38. Lincoln

The antiseptic bites the air, sharper than the tension coiled in this cramped bathroom. I'm kneeling before Iris, a cotton swab poised between my fingers ready to dab and burn her torn skin.

"Stay still, Ali," I murmur, my voice unintentionally softening as the swab grazes against a particularly nasty scratch marring the porcelain skin of her shoulder. My thumb skims lightly over her uninjured collarbone, seeking a silent apology for the sting. She hisses through clenched teeth, but her green eyes hold fast to mine, defiant sparks within their depths.

"Your bedside manner sucks, Satan's spawn," she snaps, but a beautiful smile plays on those full lips, the ones that have whispered secrets and screamed my name while I come inside her.

"Shh," I chide, half-teasing, half-serious. "Nobody told you to go all ‘float like a butterfly, sting like a bee' on swimfan barbie." The smirk widens, and I can't help but return it with one of my own.

The practiced art of cleaning and bandaging is disrupted by the shrill cry of my phone. I glance at the screen; it's my attorney. My grip tightens around the device. I press ‘answer' and bring it to my ear, bracing for impact.

"Talk to me, Rex." I demand, the words clipped, each syllable a bullet.

"Lincoln, good news—the rape and assault charge has been dropped. There wasn't enough evidence to support Nicole's claims especially with your alibi," the attorney says, his voice a mix of relief and caution.

"Damn right there wasn't," I growl, my free hand unconsciously balling into a fist. "And the drugs?"

"Still an issue. They're pushing hard, Lincoln. You need to be careful. Any slip-up could?—"

"Careful?" I cut him off, snorting derisively. "I've been stitched up more times than a damn baseball, counselor. Careful's not in my playbook. But winning is."

Rex replies, the sound of shuffling papers echoing over the line. "She was taken into custody over the false accusations against you?—"

"Should hope so." My smirk is as sharp as broken glass.

"—but she managed to seduce a rookie cop. She's out again, Lincoln. There's a BOLO for her now."

"Are you kidding me?" I yell and I see Iris jump. "A rookie? That's just..."

"Embarrassing, yes," he interjects. "But we need to stay focused. This isn't over yet."

"Focused?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. It's dark, bitter. "I'm beyond focused, Rex. I'm laser-fucking-precise. What's our move?"

"Keep a low profile. Avoid confrontation. Let me handle the legal side."

"Keep me posted." I hang up without waiting for a reply, my attention snapping back to Iris. Her eyes are wide, concern etching lines into her forehead that don't belong there.

"Everything will be fine, angel," I say, trying to sound reassuring. I gently wrap a bandage around her wrist, tucking in the end with precision. "Trust me."

"Always," she replies, and it hits me then—the weight of her trust, it's heavy and I didn't expect to feel that way.

"Good," I whisper, and with a final inspection of her bandaged wounds, I stand, determined to right the wrongs that dare to touch her. "Because it's time to end this."

The predatory part of me can almost taste the violence on the horizon, a bitter tang against the backdrop of Iris' floral scent. It's a dark craving, one I intend to satisfy.

The stench of antiseptic barely masks the coppery tang of blood—her blood. My nostrils flare, but my hands remain steady.

"Lincoln?" Iris's voice is small, uncertain, a flickering candle in a gale.

I fix her with a look, one that's all hard edges and fury. "They think they can mess with you, with us, and just walk away?" My voice is low, a growl rumbling through clenched teeth. "They've got another thing coming."

Her green eyes search mine, seeking the man beneath the beast. I soften, marginally. "You saved my ass today, angel." A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, despite the darkness clawing at its fringes. "You're gonna make one helluva attorney."

"Only for you," she replies, her eyes lighting up, her pain momentarily forgotten.

"Damn straight." I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my chest tight with emotion.

"Thank you, Iris." The words are a whisper against the chaos of my thoughts. "For believing in me, when everyone was ready to see me burn."

"Always, Lincoln." Her fingers graze my tattooed arm, tracing patterns over inked skin, grounding me. "That's what we do for each other, isn't it? Fight the world?"

