Page 19

Lincoln

Fuck me .

A low thrumming tension pulses through my veins as we drift away from the small dance floor, leaving behind the flicker of pink and gold lights. My gaze keeps straying to Isabel, replaying the sight of her between Trey and Vera, that sultry sway of her hips, the flush in her cheeks. Even now, the memory sets my heart hammering against my rib cage. I’m not sure which impulse is stronger: the urge to march her right out of this club so I can have her all to myself, or the temptation to keep pushing our luck here, see just how deep this rabbit hole goes.

But as we chat with a few more groups—casually, politely—my anticipation of gleaning intel deflates. No one knows anything, or if they do, they’re holding onto it with an iron grip. The night has turned into a frustrating dead end of smiles and empty conversations, and the longer we linger, the more my patience frays.

Eventually, Isabel turns to me, brow furrowed. “We’re not getting anywhere,” she murmurs. Even over the throbbing lounge music, I catch the disappointment in her voice.

“Agreed.” My body is still wired, the press of adrenaline and unspent desire throbbing in my gut, but my mind finally decides enough is enough. “Let’s go. We can regroup and figure out our next move.”

She nods, relief mingling with regret in her expression. We slip past the last handful of couples drifting around the mini-ballroom and head out through the main floor of Club Greed. The booming bass from the public area is a jarring contrast to the private lounge. Flashing lights, bodies writhing on a crowded dance floor, the thick scent of sweat and expensive perfume, it all feels claustrophobic after the tense bubble we just left.

By the time we exit the building, the cool night air comes as a welcome shock. Isabel sucks in a deep breath, hugging her arms around herself until I slip off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. She offers me a small, grateful smile, and we exchange a weighted look that says too much about what we’re both feeling. Heat. Frustration. Maybe something more.

We climb into the SUV, after the valet brought it around. For a while, the rumble of the engine and the hush of the dark streets fill the space between us. My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, tension coiling through my body, a furious mix of pent-up desire and unrelenting worry about the mission. It doesn’t help that Isabel is quiet, her gaze flicking out the window at the passing city lights.

Finally, I clear my throat. “We’re hitting walls,” I say, keeping my voice low, “and it’s not just us. Everyone who really knows Morris is either out of town or tight-lipped.”

She exhales, turning her head to glance at me. “We just have to keep at it, right? Vera and Trey might come through eventually.”

I bite back a sigh. “Maybe. But what if we’re missing a simpler solution?” My jaw clenches before I say the next words. “What if we bring Dean in?”

Her reaction is immediate—her posture stiffens, and she shakes her head, a flicker of alarm in her eyes. “No.”

“Isabel—”

“I said no,” she repeats, firmer this time. “I don’t want Dean mixed up in this. It’s bad enough I’m here risking my neck. He’d flip his lid if he knew what we’ve been doing.” She swallows, staring at me with the intensity of someone cornered. “He’s close with Devereaux, sure, but do you really think that’s worth the headache if Dean suspects… anything else going on between us?”

I grit my teeth, because she’s not wrong. Dean’s always been protective—borderline overprotective—and if he even catches a whiff of the tension between me and his sister, that’s another fight altogether. Still, the practical part of me wonders if it’s time to call in backup. “He could pull strings we can’t. Might be the only way to get a face-to-face with Morris.”

She exhales, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I don’t like it, Lincoln. It’s my brother’s company, he’s my brother. I don’t want to drag him into this mess when I can handle it myself.”

I shoot her a skeptical look, though my heart clenches at the worry in her eyes. “You can handle it. You’re a complete badass, I know,” I say, voice softer, “but we might still need him to handle… the bigger pieces.”

She shakes her head again, a flicker of irritation dancing across her features. “Let me think about it, okay? Just… not tonight.”

“Fine.” I bite down on further argument, focusing on the road ahead. The tension in the SUV is thick enough to choke on, but I can’t force her to see it my way. Not when we’re both so raw from what just happened in the club.

