The Game (That Girl, #2)(25)

Not this time. I physically hurt Jazzy and made her bleed. The girls have been gone for hours, and I honestly have no clue where the stranger took them. I can only assume it’s one of Linc’s old college mates.

The sound of squealing truck tires pulls me from my thoughts, and looking up, I don’t recognize the vehicle, but I do see Lincoln storming across the grass.

“You motherf*cker, I’m going to kill you.”

Lincoln is across the front lawn before I have a chance to get one word out. Not that any of them would soothe the situation. They’re all just piss poor excuses. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can explain my actions.

“You son of a bitch! How dare you throw one of your f*cking fits in front of those girls? Why?”

No sooner do his words leave his lips than I feel his punches. I don’t even try to defend myself. I’m completely ashamed of my actions.

“What? Too big of a * to fight back? Waiting for Daddy to come save your ass?”

Lincoln’s fist drills me hard in the right side, and the sound of a rib cracking fills the air. He’s trying to goad me, and I know he’s hoping like hell to piss me off again. He wants to see me in the middle of my rage, so he can beat me down.

“I was wrong.”

“God damn right you are.”

Lincoln doesn’t stop with his relentless throttling, and I finally fall to the ground. He knows I refuse to say sorry. It’s not a word in my vocabulary. I’ll admit if I’m wrong, but I’ll never say I’m sorry.

“I was wrong,” I repeat while trying to shield my ribs from his kicks.

“Knock it off,” roars the deep voice from earlier. I look up to see the same giant standing before me and watch as he grabs Lincoln.

“Let me go, Tiny. Let me f*cking go!”

“Lincoln, you don’t need murder charges slapped on your ass.”

“I said let me the f*ck go!”

Lincoln fights against Tiny’s hold, but has no chance to escape his grip. Lincoln’s stamina is wearing down from all the punches.

“Don’t f*ck up your season by killing your brother. Calm the f*ck down and let’s talk.”

I sit up, feeling a little safer with Tiny here. Clearly, he’s very concerned about Lincoln’s career and isn’t going to allow him to continue with his attack. I’ve never seen him this upset before, and I’m not sure he would have ever stopped with the beating.

“I was wrong. I’ll tell Lynlee and Jazzy.”

“You won’t f*cking talk to either of them,” Lincoln yells at me. “You may own this house with your worthless money, but I’ve made this my home with my wife. And you have no f*cking right bringing your poison in here.”

I stand, one arm wrapped around my ribs. “I said I was f*cking wrong. I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

“You’ll never have a family. You’ll f*cking die lonely in one of your fancy homes. You’re no better than our f*cking mother.”

His words cut me and ring truer than I care to admit.

“Lincoln, stop.” Tiny shakes him hard, getting right in his face. “We all react different to situations. You should know this better than most. So f*cking cool your jets. No one is hurt. It was a bad misunderstanding, and Levi has admitted he was wrong for what he did.”

I start talking, feeling the need to explain. “Rebecca was here. In that house.” I point. “She’s supposed to be the ticket to my recovery. And all I could think about the whole time was how big of a f*cking fool I was for believing that baby was mine. I loved that baby. It f*cking killed me when I heard Lynlee, Jazzy, and you all talking about it. It was the final straw for me today.”

Lincoln doesn’t speak, and I watch as Tiny finally lets go of him. He takes a seat on the steps of the house.

“I’m not like our mother. I know I’ll never have what you have. I don’t deserve it. I just want my career back.”

“I’m sorry, Levi, I shouldn’t have said that.” Lincoln stands and gets right up in my face. “You are so lucky you didn’t hurt a hair on Lynlee’s head, because I would have killed you.”

“I wouldn’t hurt either of them. Ever. And if you don’t f*cking believe that, then you’re a real *. I think I really like Jazzy, and it was like a dagger to the f*cking heart knowing she knows the worst of my past.”

“Couldn’t imagine having to see that woman again,” Tiny offers. “I know it’s hell going through recovery then dealing with chick shit.”

“I was wrong.”

“You were very wrong and acted like a f*cking idiot,” Lincoln says, slapping me across the back.

“Fuck, dude, I’m beyond f*cked up right now.”

“Yeah, didn’t you have surgery on your neck?”

“I did, Tiny, and I’m still healing. Satan’s cunt, who is also known as my therapist, told me it’s looking like another six weeks of hard work and taking it easy when I’m not in therapy.”

“What was wrong with your neck?” he asks.

“I had a herniated disc. It’s f*cking hurt for years, and the hit I took made it worse. Can’t even throw a f*cking ball.”

“So, I guess that ass-beating was a bit of a setback?” Lincoln asks with a huge f*cking grin plastered across his face.