Lincoln
Belladonna Mansion
Media Room
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
He used to be able to snuggle at night with Casey, but even he had a gentleman now.
“Ugh.” Lincoln kicked the heavy blanket off his legs.
He was happy for his friends, but Thorn had also promised someone for him, except again he hadn’t received a file this week.
Lincoln had a talent for mending hardened, angry hearts.
He was always given the men whose souls weren’t just shattered, but jagged, furious, and dangerous to touch.
He carried those men’s fury until they softened beneath his touch…and they always softened.
The gunfire on the TV had lulled him toward sleep, but the chime of the doorbell jolted him wide awake.
He glanced at his watch— da’fuc —no sane person should be visiting at this hour.
He rose slowly, fastening his shirt as he went toward the mansion foyer.
When he opened the door, a man and woman stood waiting and watching him with unnerving patience.
It wasn’t until the three-way stare-off became annoying that Lincoln gritted, “Can I help you? Are you lost? You look lost.”
The woman stood nearly eye to eye with his own six-foot height.
One side of her hair was colored moss-green and shaved close, while the other spilled into a cascade of multicolored dreadlocks that brushed her upper shoulder.
The pale canvas of her alabaster skin was inked with unique tribal designs, and her eyes, nose, ears, and lips were all punctuated with matte black Gothic piercings.
Her scuffed combat boots were laced over torn skinny jeans, emanating raw sex wrapped in renegade confidence.
If only Lincoln were into untamed goddesses…he wasn’t. Which was why his gaze snagged on the man at her side.
Holy fuck!
The goddess’s counterpart leaned casually against one of the stone pillars with his motorcycle boots crossed at the ankles and his arms over his chest.
He was everything Lincoln liked in a man: dark, silent, full of attitude, messy, unkempt hair, and a strong fuck-off vibe.
Lincoln always enjoyed a good challenge.
“Are you Thorn Blackwell?” The woman spoke up first.
She pulled a gleaming gold badge from her back pocket and held it out in front of her.
“No. I’m not.”
Lincoln was still watching her partner, who’d done little more than glare in his direction. But he didn’t miss the mystery in those dark eyes…or the interest before he glanced away.
Lincoln chuckled under his breath.
That half-second of recognition burned hotter than a drag of whiskey and carried the same bite—attraction hidden under scorn.
This was a man he wanted to fight as much as he wanted to…
“What is this regarding?” Lincoln glared.
The guy scoffed and shook his head as if he’d found the question silly.
“I’m Detective Roz Kelly, and this is my partner Channing Sharpe.” She tucked her identification away. “Does Thorn Blackwell reside here?”
“He does.” Lincoln cut his gaze to her. “But he’s not available.”
“Is he here?” she asked with a bit more authority in her tone.
“Yes…but he’s asleep.”
“Then wake him up,” her partner rumbled.
The command rolled off Sharpe’s tongue in a way that almost dared Lincoln to challenge him.
Damn, he’s fuckin’ sexy.
“Is he under arrest?” Lincoln narrowed his eyes.
“We just wanna to ask him a few questions. We wouldn’t have come all this way at this hour if it wasn’t important,” she reiterated.
“What’s going on, Linc? You okay?” Axel asked, coming to stand close beside him.
He watched as Detective Kelly’s gaze traveled over his bare chest and down his stomach.
He was holding two half-full glasses of champagne in one hand and a plate of strawberries in the other.
Lincoln enviously admitted that Axel looked well-satisfied.
“Thorn Blackwell?” Kelly asked Axel, quirking one of her arched brows.
“No.” Axel turned on his charming smile. “But I can be if you need me to.”
“Lincoln, Axel, who’s at the door?” Thorn asked as he walked into the foyer.
He must have been working late in his office again.
“Sorry, Thorn. I thought you were already in bed. Some detectives are here to see you.” Lincoln glowered at Sharpe. “They said they have some questions they want to ask that couldn’t wait until a respectable hour.”