We drive the rest of the way in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. The night feels darker than before, pressing in on all sides as we leave the city lights behind and move toward the quieter roads near the safe house. My body’s still on edge—part of me replaying the image of Isabel dancing with Trey and Vera, part of me wanting to pull her into my arms and claim her in a way that leaves no doubt about where she belongs. And who she belongs to. But reality keeps clawing at me, reminding me we can’t afford to lose ourselves in this attraction. Not yet.

When we finally pull up to the safe house, the gravel crunches under the tires, and a hush settles over the car. The building looms, every window dark. I kill the engine, and we sit there for a moment, neither of us moving.

Isabel lets out a quiet breath. “Long night, huh?”

“Yeah,” I agree, my throat feeling oddly tight. “Didn’t exactly go as planned.”

She manages a small, rueful smile. “Seems to be our specialty these days.”

A beat of silence passes—heavier than it should be. Then she pushes open the passenger door, slipping out into the cool air. I follow, and we head to the porch in tandem, the hush of the night pressing in around us. I unlock the front door and flick on the light, revealing the familiar living room and kitchen beyond. I check the security system, and pull up the camera feed on my phone. Nothing’s changed since we left, yet everything feels different.

Isabel shrugs off my jacket, handing it back to me. Her cheeks still carry a faint flush, though it’s unclear if it’s from the chilly air or the memory of what happened at Club Greed. “I’m gonna call it a night,” she says, her voice quiet but resolute.

I nod, folding the jacket over my arm. My heart thuds uncomfortably as I watch her cross the living room. She’s wearing a sleek black dress that clings to her curves, and every step she takes reminds me of how badly I want to close the distance, run my hands over her body, and erase the images of anyone else ever touching her. The heat in my chest coils tighter, stoked by the memory of how Trey’s hands looked on her waist, how Vera leaned in close.

When she reaches the hallway leading to the bedrooms, a surge of impulse grips me. I set the jacket down on the back of the couch, crossing the room in a few long strides. She glances over her shoulder, and that’s when I do it—I grab her wrist, gently but firmly, halting her just before she disappears into her room.

She turns, eyes widening. “Lincoln?—?”

My heart hammers as I slide my hand down from her wrist to her hand, entwining our fingers. Something about the vulnerability in her gaze makes every protective instinct in me flare. But the desire is still there, thrumming and insistent. “Wait,” I say, breath catching in my throat. “Don’t go yet.”

She studies me, the seconds stretching. The hush of the safe house—so different from the club’s pounding music—makes my pulse sound deafening in my ears. “What is it?” she asks, voice softening around the edges.

I swallow hard, a flood of words surging in my mind. I’m sorry for pushing about Dean. I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked on that dance floor. I want to keep you safe, but I also want you so badly it makes my chest ache. But none of that comes out cleanly. Instead, I just stand there, heart in my throat, letting the silence speak volumes.

She takes a slow step closer, and I catch the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the smoky remnants of the club. “Lincoln,” she says again, almost a whisper. Her free hand comes up, skimming my collar like she’s testing whether it’s okay to touch me. The warmth of her palm sends a pulse of longing through me.

I exhale, tension coiling every muscle in my body. “I—” I start, but the words tangle. I’m on the edge, not sure if I should take her by the waist and kiss her senseless or apologize for everything that’s spiraled out of control.

For a beat, we stand like that, our gazes locked, breathing in unison. Her hand remains on my chest, the faint pressure enough to make me want to fucking crush her to me. But we’re teetering between mission and madness, and I’m not sure which direction to fall.

Finally, I manage a quiet, “I just… didn’t like seeing you with them.” It’s a simple truth, but it holds more weight than I intend. “I wanted to break Trey’s fucking hands.”

Her eyes flicker with understanding. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just wanted to fit in, to see if they’d say more about Morris.”

