Page 60 of Lock

“You seem pretty sure about that.”

“Because I know men like me,” I said quietly. “You don’t.”

“Then maybe let me see for myself.”

A hit of heat shot through me so fast it made my breath hitch.

I reached for my phone, only to realize it wasn’t in my pocket.

Shit. Careless. He could’ve called Rowan. He could’ve ended this whole damn plan. And it hadn’t even crossed my mind.

I crossed the room in two strides and snatched it off the nightstand.

Focus, Lock.

I typed a quick message to Ember.

Me: At my room. Bring clothes.

I looked back at Kellan, still holding my cut, his fingers gripping the leather like it grounded him.

I definitely needed distance. Before I sank any deeper.

“Shower,” I said. “Get dressed. Then meet me in my office.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I come find you, Trouble.” My voice dropped without permission. “Don’t make me do that.”

His scent spiked… confused, intrigued, dangerous.

I turned away before my instincts did something stupid again.

I made it halfway down the hallway before I realized I hadn’t even put on my boots.

Didn’t matter.

Barefoot or not, I needed space—from the scent, the sight, the fucking gravity of him pulling at me like a tide. One more second and I’d have gone right back to him.

The hallway was quiet. But downstairs, the compound was waking—voices, chairs scraping, the low rumble of men starting their day.

Everything looked the same.

But I wasn’t.

I should’ve gone straight to the admin office, checked dispatch logs, reviewed the delivery confirmations, signed off on driver rotations. Work I did every morning.

But I couldn’t focus for shit. All I could hear was his voice saying Silas like it belonged to him… like I belonged to him.

Not “Prez.”

Not “Lock or Lachlan.”

Silas.

Nobody called me that.

Nobody was supposed to.