Page 97 of Wicked Fury

I can almost taste the fury rolling off Lincoln. My body involuntarily leans toward him, drawn to the fire in his protectiveness.

“Like you’re any better?” The snide tone slices through the tension, and we all pivot toward Lincoln’s mom, draped in designer clothes from head to toe, eyes glinting with hate.

“You’re just like your father,” she continues, lips curling around each syllable like they’re dipped in poison. “A monster wearing a hero’s mask.”

“Lincoln is NOTHING like his father,” I spit the words. I don’t know Mr. Blackwood well at all, but I know Lincoln is not the monster she’s trying to portray him as. He’s a monster. He’s a villain to the core, but he’s my monster, my villain. He protects me in ways I’d never even dreamed of, and I’ll always be grateful to him for that.

“Shut up, you little bit?—

Lincoln’s jaw clenches, and I see it—the boy who had to grow up too fast, the man who fights against the darkness that’s been chasing him since birth. It’s raw, this anger that contorts his handsome features, but it’s not the kind that destroys. It’s the kind that builds barriers, shields those he deems worth saving.

“You think I’m a monster? Talk to her like that again and you disappear. Dad should have made that happen a long time ago.” He steps closer to her, a predator challenging a rival. “You have no idea what monsters look like, Mom. You whored yourself out until one finally agreed to marry you.”

Lincoln’s voice is steady, each word striking invisible wounds onto his mother’s facade. Yet, I feel the tremors of his rage, the aftershocks of hurt that vibrate within the walls of this cursed place.

I watch as Lincoln stands between me and the man who should have been my protector. That’s Lincoln’s role now, and God help anyone who tries to tear him away from me.

Chapter 40

Lincoln

“Come on,” I growl, my voice low and rough with anticipation as Iris and I head toward my motorcycle. My arm slides around her waist, pulling her in close. She fits against me like she’s carved from the same marble I am. Her hands, those slender fingers that know just how to push me, wrap around my waist, clinging tight to the fabric of my shirt.

I pull my jacket on before helping her into hers. Tugging on her helmet and doing the chin strap for her before putting my own on. I quickly get on the bike and wait for Iris to mount behind me. She’s a heated presence against my back, her arms circling my waist like she’s claiming me for her own. I can feel the press of her chest against me through the leather of my jacket, and it’s a call to every cell in my body. Her thighs grip mine, and her breath tickles the nape of my neck, sending shivers shooting down my spine.

“Lincoln,” she breathes close enough to my lid that I can hear her. “You didn’t need to do what you did in there.”

“Nobody messes with what’s mine,” I growl, revving the engine beneath us. The motorcycle vibrates, alive with potential, just like the charged space between Iris and me.

“Ready for this?” I ask, smirking down at her.

“With you, always,” she replies, her green eyes flashing with that untamed spirit I can’t get enough of.

The engine roars to life beneath, causing Iris’ hold on me to tighten. The lights blur as we accelerate, leaving behind the suffocating weight of our two parental figures behind us. Wind rips through my lid, cooling the heat that built up after dealing with her dad.

“Fuck, this feels good,” I shout over the engine’s growl.

“Keep your eyes on the road, hotshot,” she teases, but there’s a tremble in her voice that tells me she’s just as caught up in the rush as I am.

The city noises fade, replaced by the thrumming pulse of just us and the bike. We’re flying now, nothing ahead but open road and the promise of everything. It’s freedom, raw and untamed—just like us.

“Where are you taking me?” she yells, her voice carried away by the wind almost as soon as it leaves her lips.

“Anywhere and everywhere,” I call back, the idea of having her all to myself setting my blood on fire. “Hold tight.”

The hum of the engine reverberates through my bones as I weave us between the languid stream of cars, their headlights stretching into long, ghostly trails. Iris presses herself closer to me, as the faster we go the sharper the wind is even with our gear on. The night air is crisp against my skin, but the warmth from her breath as she leans in sends shivers down my spine.

“Lincoln,” she purrs, her lips grazing the shell of my ear, “do you always ride this hard, or am I special?”

Her fingers dance across my abdomen, dipping lower and then coming back up. I can feel the sharp edges of her nails, a prickly sensation that’s all promise and threat. My grip tightens on the handlebars.

“Only for you, angel,” I shoot back.

She chuckles, a low, sultry sound that licks at my self-control. Her hands venture lower, cupping my dick. My jaw clenches, every muscle tensed to keep the motorcycle on a straight path.

“Careful, or you’ll get more than you bargained for,” I warn, the growl in my voice barely concealing the edge of pleasure.

“Is that a promise?” Iris teases, her touch lingering over the bulge in my jeans.

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