4. Josie
JOSIE
I'm falling.
Not the gentle kind — the slow drift into someone's arms, the gradual realization that you've let them in. This is the terrifying kind. The kind where the ground disappears beneath your feet and you're just... gone.
And the worst part? I don't even want to stop.
It's been four days since Lock stayed the night.
Four days of texting that's turned into calling that's turned into me counting the hours until I can see him again.
I keep catching myself smiling at my phone like an idiot.
Keep replaying moments — his hands, his voice, the weight of his arm across my waist when I woke up.
I'm at work, a coffee shop downtown, and I can't focus. I've messed up three orders already, given wrong change twice, and now I'm staring into space while the espresso machine screams at me.
"You're doing it again," Mel says, hip-checking me out of the way. She's been here longer than me, mid-forties, takes no shit. "That dreamy thing. The one that means there's a man involved."
"Maybe. It's new. I don't want to jinx it."
"New, huh?" She rescues the cappuccino I've been destroying. "Well, whoever he is, he's got you burning milk. So spill."
"Just a guy."
Mel doesn't push, but her smile says she's not buying it.
My shift ends at six. I drive home on autopilot, thinking about him. About the way he looked at me that first night, like I was the only thing he could see. About the way he said when you call, I come like it was the simplest thing in the world.
Colt never made me feel like that. With Colt, I was always chasing — his attention, his approval, his version of love. Always trying to be enough. Always falling short.
Lock makes me feel like I'm already enough. Like I don't have to earn anything.
It's terrifying. Because the last time I trusted that feeling, I was catastrophically wrong.
I park behind my building and sit there for a moment, sorting through the tangle in my chest. I like him. Really like him. And the physical thing is off the charts — I've never felt that way with anyone.
But it's more than physical. It's the way he listens. The way he pays attention. The way he said your words mean something and I actually believed him.
I'm falling. And I don't know how to stop.
I climb the stairs to my apartment, thinking about tomorrow. We made plans — dinner outside of town, somewhere we're less likely to run into anyone. Careful. Cautious.
I'm fitting my key into the lock when I realize the door is already open.
Not wide open. Just ajar. A sliver of darkness visible through the gap.
My blood turns to ice.
I didn't leave it like that. I never leave it like that. I've been paranoid about locks since Colt — since I realized how easy it is for someone to make themselves at home in your space without permission.
I should run. Call the cops. Call Lock.
But I'm tired of being afraid.
I push the door open.
The apartment is dark, the only light from the streetlamp outside. For a moment, I don't see anything wrong.
Then he steps out of the shadows.
"Hey, Josie."
Colt.
My heart slams against my ribs. He's standing between me and the door now, cutting off my exit, and the look on his face makes my stomach turn.
He's not drunk. That might be worse. Drunk Colt is loud and sloppy. Sober Colt is calculated. Controlled. Dangerous in a way that doesn't announce itself.
"How did you get in here?"
"Your landlord's a friendly guy." He shrugs like we're having a casual conversation. "Told him I was your boyfriend. That we had a fight. He believed me."
I'm going to throw up.
"Get out."
"Not until we talk."
"There's nothing to talk about. We're done. We've been done for three months."
"See, that's where you're wrong." He steps closer. I step back. My shoulders hit the wall. "You don't get to just decide we're done. That's not how this works."
"That's exactly how this works." My voice is steadier than I feel. "I broke up with you. You don't get a vote."
His jaw tightens. That flash of anger I know so well — the one that used to make me small, make me careful, make me pick my words like walking through a minefield.
I'm so fucking tired of being careful.
"I heard about you and the Sons guy," Colt says. Quiet now. Dangerous. "Lock. The Sergeant-at-Arms. Word gets around."
My heart pounds. "That's none of your business."
"You're my business."
"I'm not your anything."
He moves fast — faster than I expect. His hand closes around my arm, fingers digging in, yanking me toward him.
"You think he can protect you?" His face is inches from mine. "You think because he's got a patch, that means something? I've got brothers too. And when they hear how you've been whoring around with the enemy, they're going to want to send a message."
"Let go of me."
"I might not be able to stop them."
"Let go of me."
I wrench my arm free, stumbling back. There's a lamp on the table — cheap, heavy base. I grab it like a weapon.