“What?” Thorn hastened his steps, the heels of his Gucci dress shoes clacking over the white marble floor. “Don’t be rude. Let them in, please.”
Channing Sharpe pushed off the pillar and came directly toward Thorn, pausing in front of Lincoln before he crossed the threshold.
“Nice to see somebody has some manners around here,” he gritted.
Lincoln caught the faint scent of cinnamon and bitter coffee on Sharpe’s breath, hot against his cheek.
It was maddening how quick his attraction was warring with detestation.
Sharpe let out a low whistle as he ventured farther inside. His expression was smug and condescending as he glanced back and forth between him, Axel, and Thorn, then muttered to his partner, “I’m in the wrong fuckin’ profession.”
She threw a warning frown at her partner before she pulled her badge out again.
“We have a few questions for you, Mr. Blackwell, then you all can proceed with your night.”
“Axel, you have company. It’s best not to keep him waiting.” Thorn touched Axel’s cheek. Axel turned and ascended the stairs toward his own condo.
Lincoln didn’t move. He wasn’t usually disrespectful to the police, but Belladonna had been harassed so much by law enforcement and even a few city officials that he tended to get defensive. A lot of these jackasses thought Thorn was running some kind of illegal trick-house.
“Mr. Blackwell, do you know an Evan Scott?”
Lincoln’s heart leaped into his throat.
Great, not that fuckwit again .
Anytime Thorn’s ex resurfaced, he brought trouble with him.
Thorn sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted…and sad.
The gentlemen of this house were always so focused on others’ heartaches that they rarely recognized it in themselves.
“Yes. I know him. He’s my ex-fiancé. We split a couple of years ago.”
Detective Kelly’s face was impassive when she asked, “When did you last see him?”
Thorn ran his hand over his wavy locks as creases appeared in the corners of his eyes.
“Last Friday night. He cornered me when I was having dinner in a restaurant.”
“What?” Lincoln fussed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Not now, Linc,” Thorn pressed. “Is that what this is about, Detective?”
“So you didn’t invite him to meet you for dinner?”
Thorn shook his head sadly. “No. I have a permanent restraining order.”
“Is there a reason why you didn’t report the violation immediately?” Kelly asked, jotting down Thorn’s answers in a pocket-sized spiral notebook.
“I wasn’t interested in doing the paperwork.” Thorn waved them off. “I’m still not interested in pressing charges. Evan is going through enough.”
The detectives stared at each other for a moment until Sharpe gave his partner an imperceptible nod.
“What was that?” Lincoln demanded. “I saw that. What are you guys not saying?”
“Mr. Blackwell, where were you on the 23rd around nine p.m.?”
Lincoln put his palm against Thorn’s chest before he could respond. “Do not answer that. Not until they tell you what’s going on.”
“Are you his boyfriend or his lawyer?”
Lincoln rounded on Detective Sharpe. This man’s fucking attitude, the electric charge of his salty skin, and the raw bite of gunpowder in his scowl were getting on his fucking nerves. It was too late at night for this cat-and-mouse bullshit.
“I’m neither, Sharpe,” Lincoln sneered. “And I doubt that’s one of the questions on the list.”
“No. But it was on mine.” The corner of Sharpe’s mouth ticked up in the corner, into the kind of grin that was a weapon.
Sharpe stood toe-to-toe with him, not backing down, nor was he the slightest bit intimidated by Lincoln’s anger.
Lincoln hated that saying the bastard’s name— Sharpe —made his dick harden.
It was the kind of name that belonged in a whispered groan or shouted in a fight—he didn’t know which he preferred yet.
Thorn disrupted their dick-measuring contest when he spoke. “I have no problem answering. I was home working all evening.”
“Is there anyone who can corroborate that?” she asked with her pen poised.
“Me,” Lincoln chimed in. “I was home all evening as well.”
Sharpe sucked his teeth. “Anyone else besides your lover to back you up?”
