Chapter Thirty One
Lincoln
The vibrating in my pocket pulls me out of the half-sleep state that I’d been in as the bus makes its way down the highway on our way home. I can’t control the smile that forms when I see that it’s Raleigh calling me, my cock hardening as I wonder if I could talk her into having phone sex with me while I’m surrounded by my brother and other teammates.
“Hey, Baby,” I breathe out the words, my voice already husky from sleep as desire courses through my body.
“Lincoln, I-I—” she starts before she is cut off by sobs. Immediately, all thoughts of my hard dick go out the window as I sit up straight, concern flooding me at hearing her crying on the other end of the line.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I-I…” she tries again but cuts off once more, as she’s unable to speak.
“Baby, what is it? Did something happen?” I ask, cutting my eyes to Bos as he too is now sitting up in the seat in front of me, his attention trained on me as he gives me a questioning look. I shrug, shaking my head back in forth to let him know that I don’t know what’s going on as Raleigh breaks down on the other end of the line. “Baby, you have to calm down so that you can tell me what happened,” I tell her as gently as I can manage as fear and frustration fight for dominance inside of me.
I can hear her taking deep breaths, attempting to calm down. When I think she’s calm enough, I try again in as gentle a tone as I can manage, “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry—didn’t want to—he made me,” she manages, her words broken as she tries to talk past her tears.
“Who made you?” I ask, anger suddenly taking over the fear and frustration.
“Brady,” she manages between sobs.
“What did that fucker do?” I growl, gaining the attention of not only Bos but also Cameron, Casey, Matteo, and Andre, the same guys that had been sitting at the lunch table with Bos, Jax, Dal, and me while Raleigh had been having lunch with that motherfucker. She begins crying harder again, unable to speak past her tears. “Did he touch you?” I growl into the phone, my eyes boring into Bos’s as rage consumes me.
At my question, she cries harder, which pisses me off even further. “Raleigh, answer me. Did. He. Touch. You?” I bite out each word between gritted teeth, as I picture beating the fuck out of that motherfucker.
“Yes,” she answers, the single word coming out so quietly that I almost don’t hear it.
“Dead,” I growl, seeing red. “That fucker is fucking dead!”
“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” she cries, repeating the same words over and over again.
“Where are you?” I ask as we pull into town. But instead of answering me, she just continues crying and repeating that she’s sorry before the line goes dead. “Fuck!” I growl, punching the seat in front of me as I try calling her back but the call goes straight to voicemail. “Fucking mother fucker!”
“Linc, bro, calm down!” Bos says, grabbing me by the arm.
I shove his arm off of me, “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!”
Pulling out his own phone he hits a few buttons and then puts it to his ear, then cursing before ending the call. “Do you have her friend Serenity’s phone number?” He asks, not taking his eyes from his phone screen.
Immediately, I pull up her contact, thankful that Raleigh had given it to me in case I was ever unable to reach her and hit dial on Serenity’s name.
“Hell-o?” The single word comes out loud and slurred.
"Serenity?" I ask, making sure that I have the right number.
“Lincoln?” Serenity asks, her voice coming out as a near shriek. “Why are you calling me?”
“Where is Raleigh?” I growl, noting that we're pulling into the school parking lot.
“I don’t know. She’s around here somewhere,” she slurs.
“Hey, Baby, who you talkin' to?” Says a male voice on the other end of the line.
“Raleigh’s boyfriend,” she giggles. “You seen’er?” she asks, the words *seen her* coming out like one word instead of two separate words.
“Not since Brady dragged her ass off of the dance floor a little while ago,” he says, as though there isn’t something incredibly wrong with the fact that she was last seen with someone who isn’t her boyfriend manhandling her.
“Where are you?” I ask, cutting straight to the point as I grab my stuff and begin walking down the aisle as the rest of my teammates exit the bus.
“Oh, we’re at a party,” she says simply.
Taking a deep breath, I try to control my temper and attempt to remind myself that I’m dealing with a drunk Serenity.
Bos yanks my phone from my hand, and then barks into the phone, “Who’s house are you at, Serenity?”
I don’t hear her response but Bos nods and then ends the call before handing the phone back to me. “Come on. I know where they’re at.”
Foregoing dropping our gear off at the locker room, we rush to the truck, throwing our stuff in the back of it and then Bos makes for the driver's side of the truck.
“Fuck no! I’m driving!” I shout, trying to shove him out of the way.
“You’re too worked up to be driving,” he says, pinning me against the door, then asks, “Do you want to get to your girl in one piece?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I just glare at him until he shoves against me, growling, “That’s what I thought,” before releasing me. With a glare of my own, I shove past him and make my way over to the passenger side of the truck.
We hop in and take off in the opposite direction from which we’d just come, flying down the highway, eating up the miles between me and my girl.
The cab of the truck is silent as scenario after scenario plays out in my mind. Images of Brady kissing my girl, beating her, *raping* her assault me.
I don’t realize how much distance we’ve covered until we pull in front of a large house, cars, and people everywhere.
“Where are we?” I ask, reaching for the door handle.
“Why don’t you stay here?” Bos says instead of answering my question as he grabs ahold of my arm, stopping me from exiting the truck.
“Fuck no!” I snarl, “That’s *my* girl in there!” I shout, pointing in the direction of the house.
“I really think you should let me handle this,” he says, glancing from me to the house and then back to me, before returning his attention back to the house again.
“Bos,” I say his name through gritted teeth, hoping he realizes that he’s toeing a thin line at this very moment. “Who’s house is this?”
By the look in his eyes, I know the answer without him even saying it, when he turns back to me, that red haze takes over once more as he says the homeowner's name.
“Brady Stevens.”
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