"Get out of my apartment. Now."
Colt stares at me. For a long moment, I think he's going to lunge.
Instead, he steps back. Holds up his hands.
"Okay. I'll go. For now." He moves toward the door, pausing beside me. "But this isn't over, Josie. You chose the wrong side, and that has consequences."
He's gone before I can respond. The door clicks shut.
I stand there holding the lamp for a long time. My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking. The adrenaline drains away, leaving something cold and hollow.
He was in my apartment. My space. The one place I'm supposed to be safe.
I fumble for my phone. I could call Maria. The cops. Handle this myself like I've been handling everything since I left him.
But I don't want to handle it myself.
I want Lock.
I find his number and hit call.
He answers on the second ring. "Hey, you."
"Colt was here." The words come out shaky. "He broke into my apartment. He was waiting when I got home."
Silence. Then, low and dangerous: "Are you hurt?"
"No. He grabbed my arm but I'm okay. I'm—" My voice cracks. "I made him leave."
"I'm coming over."
"Lock, I don't know why I called, I just—"
"Josie." His voice softens. "I'm coming over. Don't argue."
I don't argue.
He's at my door in twenty minutes.
When I open it, he doesn't say anything. He just looks at me — that intense focus that sees everything — and then he's pulling me into his arms.
I break.
I don't cry, but I shake. I shake against his chest while he holds me, one hand cradling my head, the other pressed flat against my spine.
"I've got you," he murmurs. "You're safe. I've got you."
I don't know how long we stand there. Long enough for the shaking to stop. Long enough for my heartbeat to sync with his.
When I pull back, his eyes are hard. Cold. The eyes of the man who made Colt back down with nothing but a look.
"Tell me everything."
I tell him. The open door. Colt in the shadows. The threats about sending a message. The way he grabbed me.
Lock listens without interrupting. When I finish, he's quiet for a long moment.
"He's not going to touch you again."
"Lock—"
"I mean it." He cups my face in his hands. "Whatever it takes. He's not getting near you."
I should argue. Tell him I can handle this myself, that I've been taking care of myself for years.
But I'm so tired of fighting alone.
"Okay," I whisper.
Surprise flickers across his face. "Okay?"
"Okay." The word comes out quiet. Certain. "I'm done pretending I have to handle everything myself." I meet his eyes. "That terrifies me. But I'm doing it anyway."
The hard edges soften, and I see the man underneath — the one who texted me goodnight, who asked permission before he kissed me, who stayed until morning.
"Josie." My name sounds reverent on his lips. "You have no idea what that means."
"Show me."
The kiss starts tender, but I don't want tender. I want to burn. I want to feel something other than the cold dread Colt left in my chest.
I pull Lock closer, fist my hands in his shirt, pour everything into the kiss until tender catches fire. He groans against my mouth and his grip tightens on my hips, and yes — that's what I need. His hands replacing the memory of Colt's.
I push him backward. He goes, letting me steer us down the hall, into the bedroom. When his knees hit the mattress I push again and he sits, looking up at me with those dark eyes. Waiting. Letting me take what I need.
I straddle his lap, my knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him. His hands come up to grip my thighs, steadying me, and even that small touch sends heat flooding through me. I can feel him hard beneath me, straining against his jeans, and I roll my hips just to watch his jaw clench.
"Josie—"
"I need this." I pull my shirt over my head. His eyes drop to my breasts, still in my bra, and his grip on my thighs tightens. "I need to feel you. I need to feel something that isn't fear."
He reaches up and unhooks my bra with one hand. It falls away and then his mouth is on me, hot and wet, and I arch into him with a moan. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him against me while his tongue circles my nipple.
I'm grinding against him now, chasing friction through too many layers of fabric. He's making these low sounds against my skin, hungry and desperate, and knowing I'm doing that to him — that I'm making him lose that legendary control — makes me even wetter.
"Off," I gasp, tugging at his shirt. "I need — everything off."
We break apart long enough to strip. Shirts, jeans, underwear — all of it gone in a tangle of urgent hands. Then I'm back in his lap, skin against skin, and the feel of his cock pressed between us makes us both groan.
I reach between us and wrap my hand around him. He hisses through his teeth, his hips jerking up into my grip. I stroke him slowly, watching his face — the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his throat works when he swallows.
