Page 24 of Claimed By Lock

Rocky nods slowly.

"I'll handle Colt," he says finally. "He won't bother her again."

"I appreciate that."

"Don't appreciate shit." His voice hardens. "I'm not doing you a favor. I'm not doing King a favor. I'm keeping my club out of a mess some idiot created." A pause. "That's all this is."

"Understood."

I turn toward my bike. We're done here. Message delivered, received, and — thanks to Rocky — enforced. Better outcome than I expected, honestly. I was ready for this to get bloody.

That's when I hear it.

Another engine. Coming fast from the direction of Tucson. A sound I know as well as my own heartbeat.

King.

Rocky hears it too. His whole body goes still, every muscle tensing.

The headlight appears at the end of the street, bright against the darkness. The bike slows as it turns into the lot — deliberate, controlled. King pulls into a spot near mine, kills the engine, swings off.

He walks toward us, easy and unhurried.

"Couldn't let you have all the fun," he says to me.

Rocky hasn't moved. The history between them fills the parking lot like smoke — Demi, the betrayal, the ambush that never happened, the war that almost was. Two men who should be enemies, standing ten feet apart with nothing between them but old wounds and fading light.

"King." Rocky's voice is flat.

"Rocky."

Silence.

The neon sign buzzes. Somewhere inside, the music changes — something slower, quieter. The night holds its breath.

I watch Rocky's hands. Watch his shoulders. Looking for the tell that says this is about to go sideways. He's got every reason to hate King. Every reason to want blood. His daughter chosethis man over her own family, and now King's standing in his parking lot like he belongs there.

If he's going to make a move, it'll be now.

Rocky doesn't move.

"Your boy handled it," he says finally. Clipped. Professional. "Colt won't be a problem."

"Good."

"This doesn't change anything between us."

"Didn't think it would."

More silence. Heavier this time. I can feel the weight of it — everything that's happened between these two clubs, these two men. The betrayal and the war and the daughter caught in the middle. None of it resolved. None of it forgiven.

Then Rocky gives the faintest nod.

Not warmth. Not forgiveness. Not even acknowledgment of any truce. Just... something. A recognition that tonight isn't the night. That this particular problem is handled. That whatever else lies between them, it isn't this.

King returns it.

The moment stretches. Holds.