Lincoln
Belladonna Mansion
Thorn’s Office
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
The furniture was all sleek black and chrome, except for the huge desk.
Thorn didn’t answer him as he stood in front of the tall window and parted the drapes slightly as if he was looking out for trouble.
Lincoln heard the detectives’ car engine turn over and begin to fade as they left the property.
He assumed they were going no farther than the end of the driveway to ensure they complied with going to the precinct.
Only when they were gone did Thorn pull out his cell phone and an ivory business card.
“Are you just gonna keep pretending like I’m not standing here speaking?” Lincoln frowned.
He’d never liked being ignored.
Thorn’s anxious gaze met his as he held up his pointer finger, silently asking for a moment.
“Lucas, it’s Thorn Blackwell. We met last week at Pier Fortune.” Thorn lowered his voice. “I’m hoping you remember me. Can you call me as soon as you get this message?”
“Well?” Lincoln encouraged after Thorn pocketed his cell phone and the card, then grabbed his Mercedes keys off the desk.
“Come on. I’ll tell you what little story there is about Lucas on the way, but this stays between us for now, Linc.” Thorn hurried through the mansion until they were at the garage door. “I don’t want the other men getting worried over nothing.”
“Is it nothing ?” Lincoln asked, opening the passenger door, the locks disengaged.
“I certainly hope so,” Thorn murmured as he backed his car past Lincoln’s Ducati and Axel’s Range Rover.
Virginia Beach Police Department
Second Precinct
1:59 a.m.
Lincoln wasn’t surprised to see Detective Channing Sharpe and his partner, Kelly, waiting as soon as they walked through the double doors of the Second Precinct on Baltic Avenue.
Sharpe’s cocky stance and smugness behind that gold badge served to reignite the fiery energy that burned between them.
The look Lincoln fired back was pure contempt and animosity.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Blackwell,” Detective Kelly said.
“As if he had a choice,” Lincoln snarled.
Kelly raised her hands in a let’s-all-relax gesture. “There’s always a choice, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Yeah. Our way or the hard way,” Sharpe added for good measure.
Lincoln rolled his eyes, “Great. So we have to deal with Butch Kelly and the Mean-Ass Kid.”
“Real fuckin’ funny.” Sharpe took an aggressive step in his direction.
Kelly slammed her hand against her partner’s chest and hissed, “Cool it, Sharpe.”
“Later , motherfucker , ” Sharpe mouthed in Lincoln’s direction the moment his partner turned away.
Lincoln was tempted to flip up his middle finger, but a fraction of his bravado faltered as he glanced around at the weary faces of the few officers hunched at their desks, appearing tired, underpaid, and suffocated by the monotony.
The thought of this life made Lincoln’s skin itch. He couldn’t fathom existing in such a bleak environment.
Instead of voicing the contempt for Sharpe resting on the back of his tongue, he smothered it behind a gentlemanly smile—elegant, peaceful, and well-rehearsed from Thorn’s teachings.
Sharpe’s brows dipped into a sharp, condescending scowl, seeming pissed that Lincoln refused to rise to the bait, disappointment marring his stern face.
His gaze dropped and lingered at the hollow of Lincoln’s throat, as if he could taste the words Lincoln swallowed back—every vicious retort and curse smothered beneath his charming grin.
“Follow me, Mr. Blackwell.” Detective Kelly pointed toward a steel door with a keypad entrance. “This shouldn’t take long. Your company can wait in the lobby.”
“The hell I will,” Lincoln growled.
“Linc, it’s fine. Let’s not cause a scene.” Thorn touched his shoulder, his warm palm a comforting touch Lincoln had come to rely on over the years. “Be a sweetheart for me, please.”
“Anything for you.” Lincoln hugged Thorn. “I’ll be right here.”
Thorn smiled softly before he disappeared with Kelly behind the door.
Lincoln was positive Thorn had nothing to do with his ex’s murder, but the story he’d told him on their way downtown about Lucas and the encounter they’d all had in the restaurant last week would not look good to a homicide detective.
