Page 65 of Lock

“Well, look at that. Prez gave you his colors. Didn’t know we were handing out promotions this early in the morning.”

My brain tried to smack itself when the first thought I had was: Ha. If only.

Lock had made it clear it was nothing.

Ember shot Wraith a look sharp enough to skin him alive. And he shut up instantly.

Which annoyingly made me respect him… just a little.

I tightened my grip on the front of the cut, fisting the leather at my chest, just below the collar where the weight of it settled,my fingers brushing the edge of Lock’s name patch without really meaning to.

I could feel his eyes on me, and when I met them I could’ve sworn something flickered across Lock’s face seeing me in it—something raw and unguarded—but it vanished before I could make sense of it.

His gaze stayed on me, steady and assessing. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but I was determined not to give it to him.

“Ember’s going to show you around,” he said, voice low. “Stick with her.”

“Okay,” I said.

My voice sounded small and I hated that. I wasn’t a scared kid. I’d grown up around bikers. Around alphas. Around violence. I wasn’t soft… at least not the way people assumed.

This was different, though. I hadn’t walked into this place by choice. I’d been dragged here. Taken.

So why did I feel… protected instead of cornered?

Still, my fingers curled around the cut again like it was a shield.

Ember motioned toward the door. “Let’s go before Wraith says something else stupid.”

“Hey—” Wraith protested.

“Nope,” Ember said, already walking.

I followed her out, and instead of the hallway, we cut straight through the common room. It was a long space filled with worn leather couches that looked broken-in, not busted. There was a scarred wooden table cluttered with coffee mugs and helmets, a pool table near the back, and a massive TV mounted on the wall playing some early-morning sports recap.

A couple of guys were eating. One leaned against the counter scrolling his phone. Another laughed over something I didn’t catch.

It felt lived-in. Comfortable.

And definitely way nicer than the common room back home, where everything looked like it wouldn’t be out of place on the junk heap.

The second I stepped inside, the air shifted.

You know that weird dream where you’re on stage and everyone is staring and pointing… this felt like that. Everyone suddenly got real quiet, so even the sound of a chair scraping softly against the floor as a dark-haired man turned felt loud.

Another person froze with a fork halfway to his mouth.

It would all have been funny if it wasn’t happening to me…

But they weren’t even looking at my face… every single eye was on the vest I had on… and what it meant.

My cheeks burned. And my pulse thudded loud enough I was sure everyone could hear it.

Okay. Right. So.

Maybe Lock hadn’t thought this through. This was drawing way more attention than it was keeping away.

“Why are they staring?” I whispered.