Chapter 6 Lock
LOCK
I braced my hands on the sink and stared myself down in the mirror.
I’d splashed my face, but it hadn’t done anything to cool the heat under my skin. I could still taste Kellan on my tongue.
Fuck.
I’d crossed a line I should’ve never even looked at.
He wasn’t mine.
He wasn’t here for me.
“He’s leverage.” A bargaining chip to make Rowan hand over the bastard who’d put Saint in a coma.
I had no business touching him like he belonged to me.
I shut my eyes and my jaw clenched so hard the muscle throbbed.
My name in his voice…and every part of me forgot he was my bargaining chip, not my omega.
One week.
That was the deal.
Bring me the man who hurt my brother… or I keep your kid. There was nothing in the deal said anything about craving him.
My grip tightened on the sink until my knuckles went white.
And hearing my given name fall from his lips—Silas—hit harder than everything else. Nobody called me that. Not anymore. Lock kept the world at distance. Silas was a ghost I’d buried. And Kellan called him back like he owned him.
If any of my brothers had walked in… I didn’t finish the thought. Just imagining it made violence coil under my ribs.
Not because they’d judge me—but because I didn’t trust a single one of them to see him like that.
Trembling, soft, trusting—exactly the way he shouldn’t be around men like us… in a way I hadn’t earned. That part wasn’t for anyone else. Hell, it wasn’t even supposed to be for me. But it sure as hell wasn’t for them.
The room still smelled like us…
I still smelled like us.
Like him.
His scent clung to my sheets, my skin, my teeth, my fucking bones.
And my instincts had snapped like a frayed chain.
Christ.
I leaned closer to the mirror, taking myself in.
President of Crimson Havoc. Ex-military. The man everyone expected to be unshakeable.
Right now I looked like a man on the edge of staking a claim he had no right to.
“That’s enough,” I muttered.
I needed distance. A plan.
Step one: get Kellan out from under my nose. Ember could handle him, keep him busy, keep him safe… keep him away from me before I did something we couldn’t come back from.
I’d sleep in my office for a few days. Pretend last night didn’t happen.
And then… when Rowan delivered the bastard… I’d hand Kellan back.
My whole body snarled at the thought.
That’s how it has to be.
I shut off the tap and forced myself to move.
When I opened the bathroom door, he wasn’t still in the bed the way my stupid instincts expected.
He’d made it. Perfectly. Tucked corners, smooth sheets… I don’t know why I’d expected him to be lying around waiting.
Instead he paced beside the bed in my oversized T-shirt, his fists tugging at the hem like he didn’t know where to put his hands.
The sight hit me low and hard.
His eyes lifted to mine, and something sharp and unwelcome pulled tight in my chest.
His expression was soft and a little uncertain, and he tried—really tried—to hide it with that stubborn chin tilt.
My resolve wobbled.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said, voice rougher than it should’ve been.
“Like what?” he asked, chin lifting again. Not submissive. Not meek. Just brave enough to make my pulse stutter.
“Like I didn’t just make the biggest mistake of my life.”
His mouth pressed tight. Hurt flickered in his hazel eyes, but he shoved it down fast. He sat at the edge of the bed like my words had knocked the fight out of him.
And I wanted to kick myself… and apologize, instead I grabbed my jeans, and pulled them on, grabbed a clean shirt, and reached for my cut. I hesitated… then tossed it so it landed across his lap.
“Wear that,” I said.
His brows went up. “Why?”
“Because I said so.” I met his gaze. “And because this place is full of alphas who aren’t me. You wear my cut, they stay the hell away.”
Kellan held my stare, then looked down at the leather in his lap, his fingers curling over my name patch. Something in me eased, a deep, primitive thing that didn’t give a damn what was smart.
“Lock…” he started.
“Don’t.” I dragged a hand over my face. “What happened shouldn’t have happened.”
He flinched, and I felt like a bigger asshole than ever.
“You’re too sheltered to know anything, Kellan. Not the danger. Not the politics. Not what it means when an alpha like me wants you.”
His eyes sharpened…hurt and heat and challenge all tangled together.
“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.
Stupid of me to have started that. Stupid of me to want to hear it again.
I pushed into my office, and wasn’t even a little surprised to find Wraith in my chair, his boots on my desk, flipping his knife open and closed.
He didn’t look up. Just kept moving the blade, slow and steady. Waiting to get a rise out of me.
“Morning, Prez.”
I shut the door behind me, hard enough that the frame rattled.. hoping he would take the hint… but of course he didn’t.
“You sleep at all?” he asked, tone light. “Or did you—”
“Finish that sentence,” I said evenly, “and you’re cleaning the communal bathrooms for a month.”
Wraith’s mouth twitched as he flipped the knife shut. “So that’s a no.”
I didn’t bother responding. “Why are you in my office before breakfast?”