"Keep that up and this ends before it starts."
"Good." I stroke him again, twist my wrist at the top. "I want you desperate. I want you as wrecked as I am."
His eyes snap open. Something dark and hungry flares in them.
Before I can react, he's flipping us. My back hits the mattress and he's over me, between my thighs, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. His cock nudges against my entrance and I whimper.
"Desperate enough for you?" His voice is gravel. He rocks his hips forward, just enough to slide through my wetness, the head of his cock catching against my clit. I gasp and try to arch into him, but he pulls back. Teasing. "Because I've been desperate since the second I saw you at that rally."
"Lock—"
He does it again. That slow drag through my folds, not inside, just there. Maddening. I'm soaking wet and he's right there and I need him to just—
"Please." The word escapes before I can stop it. I don't beg. I've never begged. But right now, with him holding me down, with his cock so close to where I need it, I'll say anything. "Please, Lock."
Something shifts in his expression. That tightly wound control finally snapping.
"Say it again."
"Please."
He thrusts into me and my whole body arches off the bed.
The stretch burns — he's big and I'm desperate and there's nothing slow about it. He buries himself to the hilt in one stroke and holds there, and the sound I make is borderline obscene. Full. So fucking full. I can feel him everywhere, feel my body clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper.
"Fuck." His jaw is tight, his arms shaking where he's braced over me. "You feel — fuck, Josie."
I roll my hips experimentally and we both groan.
I roll my hips and we both groan.
He pulls back slowly, almost all the way out, then snaps his hips forward. I cry out, my nails raking down his back.
"Like that?" His voice is rough, wrecked. "That what you need?"
"Yes — God, yes, just like—"
He does it again. And again. Long, hard strokes that drag against every nerve ending, that make my toes curl and my thighs shake. I'm so wet I can hear it — the obscene sound of him fucking me — and it should be embarrassing but it just makes everything hotter.
He shifts his weight, hitches my thigh higher on his hip, and the new angle makes me see stars.
"Right there," I gasp. "Don't stop, don't you dare stop—"
"Not stopping." He's pounding into me now, relentless, hitting that spot with every thrust. "Couldn't stop if I wanted to. You're so fucking tight, squeezing me like you never want to let go—"
"Come for me." He grinds deep and holds there, his pelvis pressing against my clit. The pressure is exquisite. "Want to feel you come."
Jesus.
"Lock—" I'm right there, right on the edge, every muscle in my body pulled taut. "I'm gonna—"
"I know." He pulls back and drives into me hard, and that's all it takes.
The orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through me, my whole body convulsing around him. I'm crying out — his name, maybe, or just sounds that don't mean anything — and he's still moving, fucking me through it, dragging it out until I'm shaking and oversensitive and still somehow wanting more.
"That's it." His rhythm is faltering now, hips stuttering. "That's it, that's — fuck, Josie—"
He buries himself deep and comes with a groan that sounds like it's torn from his chest. I feel him pulsing inside me, feel his cock twitch with each spasm, feel the way his whole body goes rigid and then collapses.
He catches himself on his forearms at the last second, breathing hard against my neck. Neither of us moves. Neither of us can.
"Holy shit," I finally manage.
He laughs — low, breathless, surprised. Like I've startled it out of him. "Yeah."
We stay tangled together after. His weight half on me, half beside me, one hand stroking slow lines up and down my spine.
"Josie."
"Hmm?"
"I'm going to handle Colt."
It doesn't feel like a threat. It feels like a promise.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm going to make sure he understands that coming near you would be the worst decision of his life."
"And if he doesn't listen?"
"He'll listen."
The certainty should scare me. This is what I ran from with Colt — violence, possessiveness.
But it's different. Colt wanted to control me. Lock wants to protect me. Colt used fear against me. Lock uses it as a shield.
"I trust you," I say.
He goes still. "Yeah?"
"I know this is fast. But I trust you."
He kisses me — soft, reverent.
"I'm not going to let you down," he says. "I promise."
I believe him.
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now, you sleep. Tomorrow, I handle Colt. After that..." He kisses my head. "We figure out the rest."
I close my eyes and drift off, safe in his arms.
For the first time in months, I sleep through the night.