"Fight them?" I lean in close, my lips brushing her earlobe. "No, baby, we're going to destroy them." My voice is sin and promise, dark intent laced with a need so fierce it could set the world on fire. "Every last one."

"Good." Her hand finds mine, squeezing in silent accord, a pact sealed in shadows and whispers. "Let's end this."

Darkness clings to the edges of my vision as I storm out of the house, two of my brothers flanking me like a goddamn mercenary squad. Jeremiah is staying behind with the girls. The air tastes of vengeance, and the hunger for retribution is a living thing in my gut. It's time to find Nicole, to snuff out the threat she poses once and for all.

"Where to?" Penn asks, his voice calm and steady despite the tension. Not a joke cracked, which I know means he's fully in this. He's getting ready.

"Nick's," I grunt, my jaw set, my mind a battleground of fury and focus. "He'll know where she's slithering around."

The outskirts of town loom before us, a place where answers fucking better lie.

We pull up to Nick's run-down house. I'm out of the car before it fully stops, my boots crunching on gravel, every step drawing me closer to the house and causing the anger bubbling under the surface to rise.

"Blackwood," Nick greets, stepping into the doorway, his voice strained, eyes darting like he's already looking for an escape. "I ain't looking for trouble."

"Then you're in luck," I sneer, closing the distance between us with predatory ease. "Trouble found you." I can see his throat bob as he swallows hard, the fear in him written all over his body.

"Look, man, I don't know what you heard. After last time?—"

"Cut the bullshit, Nick." My hand shoots out, gripping his collar, pulling him until we are inches apart, my breath hot against his skin. "Nicole. Where is she?"

"Lincoln, please—" He's trembling now, the sweat beading on his brow a testament to his panic.

"Wrong answer," I growl, my grip tightening like a vise. "You deal her the drugs, you're part of this mess. Now spill, or I swear to God, I'll make you wish you'd never been born."

"Okay! Okay!" His words spill out in a rush, his body sagging in my hold. "She came by yesterday—said she needed a place to lay low."

"Where, Nick?" I press, the beast within licking its lips in anticipation.

"An... an old faculty building on campus. There's a room no one uses anymore." His voice is barely above a whisper, but it might as well be a should.

"Good boy." I release him with a shove that sends him stumbling back into the darkness of his hovel. A smile curls my lips, not of joy, but of darkness. "See, wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Lincoln, man, you didn't get that from me," he calls after me, desperation lacing his plea.

"Your secret's safe with me, Nicky boy," I call over my shoulder, my tone dripping with sarcasm that doesn't reach my cold eyes. "Just like you'll be, if you stay out of my way."

"Get him in the car," I command tersely, and they react instantly. Graham's large hands clamp down on Nick's bony shoulders, shoving him toward the open SUV door while Penn keeps watch, his eyes scanning the dark perimeter with predatory focus as he flicks his lighter open and closed.

"Show us where this room is, and maybe you'll walk away from this," I bite out, sliding into the driver's seat as Graham forces Nick into the back. The dealer's body hits the leather with a thud, and he winces, knowing better than to argue.

"Remember, Nicky," Graham says, his voice deceptively calm as he leans in close to our captive. "You're our GPS tonight. You malfunction, you get replaced."

"Understood," Nick whispers, his fear palpable as the engine roars to life beneath my hands.

"Let's roll out," I say, the darkness within me stirring with anticipation.

The SUV crunches to a halt. We're behind the old faculty buildings, places forgotten by renovation budgets and student foot traffic.

"Out," I command, my hand already on the door handle. Nick scrambles from the back seat, his pallor ghostly under the weak moonlight.

He leads us to a small door, half-hidden by an overgrowth of ivy, its tendrils like desperate fingers clinging to the rotting wood. A stench of mildew assaults my nostrils as the door creaks open, revealing a room swallowed by shadows.

