Page 20 of Claimed By Lock

"Yeah."

King leans back in his chair. Studies me for a long moment. "And now you're here. Which means you've already decided what you're going to do about it."

"I'm going to the Road Kings bar. Find Colt. Make sure he understands that coming near her again isn't an option."

"On their territory."

"Yes."

"By yourself."

"Yes."

King's jaw tightens. He doesn't like it — I can see that. Walking into a rival club's bar alone is stupid on paper. The kind of move that starts wars.

But he knows me. Knows I wouldn't be standing here if there was another way, and knows I've thought it through.

"This could go sideways fast," he says.

"It won't."

"You don't know that."

"I know Colt." I meet his eyes. "He's loud. He's got an ego the size of Phoenix. But he's not leadership. He's not even well-liked by his own brothers. Rocky's SAA over there — you think he wants a war because some mid-level asshole can't let go of a woman who left him?"

King is quiet. Turning it over.

"She means something to you," he says finally. "This woman."

It's not really a question, but I answer anyway. "Yeah. She does."

He holds my gaze for another beat. Then he nods, just once.

"Handle it. But Lock—" He waits until I'm looking at him. "Be smart. I don't want to have to come clean up a mess."

"You won't."

I turn and walk out.

The ride to Phoenix takes just over an hour.

Plenty of time to think. Too much time, maybe. The highway unspools in front of me, straight and endless, and my mindkeeps circling back to Josie. The way she looked when she told me what happened. The fear she was trying to hide underneath all that fire.

Colt was in her apartment. Her space. The one place she's supposed to feel safe.

He took that from her.

My hands tighten on the handlebars. I force them to relax. I can't ride into this angry. Angry makes you sloppy. Angry gets people killed.

I need to be cold. Controlled. The version of me that makes men reconsider their life choices without a single punch thrown.

The desert blurs past. Saguaros standing like sentinels against the darkening sky. The temperature dropping as the sun sinks lower. By the time I hit the Phoenix city limits, the sky is bleeding orange and red, and I've got my head where it needs to be.

Quiet. Focused. Ready.

The Road Kings bar is a dive on the east side — low-slung building, neon sign buzzing in the fading light, a row of bikes parked out front. I count them as I pull into the lot. Six. Plus two trucks that probably belong to hangarounds or girlfriends.

Enough to cause problems if this goes wrong.