Page 23 of Claimed By Lock

"He's not my boy." Rocky's voice is flat. "He's a patched member who apparently can't keep his personal shit from becoming club business."

"Rocky—" Colt starts.

"Shut up." The words are quiet, but they land like a hammer. Colt's mouth snaps shut. Rocky turns back to me. "What'd he do?"

"Broke into her apartment last night. Waited in the dark for her to come home. Grabbed her. Threatened her."

Rocky's jaw tightens. He turns to face Colt fully. "That true?"

Colt's jaw works. "She's my?—"

"Is. It. True."

The silence stretches. Finally, Colt gives a jerky nod.

Something passes across Rocky's face. Disgust, maybe. The weariness of a man who's seen too many idiots cause problems over wounded pride.

"Get inside."

"What? Fuck that, Rocky. This guy?—"

"Get. Inside."

"He came here! To our bar! You're just gonna let him?—"

"I'm gonna let him leave." Rocky's voice goes cold. "Because unlike you, I can see what happens if this goes any further. You think I'm starting a war because you can't accept that a woman doesn't want you anymore? You think the club's gonna back you on this?"

"She was mine?—"

"She left you. Get over it." Rocky steps closer, getting in his face. "Instead you've been stalking her, breaking into her home, and now you've got a Sons SAA standing in our parking lot. You've made your personal bullshit into club business. That makes you a liability."

The words land like blows. Colt's face goes red, then white.

"Rocky—"

"You've got five seconds to get inside before I put you there myself. And tomorrow, you and I are gonna have a conversation about what it means to wear these colors. About whether you still deserve to."

For a moment, I think Colt might actually try something. He's got that wild look — cornered animal, all teeth and no brain. His hands are shaking at his sides. Every muscle in his body screaming for a fight.

But Rocky is staring him down with thirty years of violence behind his eyes. Thirty years of being the one who handles problems. Thirty years of putting men in the ground who pushed when they should have backed off.

Even Colt isn't stupid enough to test that.

He holds my stare for a long moment, something ugly in his eyes. "This isn't over."

"Yeah," I say. "It is."

He storms past Rocky and disappears inside. The door slams behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.

Rocky and I stand there, the parking lot suddenly quiet. The neon sign buzzes overhead. A car passes on the road, headlights sweeping across the lot, then gone.

"He's a liability," Rocky says after a moment. "Always has been. Should've dealt with him years ago."

I don't respond. Nothing to say that wouldn't make things more complicated.

"The woman — she's yours now?"

"Yeah. She's with me."