Inside, the air is stagnant, tasting of dust and decay. Something skitters in the corner—a rat, probably, making its home among the ruins of the forgotten. But it's what's in the center of the room that roots me to the spot.

"Jesus," I mutter under my breath as my gaze sweeps across the room. It's a shrine, all right, but not the kind you'd ever want to find dedicated to you. Pictures of me plastered on every possible surface, candlelight casting long shadows over my inked arm, making my tattoos seem like they're shifting, alive.

Candles flicker, casting eerie light on a shrine grotesque in its devotion. Photos of Iris, their edges curled, and faces scratched out, form a chaotic collage. There's a lock of hair, the color unmistakably hers, tied with a ribbon and placed at the foot of a cracked mirror. It's an altar to obsession, every item a violation, and my gut twists with revulsion.

I step closer, the light catching the glint of something metallic. Dart after dart protrudes from Iris in the photos, her eyes scratched out so violently that the paper is torn. It's like some twisted form of worship, and my stomach twists in response. My smile is nowhere to be found now, replaced by a tightening jaw that aches with the urge to smash something.

"Jesus," Penn mutters, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found.

"Nicole's handy work?" Graham's voice is low, dangerous.

"Y-yeah," Nick stammers out, edging away from us, from the madness he's unveiled.

I feel the anger boiling within, hot and relentless. "No more games. No more running." My attention is locked onto the shrine, each breath fueling the inferno inside me. "It ends here."

"Damn right," Graham agrees, his fists clenching.

"Let's find that bitch." The words are ice, a promise of the storm to come.

Nick's eyes dart like he's looking for an out, but there ain't one—not here, not now. Graham steps closer to him, a silent predator.

"Nick," I say, my voice a low growl, "you've been real helpful."

Nick's nod is frantic, eager to please. "Yeah, Lincoln, anything for you guys?—"

He doesn't see it coming. Graham's hands whip out, a blur of motion, and there's a sound like a branch snapping in the winter. It echoes off the walls, a death knell that seals Nick's fate.

Nick crumples to the ground, lifeless. The finality of the act hangs heavy in the air, and I feel a dark satisfaction curl inside me. Graham looks at me, no remorse in his eyes whatsoever. The message is clear: necessary evils.

"Let's go find the crazy one, and that's saying a lot coming from me," Penn says, stepping over the body without a glance down.

We move through the building. When we finally come upon Nicole, she's skulking in darkness like some cornered animal.

"Nicole," I drawl her name like it's filth on my tongue, "you've been busy, haven't you?"

Her eyes are wild, but there's nowhere left to run. She clutches at Iris' locket around her neck, as if they will protect her. It won't, it only serves to anger me more.

"Lincoln, please—" she starts, her voice quivering with false innocence.

"Shh," I silence her with a finger to my lips. "You had your fun, didn't you? Playing your sick little games."

"Lincoln, I—I love you. You don't understand!"

"Love?" I chuckle, the sound hollow and cold. "This isn't love. This is an obsession, and unreciprocated one and it's toxic." I step forward, close enough to smell the fear rolling off her in waves.

"Please, I'll do anything," she begs, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Too late for deals, Nicole." My hand shoots out, and I grab the locket, yanking it from her neck. The chain snaps, the sound sharp in the tense silence.

"Consider this a severance package." I pocket the locket, feeling the metal warm against my skin.

"Y-you're a monster," Nicole accuses, but her words lack bite; they're the last gasps of a drowning woman.

"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."

"Understood." I end the call, the weight of future debts heavy in my chest.

Penn leans against the wall, arms crossed, the hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. "Another soul sold to dear daddy. Does he take installments, or is it a lump sum kinda deal?"

"Shut it, Penn," I snap.

"Lighten up, Lincoln. We're only spiraling into an endless pit of familial debt—not like our lives are becoming a Greek tragedy."

"More like a Shakespearean farce," Graham interjects, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Either way," I mutter, sliding the locket deeper into my pocket, "we play the roles we're given. One day, it'll be worth it. I'll damn sure make sure of it."