I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat. “I know. It’s not your fault. I asked you to do this. I just… maybe I’m having trouble dealing with it.”

A ghost of a smile warms her lips, though her gaze remains serious. “So what do we do now?”

My hand tightens around hers. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice trembling with honesty. “But I don’t want you to walk away yet.”

Her gaze drops to our joined hands, then back up to my eyes. A soft blush tints her cheeks, and when she speaks, her voice is low. “Okay,” she says simply.

“Maybe I can erase the feel of his hands on you.” I grip her waist with my hands, spinning her around quickly so her back presses against my front. I sway with her, my hardness pressing against her ass. “Maybe I can show you how it’s really done.”

She sucks in a deep breath. “Oh, yes, Lincoln.”

My nerves thrum with excitement as I gently sway with her in my arms. “When we’re at the club we need to get…” I can’t find the right word, “... nastier.”

She gasps. “What do you mean?”

I spin her around so I can gaze into her eyes. “It means we’re going to have to do more than just dance with a couple. We’re going to have to get in there. Get our hands dirty, so to speak.”

She smiles, and my breath hitches at the sight. “Lincoln, show me what you want to do to me.”

Fuck. Hearing her say those words does something to me. Turns me into this primal beast ready to stake my claim on her. I lean in, letting my lips brush against hers. “Just remember you asked for this.” I nip at her lips, letting my teeth sink into the skin of her bottom lip. “Just remember when we’re in that club, you’re mine ,” I growl out. I reach my hands down to her ass, lifting her up. Her legs wrap instinctively around my waist.

I head to the back of the house, not stopping until I’m in the room I’ve been sleeping in. I toss her on the bed, and not very gently might I add. I know women want a gentle lover, but there’s nothing gentle about me tonight.

I gaze at her, my breathing labored, the blood pumping through my veins on complete fire. I yank at my tie, removing it from me. I remember back to the other night when I had this same tie wrapped around her eyes as a blindfold. The thought spurs me on. “Do you think I should punish you for letting another mother fucker touch you?” I raise an eyebrow, “...or should I reward you for thinking quickly on your feet?”

Her eyes grow bigger as she gazes up at me. “Reward?” she whispers, and I smirk back at her.

“You think you deserve a reward?”

She nods slowly as she toys with the hem of her dress, raising it up slightly. Fuck me. She pushes up to where she’s kneeling on the bed, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “Maybe I should punish you?”

My mind stutters briefly, her words catching me off guard. “You think I deserve a punishment?”

She nods. “Absolutely. You should have crossed the dance floor and claimed me tonight. If you didn’t want that other man touching me, you should have done something about it at the club.” She winks at me. Fucking winks. “So, yes, now you’re going to be punished.”

Punished by Isabel sounds better than anything I could ever concoct up. We’ve got a lot to wade through with this mission, but tonight… I’m letting go. I step closer, unbuttoning my shirt as I do. “Go easy on me, baby.”

She gets off the bed, closing the distance between us. “Maybe.”

Fuck. I’m in love. “Do what you must.”

The top of her barely reaches the bottom of my chin, but she still glares up at me with an attitude I find endearing. This complete badass is here, wanting to punish me, and I’m here for it.

“On the bed,” she demands, and I do what she says. I don’t know if I’ll be able to let her completely punish me, because …damn… she’s gorgeous, and I’m nearly at my breaking point.

I’ve been wanting her so badly since I first met her, and tonight is no different. I lay flat on my back, my head propped up slightly by the pillows.

“You have handcuffs?” She eyes me seriously, and I let out a quick chuckle.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Handcuffs? Where are they?”

My eyes widen slightly as I think about the handcuffs I’ve got nestled in my tactical gear bag in the corner of the room. I nod my head toward it. “Front pocket.”

She moves toward my bag, leaning over and unzipping the front pocket. She pulls them out and waves them in the air. “Hope you’re ready for this.”

Shit’s about to get real.