Lincoln clenched his jaw.
“Are you calling me a liar?” Lincoln felt his cheeks get hot as he balled his fists at his sides.
Fuck, this bastard was getting a serious rise out of him, and by the cunning smirk on his face, Detective Sharpe had done it on purpose, merely for his enjoyment.
Lincoln swore under his breath. It had been a long time since anyone had gotten under his skin this fast. Not since…
He shut down that thought. Sharpe didn’t deserve a place in his memories…at least not yet.
“Evan Scott’s apartment was ransacked last night, there’s clear evidence of a struggle, and he’s considered missing,” she said almost mechanically, then paused as if she were judging their reaction. “His blood was found in the alley behind his building.”
Lincoln stared as Thorn clamped his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. He went to Thorn’s side and put his arm around him.
“Oh god.” Thorn squeezed his eyes closed as he clutched Lincoln’s shoulders.
“My partner and I don’t think anyone can lose that much blood and walk away.” Detective Kelly paused, as if to gauge their reaction. “We’re treating Evan Scott’s case as a homicide.”
Thorn flinched.
Every time Evan’s name was spoken, Thorn’s composure cracked a little more.
“Do you know a Lucas Brewer, Mr. Blackwell?”
Thorn froze, his gaze darting between the three of them.
Lincoln was confused. He was waiting for Thorn to answer as well, but he just stood there with his lips parted, no words coming out.
Ahh shit.
“Mr. Blackwell, would you mind coming down to the station and talking with us there?” Sharpe came toward them as if he hadn’t actually given Thorn a choice.
“Absolutely not.” Lincoln gripped Thorn tighter. He still appeared shaken by the news of Evan’s death…or was it the mention of Lucas Brewer? Lincoln didn’t recall ever hearing that name before. “If they ask, that means you don’t have to go.”
“Where the hell did you get that from? An episode of Law and Order ?” Sharpe mocked him.
“You know what motherfucker…fuck you. You can take your—”
Thorn placed a finger gently over Lincoln’s lips. “Lincoln, stop talking like that. I’ll go.”
“But—”
“No. They said Evan could be dead, Linc,” Thorn repeated as if he couldn’t believe it. “I don’t want to cause delays by declining an interview with the police. Once I’m cleared, then they can find out who really did it. That’s all that matters.”
“We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Blackwell,” she said, moving toward the door. “I’m sure we’ll get this matter resolved quickly. You can follow in your own vehicle.”
“Thank you,” Thorn whispered.
“I’m going with you,” Lincoln demanded.
“Are you his attorney?”
Lincoln gritted his teeth as he glared into Sharpe’s rum-brown eyes.
“No. But I have watched all eight seasons of The Practice , smartass, so I’m going with him. Besides, he’s in no condition to drive. Someone he used to love very much is gone.” Lincoln tucked a lock of Thorn’s hair behind his ear. “I’m not leaving his side.”
Just like he wouldn’t dare leave any of theirs.
Lincoln saw something flash across Sharpe’s stern face, but he wiped it away too fast for Lincoln to recognize what it was.
He was damn good at reading a man’s thoughts, but the detective had shifted Lincoln’s mind someplace he hadn’t been in a long time—someplace dangerous and forbidden.
The opposite of how Belladonna gentlemen were supposed to think.
Damn this fucking guy.
Lincoln had let the detective get to him so easily…and what was worse was that it had all happened in front of Axel and Thorn.
“We’ll wait outside.” Kelly cleared her throat when her partner still hadn’t moved. His hard scowl was directed at Lincoln’s arms around Thorn’s trembling body.
He waited until the door locked automatically behind the detectives before he took Thorn’s bristly cheeks in his hands.
“Are you okay, babe?”
“Lucas.” Thorn spun and ran to his office, leaving Lincoln standing there confused. “I have to call him now.”
Lincoln stood in the doorway of Thorn’s office, wondering what the hell his mentor had gotten himself mixed up in.