a casualty of the war she waged on everything that is mine. My breaths come out in ragged pulls, each one tasting of the violence that clings to the back of my throat.

“Man, I didn’t even need to wear my murder clothes for this,” Penn quips from behind me, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. He steps closer, the sound of his boots echoing in the small space, the levity of his words breaking the mood.

I turn to look at him, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. “Your humor is as dark as this godforsaken place, Penn.”

“Someone’s gotta keep the mood light,” he shoots back, shrugging nonchalantly, but there’s a shadow in his eyes, the one he always gets sometimes. I don’t ask about it, none of us do. He knows where we are if he ever needs to unload the burden he carries.

Graham’s voice slices through the momentary distraction. “We need to move them. Now.” He stands stoic, his eyes cold and calculating as he surveys Nicole’s body and then the rest of the room. “Whatever twisted shit she was into ends here, and it doesn’t get found with our prints all over it.”

“Always the voice of reason,” I say, but I’m already scanning the room for anything that might tie us to this place. This isn’t Graham’s first dance with death, it’s none of ours, and his indifference is commonplace for us. It’s necessary in this world we live in.

“Let’s do it quick,” I command, my hands itching to be rid of the filth that clings to them, both literal and metaphorical. We move together, wrapping bodies in whatever refuse we find discarded around the room.

“Good thing Dad taught us how to cover our tracks before we could even drive,” Penn says, his tone laced with a bitterness that matches my own. “Family bonding at its finest.”

“Shut up and lift,” Graham snaps, and Penn’s smirk fades as whatever thought about our dad crosses him.

“Done,” I finally say, stepping back from the makeshift burn pile we’ve constructed. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Another night in paradise,” Penn mutters.

My thumb hovers over the contact labeled ‘The Old Man’. I know calling him is akin to striking a deal with the devil. He always collects, with interest. But options are like corpses tonight—none good, all dead.

“Lincoln,” Graham’s voice cuts through my hesitation, “do it.”

I press the screen and the phone rings once, twice... then his gravelly voice answers, “Hello, son.”

“Hey, Dad.” The word tastes like copper in my mouth. “We’ve got a situation. Need your contact for…disposal.”

“Again?” A sigh, rustling like dry leaves. “What’s the collateral?”

“Whatever you want, old man. Just get us out of this mess.”

“Fine.” His voice is steel wrapped in velvet. “But remember, son, family favors come at a cost.”

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