Page 23 of Ruthless Rebel

“What happened to her?” I ask carefully, not wanting this conversation to end before it’s even really started.

Lincoln only sighs, silently watching me as if assessing his words before he finally replies, “My father wasn’t a good man, he hurt people.” I try not to act surprised but I’m not sure it’s working because this isn’t what I thought he was going to say at all. “He hurt me,” he adds in almost a whisper, and all I want to do is wrap my arms around him, but from the far off look in his eye, I know now isn’t the time for it. “One night my mother caught him, she caught him hurting someone, and I tried to protect her, but it was too late. I was too late.”

Those last four words are said with so much conviction that I know he has said them to himself thousands of times, and I can’t stop myself from erasing the space between us. Gripping his face between my hands as I tell him, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” He replies solemnly,and it’s only at this moment that I truly understand the depths of why he is the way he is.

I think back to the conversations I had with Elle when she first told me about him helping her, how I was confused at how he just had her back without reason, except it wasn’t without reason. It was for her, his mother, the woman he didn’t save, now a burden on his shoulders forever.

“Lincoln, it was not your fault, you were just a child,” I tell him, praying he will believe me, just to erase the dark look present in his stare right now. A look that is always there, yet right now seems more sinister than ever.

This time he laughs at my words, “Yeah, I’ve heard that somewhere before,” he replies gently, trying and failing to pull himself from my grip.

“Is your father in prison?” I ask almost desperately, wondering if that’s why he’s never mentioned him. Does he think he needs to be ashamed of that?

“No, he’s not in prison,” he tells me, before my thoughts can run away by themself.

“Then where is he?” I ask with slight panic, horrified at the thought that he might still be out there somewhere living his life after what he did. After what he took from not only Lincoln, but his mother too.

“I killed him,” Lincoln replies without an ounce of remorse or regret in his tone, his stare holding mine as his words settle inside me.

“When?” I ask, knowing I already know the answer, but not wanting to go another second without hearing it from him.

“The night he killed my mother,” he states blandly, as if we are talking about nothing of significance, as if he didn’t just drop a bombshell on me as I think about everything he just said.

My mom died when I was eight.

I killed him.

The night he killed my mother.

“But you were just a child,” I whisper in horror, as more and more of him starts to make sense to me.

This time when he pushes out of my grip, I let him, as he stands tall in front of me with a shrug. “And, I’m what my dad always wanted me to be, my father’s son, so if that’s too much for you then this is your out.”

All of his words collide in my brain at his admission, but only two stand out to me. “My out?” I repeat in confusion.

“Yes, if you can’t handle this, handle me, then we can go back to just fucking, or even just friends.” He holds my stare through every word, as if they aren’t slicing me apart on the inside, and all I can do is laugh.

“Just friends?” I scoff, “Lincoln, from the moment I saw you I was enthralled by you, so captivated by your seemingly soulless stare and firm touch that I would have let you fuck me right there in front of everyone. I have wanted you since the second I laid eyes on you, even more so when I tasted you for the first time, and now I have you, do you really think I could go back to just being your friend?” He remains silent, not shocked or looking in any way affected by my admission, that I can’t stop myself from pushing myself against him and bringing his head to mine. “I have been free falling in your orbit ever since we met, Lincoln, so I am in this, okay?”

It’s only when the last word falls from my lips does it spur him into action, his mouth capturing mine with blistering force until we are both hard again and writhing against one another. Only then does he pull back and respond, “Okay.”

Then he bends me over right there in the kitchen and fucks me again, hard and fast, more for pain than pleasure, and once we are done, he goes back to cooking, as I sit at the island and watch him as if we are nothing more than a regular domesticated couple.

The rest of the night is spent in a mixof fucking and sleeping, him taking his trauma out on my body, and me enjoying every second of it, until we are both so spent that we can’t stay awake. Yet when I wake up I don’t have to turn over to know his side of the bed is now cold, not surprising, but what is surprising is the note on my nightstand next to my alarm clock that reads 5:44am.

Lo,

I have to get back home, I have meetings all day, call you later.

Linc

My smile is instant as I turn over and drag the pillow he slept on towards me, falling back asleep to his scent, hoping I dream of all the ways he owned me last night. Turns out being a Rebel’s boyfriend is really fucking fun.

10

LINCOLN

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