The thought of Thorn being in legal trouble again made his stomach ball into knots.
Thorn might be back there a while since he and Evan had a sordid, complex, and oftentimes violent history.
Lincoln kept his mouth shut when he strolled past Detective Sharpe. There was no way he could sit and wait in such a drab environment.
He walked to the corner of the street, leaned against the bus stop bench, and lit a cigarette.
It was a nice night, cold but clean, that calming coolness he loved before the beginning of a winter storm.
The sky was dark and littered with gray rain clouds, making it impossible to see the stars.
Lincoln pulled on his cigarette and inhaled deeply, unsure when he’d be able to enjoy his next one. Thorn hated his smoking habit and had been on him for a while about quitting.
He was almost finished with his cigarette and debating lighting another when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention.
A figure was creeping toward him from a half-block up.
Lincoln narrowed his eyes, not blinking until a passing car’s headlights cut across the figure and bared the persona’s face.
Fuckin’ Sharpe.
Annoyance flared and knocked at the back of Lincoln’s skull as he flicked his cigarette toward the gutter.
No matter how much he tried, Lincoln couldn’t tear his eyes away. Sharpe’s casual gait, brooding dark aura, and the mystery that wrapped and protected him formed a trifecta Lincoln was despised to find hot as fuck.
If only the guy weren’t such a dick. Literally.
Sharpe didn’t say a word, and after a long, weird moment of silence, Lincoln scoffed.
“Is this your superior detective strategy? Stare someone down until they confess something.”
“You got something you wanna confess?”
Lincoln hated how his cock took notice of Sharpe’s raspy voice and threatening tone.
Why does that turn me on so fuckin’ much?
Lincoln ignored the jab.
“I’m done playing these games with you. As soon as Thorn proves he had nothing to do with Evan’s murder, we’re outta here.”
Lincoln inched a step closer, close enough to inhale Sharpe’s true scent, the dark musk threaded with the stench of leather worn too long, subtle smokiness from his last cigarette, undercut by the sharp tang of black coffee.
Sharpe’s skin was tanned and sun-roughened, the kind of tone and texture worn by a man who potentially spent his days away from the precinct, working outside under the punishing sun.
Lincoln tried not to fall into the black abyss of Sharpe’s eyes—unyielding, endless, dangerous—or obsess over the way his mouth worked that splintered toothpick with confidence. Moving his lips slowly, quirking one side of his mouth, knowing he was staring.
Fuck that fuckin’ arrogance.
Hate charged and sparked between them…but under the contempt was a need so hot it frightened him.
Sharpe was the kind of brutal, uncompromising, pessimistic man he’d been begging Thorn to find for him, and now that he was in front of him, Lincoln couldn’t decide if he wanted to fight him, kiss him, fuck him, or all three.
Lincoln tried to brush past, but Sharpe caught him by his upper arm and yanked him close enough to whisper in his ear.
“Your boss-slash-lover-slash-landlord may not be guilty of murder, but he’s doing something funny in that mansion of his. And I’m gonna find out exactly what.”
The nerve of this sexy piece of shit, daring to presume he knew anything about Thorn, growling his ignorance into Lincoln’s ear.
For one reckless heartbeat, he imagined yanking Sharpe closer and crushing that self-righteous mouth against his own until neither of them could breathe. Sharpe was a fool if he thought Lincoln couldn’t see right through his ass like fucking glass.
His cock got harder as he turned his head, the shift causing Sharpe’s stubble to brush against his own jaw.
“You think I don’t know that look in your eyes, Detective?” Lincoln grinned, glancing down at Sharpe’s fingers where they dug into his bicep. “Because I do. I also know when a man just wants to put his hands on me.”
Sharpe narrowed his eyes before he pulled his hand away and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Lincoln.”
“Mmm, I fuckin’ guarantee it, Detective,” Lincoln moaned low in his throat, the sound promising both pleasure and challenge.