Page 35 of King's Claim
Epilogue
One Year Later
The bar smelled of fresh varnish and new beginnings.Lena slid a glass across the polished counter, the wood smooth beneath her palms, and for a heartbeat she couldn’t believe it was real.
The place gleamed.Light caught on the brass fixtures overhead, warm and golden against the walls painted deep, smoky gray.
The shelves behind the bar were fully stocked, bottles lined up in precise rows.The floorboards creaked faintly under the weight of heavy boots and laughter, but they weren’t warped or splintered like at The Pit Stop.
This wasn’t The Pit Stop.This was hers.
Lema let herself take in the view for just a second, heart tugging tight in her chest.She’d spent weeks buried in plans, menus, and permits, not to mention the endless bickering with contractors.But the MC had stood by her the whole time, their protection ironclad, and King.
Well, King had made sure the bills were paid before she even thought to worry about them.It was King who had signed the deed, sliding it across the table on their wedding night, eyes glittering with the smug satisfaction of a man who knew he was about to win a fight.
“You’ve got your independence,” King said, his voice low and rough.“But now you’ve got roots, too.No more running.This place is yours.My wedding gift to my queen.”
The memory made her smile even now, though she’d argued with him then.Lena hadn’t wanted him to buy her anything so big, so permanent.However, deep down, beneath all her protests, the gesture had settled in her bones like warmth.
Because King hadn’t just given her a bar, he’d given her security.A future.
The Devil’s Crown brothers filled the place tonight, laughter and shouts rolling like thunder.They’d claimed the booths, their vests a wall of black leather and patches, their knives and cuts gleaming under the lights.For the first time, Lena didn’t feel like prey in their midst.She felt like she belonged.
King leaned against the far end of the counter, broad shoulders relaxed, one boot crossed over the other.His presence filled the room, the scarred weight of him impossible to ignore, but tonight his expression was easy, mouth curved in a faint, almost private smile as he watched her pour another drink.
Their eyes met, and heat shot straight through her.
“Careful there, brother,” Viper called out from a table, his grin sharp.“You keep looking at her like that, we’ll start thinking you went soft.”
A round of laughter rose from the men, rough and teasing.
King didn’t move.He lifted his glass, his gaze still locked on her.“I’ll own soft if it means she’s mine, and she is.My old lady,” King said.
The teasing shifted to hollers and claps, a few wolf whistles mixed in.Lena flushed, ducking her head, but her lips tugged upward despite herself.
Old lady.The title carried weight here, in this world of blood and leather.She’d resisted it at first, the way she resisted everything that threatened to cage her.But hearing it in his voice filled with love, she couldn’t deny how it made her chest ache in the best way.
King pushed off the counter and came toward her, the crowd parting instinctively as he passed.He stepped behind the bar like he owned the place, like he owned her, and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.
“You good, Lena?”he asked.
She nodded, her throat tight.“Better than good.”
His lips brushed her temple, lingering just long enough to make her pulse skip.
“Then let ’em laugh,” King murmured.“I don’t care.I’d burn the world for you, and they all know it.”
