15. Lincoln

Iglare at Iris as she stands there, arms crossed, refusing my offer to ride on the back of my motorcycle. Should have known getting the helmet on her without much fuss was too damn easy. She's always so fucking stubborn, but it's one of the things I like about her because breaking her is just so much fun. I rev the engine, letting it purr like a lion ready to pounce. "Come on. You don't know what you're missing."

She rolls her eyes. "I know exactly what I'm not missing. A damn limb."

I lean in closer, letting the predatory smirk play on my lips. "But isn't that the ultimate rush? Teetering on the edge, hanging off the side, feeling that high?" I can see it in her eyes, the flicker of intrigue, the battle of her will against her desire.

"High?" she snorts, crossing her arms, her verdant eyes sparking fire. "I get my highs from achievements, not from reckless escapades with the spawn of Satan." Oh, so we aren't going to talk about the big ass elephant in the room that is you popping pills. Hmm, okay.

"Suit yourself," I shrug, pretending to be nonchalant, but I can feel the annoyance simmering inside me. I hate being told no. But then, something in her eyes flickers, and I know I have a chance. "It's like flying, you know? The wind rushing past you, the freedom. Don't you want to experience that?"

Her lip catches between her teeth—a sign she's weighing the risk. Finally, with a huff that tells me she's far from conceding the war, she swings a leg over my sleek black beast of a bike. "Fine. But I'm not holding onto you."

"Challenge accepted," I smirk, popping the clutch and causing the bike to jump forward, throwing her into my back. She instinctively wraps her arms around my waist, and I can feel the heat from her body seeping into mine. I can practically hear her heart slamming against her chest, echoing my own erratic pulse.

"Asshole," she mutters, but I can hear the hint of amusement in her voice.

"Trust me, you need to hold on," I say, my voice low, almost a growl. The vibration of her grip on me sends a wave of heat down my spine.

"Fine," she breathes out, the word getting lost in the wind as I rev my chrome and black Ducati Panigale. I can't help the wicked grin that I know she can't see as I pat her hand, a silent, mocking ‘good girl' that would surely set her on fire if she knew.

I take off down the street, maneuvering the bike with calculated recklessness to scare her without putting her in actual danger. Weaving through traffic, I feel alive, powerful, in control. The streets are just streaks of gray and black, the traffic lights bleeding colors we don't care about. I take the corner hard and the mic in her helmet picks up the way her breath catches.

"Are you trying to kill us?" she practically squeals over the roar of the engine.

"Nope," I grin, splitting lanes and dragging the bike low on turns. "Just giving you a taste of what it feels like to be truly alive."

"Keep your eyes on the road!" she shouts back, and there's genuine alarm now, laced with a thrill that neither of us can deny.

"Relax," I say, though I'm anything but relaxed. I'm alive, more than ever, as I swerve between a taxi and a delivery van, the gap closing fast enough to make my heart hammer.

And then I see the semi-truck, a hulking behemoth, rolling alongside us. Its wheels are thundering giants, and without a second thought, I pull us closer until we're gliding alongside its massive bulk. My left hand leaves the handlebar, and I reach out, my fingertips skimming the rough texture of its side. The vibration rattles up my arm, and I let out a laugh.

"Lincoln!" Iris's scream is barely audible, but I feel it as her nails dig into my abdomen.

"Trust me," I breathe, guiding us away from the truck and back to our own lane. But she doesn't need to know how calculated every move is, how each reckless stunt is well thought, and how long I've been fucking riding. I know how far I can push it.

"Ever do that again, and I swear I'll—" Her threat dissolves into the wind as we veer onto another street, the city lights painting her anger in shades of neon.

"Come on, Iris," I urge, my tone provocative as I downshift and accelerate, "admit you liked it."

"Shut up," she snaps, but there's an undercurrent of something else in her voice.

As we arrive at the rundown house on the outskirts of town, I instruct Iris to get off the bike before I do. We remove our helmets, hanging them on the handlebars, and I stand there, waiting with an air of anticipation. She looks confused, wary of the situation, but I just smirk at her.

"Here?" Iris' voice slices through the stillness, sharp as the broken glass that litters the ground. She looks up at the crumbling facade of the house before us, her eyes reflecting its desolation.

"Here," I confirm. The anticipation in my veins is alive.

Before she can spit another barbed rebuttal, the door creaks open, and Nick, the sleazy drug dealer who I know she was with during the St. James game skitters out like the roach he is. His gaze locks onto me, full of poison and challenge.

"Blackwood," he sneers, strutting closer with a swagger that reeks of cheap cologne and cheaper morals.

"Trash," I greet him, unbothered. I stand my ground as he invades my personal bubble, our faces inches apart. It's a pissing contest, and I'm not about to step back.

"Didn't expect to see you here." He snarls, his hostility as palpable as the tension crackling between Iris and me.

"Life's full of surprises," I say, the corner of my mouth twitching upwards. I can feel Iris's gaze on us, heavy with questions she doesn't dare ask aloud.

"Teaching your girl a lesson?" Nick's eyes flicker to Iris, then back to me, his smirk twisted and knowing.

"Something like that."

Nick lunges forward, a wild right hook aimed at my face. I sidestep, his fist slicing through the air, missing its target. I can't help but smirk; he's playing into my hand.

"Is that all you've got?" I taunt him, feeling my blood heat.

Nick growls, coming at me again—sloppy and fueled by rage. It's almost too easy to read him, to counter his moves. I block, then pivot, driving a fist into his gut. He doubles over, gasping—his breaths ragged whispers in the stale air.

"Lincoln!" Iris' voice cuts through the fray, sharp with alarm. I don't look at her. Can't. My focus narrows on Nick, this embodiment of every lowlife who thinks they can take what's mine.

"Stay out of it, Iris," I snarl, even as I feel her eyes burning into me.

Nick rallies, coming back with a haymaker that grazes my cheek. Pain flares, hot and bright. I dodge another punch, then close in, my knuckles crashing against his jaw with a satisfying crack. His body crumples like a puppet with cut strings, hitting the dirt with a thud that reverberates through my bones.

I return to Iris and the bike, putting one of the helmets back on her head. "Think of this the next time you get into someone else's car, angel," I warn her. "You don't know what kind of trouble you could get into. He's got multiple sexual assault accusations on him; funny how they never pan out. They either end up junkies who recant or dead."

"Thanks for the lesson, Satan's spawn," she sneers, but I can tell she's a little shaken up. I insist that she gets back on the bike, and I take her back to her dorm no longer playing fast and loose with the ride. Pulling up to her dorm, I let her get off the back of the bike before I kick the stand down and sit there waiting to see how she's going to play this.

As she hands me my helmet, I flip up the visor and infuse my next sentence with innuendos. "You know you loved it, angel. You can thank me later."

"You got a blood fetish?" she gestures to the blood on my knuckles and a few drops on my face.

"Nah, but I can if you do. C'mon, I'll let you clean me up." I shut off the bike and swing over and we start to walk up to her dorm. My angel doesn't know what her life could be like to reign as a Blackwood queen. That's perfectly fine because I'm going to teach her what she deserves, and she will obey me as her king.

When we reach her room, she fumbles for her keys, trying to ignore the way I'm staring at her. She gets the door open, and I turn and all I can do is stare at the graffiti on her wall, a look of confusion on my face.

"What the fuck happened here?" I ask, my voice betraying my surprise.

"Who did this?" I demand. My tone leaves no room for bullshit.

"Like you don't know?" she snaps back, feeling defensive.

"I wouldn't be fucking asking if I knew," I growl, taking a step toward Iris. "I want to know who dared to fuck with you."