Page 74 of Wicked Scorn
“Yes,” I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. “Positive. It’s burned into my memory. The letters were bright against the dark background. I could never forget them.”
The room falls silent again, the air thick with tension. Graham’s jaw tightens, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. He stands abruptly, pacing the room with restless energy. Graham’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching as he processes my revelation. Every muscle in my body is taut.
“Fantastic,” Penn drawls, breaking the silence with his trademark sarcasm. His eyes narrow into slits. “You know what we should do? Burn the entire Kappa Alpha house down while they sleep. Quick, efficient, problem solved.”
For a moment, the room hangs in shocked stillness, as if everyone collectively forgot how to breathe. My heart pounds so loudly I can hear it echoing in my ears.
“Are you insane?” I manage to choke out, feeling horror and disbelief. He is in fact insane, I’m not sure why I even said that in shock.
“Penn, this isn’t a joke,” Jeremiah snaps, his voice tinged with anger, his protectiveness hanging around us like a dark cloud. His eyes lock onto mine for a split second, sending a jolt through my body.
“Who said I was joking?” Penn retorts, a sly grin creeping across his face. “Desperate times, desperate measures. Besides, it gets the job done.”
“You can’t commit a mass murder because you don’t feel like figuring out which fucker hurt Oakley,” Graham interjects, fists clenched at his sides. His frustration is shared.
“Call it what you want,” Penn shrugs nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair. “I call it justice.”
“Justice?” The word tastes bitter on my tongue. “There’s got to be another way. We can’t just go burning buildings down.”
“Don’t worry, little Ashford,” Penn says smoothly, leaning forward. His voice lowers. “We’ll make sure you’refar away when it happens. Wouldn’t want you getting singed.”
“Enough!” Jeremiah’s voice cuts through the room, commanding everyone’s attention. He rises from his seat, eyes blazing with anger. “We’ll find the motherfucker and make him talk. Then make him fucking pay.”
“Whatever you say, brother,” Penn replies, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just remember, sometimes the simplest solution is the best one.”
“Enough of this bullshit.” Graham’s voice cuts through the tension like a whip. He’s been silent up until now, but the frustration is evident in his furrowed brow, his clenched fists. He steps forward, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over the room. “We’re going to play this smart and you two can even follow along or go fuck off. Neither of you are actually helping Oakley or this situation right now.”
Chapter 28
Jeremiah
The roar of the crowd is hyping everyone up, a roar of cheers and chants reverberating through the stadium. But there’s an emptiness to it, a hollowness that seeps into my bones. Lincoln’s absence is a gaping void, his energy and swagger missing from the sidelines.
I catch a glimpse of him in the stands, but it’s not the same. He should be out here with us, leading the charge, not relegated to the role of a spectator because of some bullshit accusations.
“Blackwood! Defense!” Coach’s voice cuts through the clamor, a sharp command that has me surging forward.
My gaze drifts to the row of seats directly behind our bench again, Oakley, my girl, sitting ramrod straight with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she gnaws at her plump lower lip.
Iris is next to her sandwiched between my brother and my girl, leaning back with one arm slung over the seat beside her.She murmurs something to Oakley, and my bunny gives a small nod, her ponytail swishing with the movement.
Just seeing her settles something inside me. She’s here for me. With me. No matter how crazy shit gets, that’s what matters. I’ve got two quarters to go, and I need to block out Oakley’s stalker, Lincoln’s assault charges, and how the fuck am I going to help fix either one?
Gritting my teeth, I force my focus back to the game. Can’t let distractions fuck with my head right now. We need this win, and I need to be locked in.
The whistle blows, signaling the start of another play. I tear my eyes away from Oakley, forcing myself to re-focus. Graham is in position across from me, giving me a subtle nod as we line up. Coach has him playing tackle since Lincoln is out. We aren’t winning this game on our offense. We have to cinch it with the D.
Hike.
I launch myself into the fray, cleats biting turf, every sense strung tight. My breath comes in ragged pulls, and I can tell—this is the play, this is the moment where everything tilts.
Bodies collide with a sickening crunch of pads and helmets.
Then it happens—a crack of pads, the gasp of the crowd, and a sudden, searing pain that rips through my leg like a goddamn train off its tracks. Pain is no stranger; it’s an old friend, but this...this is something else.
“Fuck!” I hit the ground hard, my hand instantly flying to my thigh, fingers probing for damage. Shouts and whistles blare around me, but it all fades into a dull roar.
I grit my teeth, trying to push through it, but there’s no mistaking the raw agony that tells me I’m gonna be benched the rest of this game.
