Page 2 of Claimed By Lock

"You've got Bella."

"Yeah, and she makes me just as disgusting. That's my point." The grin widens. "You're next, brother. I'm calling it. When's it gonna be your turn?"

"It's not."

"Famous last words."

I don't bother arguing. Rogue likes to talk — can't leave a silence alone to save his life. VP of the Sons of Ruin, and half the time he sounds like he's hosting a goddamn talk show. But he's also the smartest man I know, and the only one besides King who can give me shit without catching a look for it.

I've learned to let it wash over me. He means well. They all do.

But they don't understand that what they've got with Demi and Bella — that's not in the cards for everyone. Some people are better off alone.

I take a drink and let my gaze drift across the crowd.

That's when I see her.

She's standing near the edge of the firelight, half in shadow, talking to a woman I vaguely recognize — Maria, old lady to one of the Desert Reapers. Maria's wearing a property cut, the patches marking her as claimed. This one doesn't have any leather on her at all. No insignia, no colors. Just jeans that hug her hips and a tank top that leaves her shoulders bare and dark hair loose around her shoulders.

She laughs at something Maria says.

The sound hits me square in the chest. Knocks the air right out of me.

What the hell?

I've noticed women before. I'm not dead. Pretty faces, nice bodies — I can appreciate them same as anyone. But this is different. This isn't appreciation.

This is a fucking earthquake.

She turns slightly, and I get a better look at her face. Full mouth. Eyes that even from here look like they're holding back a storm. There's something about the way she holds herself — shoulders straight, chin up, but with a tension underneath. Like she's learned to expect trouble.

She's beautiful. But that's not what's got me frozen on this bench like an idiot.

It's something else. Something deeper. Like looking at her just rearranged something fundamental inside me. Something I didn't know could move.

My chest feels tight. My pulse is doing something it hasn't done in years — maybe ever. And I can't stop staring, eventhough I know I should, even though watching a stranger across a crowded rally is creepy as hell.

Get it together.

"Lock?" Rogue's voice, somewhere far away. "You still with me?"

"Yeah."

"You sure? Because you just went somewhere else entirely."

I drag my eyes away from her. Find Rogue watching me with that sharp look he gets when he's seeing too much.

I keep my expression flat. "I'm fine."

"Uh huh." He follows my gaze, scanning the crowd, but she's shifted behind a group of Reapers and he can't spot what I was looking at. "If you say so."

I don't say anything else. Just drink my beer and pretend my pulse isn't still hammering. Pretend I'm not already looking for her again.

This is stupid.

I don't know her. Don't know anything about her except she has a laugh that cuts right through me. That's not enough to build anything on. That's barely enough to justify a second glance.

But I can't stop looking.