Page 27 of Claimed By Lock

"I don't—" He stops. Swallows. Tries again. "I'm not good at this. Words. Feelings. I don't know how to?—"

"Then don't." I shake my head. "You don't have to be good at it. You just have to be honest."

The silence stretches between us. Around us, the bar has gone quiet. I can feel eyes on us — everyone watching this unfold. I don't care. Let them see. Let them all see.

Lock takes a breath. When he speaks, his voice is low. Rough. Like he's dragging the words up from somewhere deep.

"I've never felt this before." He doesn't look away from me. Doesn't flinch. "I've never wanted to protect someone so badly it makes me stupid. I've never looked at anyone and thought — that's it. That's the one thing I can't live without." His hands come up to cover mine where they're still cupping his face. "With you. Only with you."

My eyes are burning. My chest is so full it hurts.

"That's enough," I whisper. "That's more than enough."

I kiss him.

It's not like our other kisses — not desperate, not hungry. This one is soft. Certain. A promise instead of a question. His arms wrap around me and he pulls me close, and I melt into him like I was always meant to be there.

When we finally break apart, there's a wolf whistle from somewhere behind us.

"About fucking time," someone calls out. "I was starting to think he'd never make a move."

"He made plenty of moves," I say, turning to face the room. "You just weren't invited to watch."

Laughter ripples through the bar. The guy who called out — tall, sharp eyes, VP patch on his cut — raises his eyebrows, then grins wide and genuine.

"Oh, I like her."

Lock's arm is still around my waist. Solid. Warm. Like it belongs there.

"You want a beer?" The Road Captain has moved behind the bar, already reaching for a bottle. "I'm Diesel, by the way."

"Josie."

He slides it across to me with a small smile. "We know."

I take a sip. Cold and exactly what I need.

And just like that, I'm in.

No fanfare. No formal welcome. I'm just... here. Part of the furniture. Part of the fabric. The VP makes a joke about Lock finally having something to smile about, and Lock tells him to fuck off without any heat behind it. Diesel goes back to wiping down the bar. The guys at the tables go back to their card game.

Normal. Easy. Like I've always been here.

Lock steers me toward a booth in the corner. We slide in together, his thigh pressed against mine, and for a while we just sit there. Drinking our beers. Watching the room.

"I'm glad you came," he says eventually. His hand finds mine under the table, fingers interlacing. "I would've come to you. But I'm glad you're here."

His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "You're braver than you think, Josie. Braver than anyone I know."

My throat tightens. "I chose wrong once. Spent a year paying for it. When I left, I swore I wouldn't make the same mistakeagain." I stop. Breathe. "But then I met you. And you're not a mistake."

He doesn't say anything. Just lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss to my knuckles. Soft. Reverent.

It's not a declaration. It's not a speech. But from Lock, it's everything.

We stay in the booth for a long time. The light shifts, afternoon fading toward evening. Guys come and go. Someone puts music on — old rock, the kind that rattles the windows. At some point, the VP swings by to give Lock shit about something, and I fire back with a comment that makes him laugh so hard he chokes on his beer.

Lock watches the whole thing, quiet, but there's a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.