13
Lincoln
Lincoln waited patiently in the shadows as a car pulled into the parking garage. When the driver parked, Lincoln pushed off the wall and stalked toward his target. The reporter wasn’t hard to find. He had more selfies on social media than any man should. One, stupidly, right in front of his turd colored BMW. A quick phone call to run his license plates revealed where he was laying his head.
Brent Trainer climbed out of his car and grabbed his briefcase from the backseat. Without so much as a sound, Lincoln had made it to within an arm’s reach. When he turned around to find Lincoln looking down at him, dressed in all black, his eyes widened with fear. Even before laying one finger on the man, Brent screamed like the pussy Lincoln suspected he was.
Lincoln grabbed the reporter by the throat, silencing him by cutting off his air supply, and looked him square in the eye as he gasped, struggling for air.
To the reporter’s credit, he tried to defend himself. He began to swing wildly until his arms went limp from lack of oxygen. Lincoln could smell his fear. He must’ve thought he was reaching his end. However, Lincoln had no intention of killing the man. He only wanted to get a message across. So, by his throat, he dragged Brent back into the shadows and slammed his body against the concrete wall. The reporter clutched his neck and fell to his knees, coughing and gulping for much needed air.
“I- I know who-who you are,” he stuttered, “I’m calling the police!”
When Lincoln grinned, he could see the horror in Brent’s eyes when he realized he should’ve kept his mouth shut.
“Go for it!” Lincoln gritted before slamming his fist against the reporter’s jaw.
He tried to stand, but before he could, Lincoln punched him again. He squealed like a little girl when his face slapped the concrete. Lincoln had never heard a man produce such a sound. And yet, he was without pity. This man was coming after his family.
Reporting the news was one thing, but he was using his platform to hurt his brother and his sister-in-law. And for what? Because she rejected his ass. Yeah, it was in Victor’s best interest to steer clear of the vindictive asshole, but Lincoln wasn’t running for office. He wasn’t concerned about voters. Therefore, he absolutely had no problem getting his hands dirty.
He leaned down, gathered a handful of Brent’s blonde highlights, and yanked the reporter to his feet. He was bleeding from the mouth and forehead and seemed as if he was fighting to stay conscious as he struggled to stand on wobbly legs.
“Call the police if you want,” Lincoln sneered. “According to our United States government, I’m in Afghanistan.”
Unwilling to support his dead weight, Lincoln released his hair, allowing him to fall. The reporter hit the ground with a thud and howled out in pain. For good measure, Lincoln pushed his size thirteen boot against his neck.
“You listen to me, youmotherfucker!If you fuck with my family again, someone is gonna find you rotting somewhere!”
Lincoln was unmoved by the gurgling noises as he pushed his boot to his neck. He kept pushing until he was convinced that the grimy reporter fully understood the consequences of his future actions. Only when satisfied his message had been successfully delivered did he remove his boot from Brent Trainer’s neck.
Brent had curled into the fetal position and was wailing like a wounded animal as Lincoln stalked out of the parking garage, avoiding the cameras the same way he had when he entered.
