Page 25 of King's Claim
Chapter Eight
King told himself notto go.All the way through the MC meeting, through the plans, through the promises of blood and vengeance, he repeated it like a mantra.Don’t go to her.Don’t make it worse.Don’t let her see you weak.
But by the time the meeting ended and the clubhouse noise rose again, his boots were already carrying him to his bike.
The night pressed cold against his face as he rode, engine rumbling beneath him like a second heartbeat.Streetlights blurred past, the city half-asleep, unaware of the war being drawn in its veins.
He should’ve been thinking strategy, counterattacks, timing.Instead, all he saw was Lena, her eyes blazing, chin high, daring him to tell her she didn’t matter.
King had told himself she was better off free.He’d told himself she wasn’t his to claim.None of that changed the way the hollow inside him clawed wider with every mile between them.
By the time he reached her apartment building, King knew he was a fool.He knew he had no right and still, he swung his leg off the bike and stalked up the narrow stairwell like a man heading into battle.
Her door was shut tight, but he could hear movement inside.He knocked once, hard enough to rattle the frame.Silence.
“Lena,” he growled out her name.
For a long moment, nothing.Then the lock clicked, and the door jerked open.
She stood there barefoot in worn jeans and a loose sweater, her hair pulled back, eyes red-rimmed like she’d been crying but damned if she’d admit it.Her gaze hit him like a blade, sharp and cold.
“What the hell are you doing here?”Lena demanded.
King’s chest tightened.He hadn’t thought through what he’d say, only that he needed to see her.Now, under her glare, every excuse felt thin.
“I heard about The Pit Stop,” King said finally.“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Her laugh was brittle, bitter.“Okay?The place I worked at for three years is nothing but ash, and Rick just called to tell me he can’t afford to rebuild.That means no job, no paycheck.The only other job I had?Working the bar at your clubhouse.Which I don’t have anymore either, since I don’t exactly fit in there.”
“Lena—” King began.
“No.”She cut him off, arms folding across her chest.“You don’t get to walk in here and pretend you give a damn when you’re the one who pushed me out in the first place.”
King felt the words land heavy, deserved as they were.He’d thought he was protecting her by letting her go, but looking at her now, devastation and fury wrapped up in a woman who’d already been through too much, he saw it for what it was.Cowardice.
King stepped closer, lowering his voice.“I never wanted this for you.The Pit Stop, the Serpents, the danger.You think I don’t know what I did to you, dragging you into my world?”King asked.
Her chin lifted.“I dragged myself in.I made that choice.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a mistake,” he said.
Her arms dropped, her hands curling into fists.“A mistake,” she repeated, her voice shaking with rage.“That’s all I am to you, isn’t it?A weakness.Something to regret.”
King flinched like she’d struck him.
“You’re not—” He broke off, gritting his teeth.The truth was there, burning his throat, but he couldn’t force it out.Not when saying it meant tearing down every wall he’d built to survive.
She stepped back, shaking her head.“Save it.You’re the one who said I’d thank you someday for walking away.Well, guess what?I don’t.Not today, not ever.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, but she stood tall, shoulders squared, as if daring him to see her break.
“Lena...”
“Get out, King,” she ordered.