“Delivery’s on track. First truck cleared the weigh station at five. Should hit Savannah by noon.” He shrugged. “Came to see if you’re coming on the next run.”
The run. I should go. The road always cleared my head.
But the second I pictured Kellan alone upstairs—in my room, in my shirt, in my cut—something low and territorial twisted hard in my gut.
“I’m staying,” I said.
Both eyebrows went up. “Since when do you skip a run?”
“Since Saint is in a hospital bed because the Reapers think we’re soft,” I snapped. “I’m not leaving the compound until Rowan’s week is up.”
“Interesting timing,” he said, watching me too closely.
I glared. “Say it.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “What I’m thinking, Prez, is you didn’t sleep in your office last night.”
My jaw tightened. “Drop it.”
“Didn’t smell like the couch was used,” he added casually. “Smells like something else, though.”
I stepped closer. “Wraith.”
He lifted both hands, palms out. “Relax. I know you. You wouldn’t cross that line.”
Havoc rules. Omegas—ours or not—were protected. Consent was ironclad. No pressure. No force.
My jaw ticked. “I didn’t—”
“You didn’t sleep in here,” he cut in. “That’s all I’m saying.”
I exhaled sharply. “Then what are you saying?”
Wraith’s expression shifted, amusement draining out, replaced with something steadier.
“Just hoping you know what you’re doing, Prez.”
That hit deeper than I liked.
He leaned back, his boots sliding off my desk, for a rare moment of seriousness.
“Lock…you’re the one who’s gotta hand him back to his father in a few days.”
My stomach dropped.
Wraith continued, voice softer. “I don’t need details. Just making sure you remember the endgame.”
The silence between us went tight.
He shrugged once. “That’s it.”
“I didn’t—”
The lie stuck.
His smirk said he knew better.
Before I could tell him to shove it, a knock hit the door, it was soft, hesitant. One beat, then silence.
Kellan.
I opened the door and felt the whole damn world narrow.
Kellan stood there wearing my cut.
The leather drowned him, hanging off his shoulders, brushing his thighs, but the second I saw him in it, something slammed into my chest hard enough to steal breath.
My cut. On him.
Christ.
His hair was still damp, his cheeks still flushed from the shower, and he held himself too damn straight, with his chin up like he was doing everything to show he wasn’t scared.
But I saw it anyway.
That flicker. Fear first. Then something deeper—trust—but it was gone almost before it appeared.
And I hated that I’d put the fear there. Hated even more that seeing him in my colors slid something inside me into place like it had been waiting for him.
Kellan stepped inside, and the room felt too small. The cut swallowed him, it was too big and too heavy but somehow he still looked right in it. Too right.
It clawed at something I didn’t want to name.
Wraith let out a low whistle. “Well, hell. Didn’t expect you to dress your hostage in your colors, Lock.”
“Shut up,” I snapped before the last syllable left him.
Kellan stiffened beside Ember, and his chin lifted a fraction. That quick flicker again…not fear, not attitude.
Fight. Quiet, stubborn fight.
Wraith opened his mouth again, but Ember shot him a look that could slice through leather.
He held his hands up and backed off. Smart.
I forced my attention back to Kellan. He stood a little straighter under my gaze, trying to look steady on his first full day in Crimson Havoc territory.
He whispered, “You said you wanted me here.”
“I did,” I said, voice rough. “Ember’s going to show you around. She’ll give you tasks. You stay with her. Understood?”
Kellan nodded, but his fingers brushed the edge of my cut again, touching my patch, grounding himself with it.
The sight hit me low and hot.
Ember cleared her throat. “Ready?” she asked gently.
Kellan turned to follow, but halfway to the door, he paused. Looked back at me.
Just a second.
A second that landed too damn deep.
When they stepped out, Wraith closed the door behind them.
Silence.
Then Wraith blew out a slow breath. “You’re in it, brother.”
“In what?” I growled.
“Trouble.” He dropped into the chair across from me. “And not the kind we can dig you out of.”
I ignored that. “Anything else to report?”
He sobered instantly. “We got movement. Prospect spotted a Blackthorn Reaper bike on 17.”
My jaw locked.
“How close?”
Wraith’s face went serious.
“Close enough he wasn’t out for a casual ride.”
My spine went tight.
A cold, sharp protectiveness slammed into me, it had nothing to do with politics or strategy.
Everything to do with Kellan.
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. “No one goes near him,” I said quietly.
Wraith studied me. “Order from the President…or from you?”
“Both.”
He held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded once.
“Ember’ll keep him safe.”
He was quiet for a moment so I looked up, meeting his gaze. “But Lock…don’t pretend this is just leverage anymore.”
My teeth clenched, but I didn’t respond.
Wraith didn’t push. He just nodded and left.
The door clicked shut. And I stayed exactly where I was.
Staring at the space Kellan had just walked through.
Feeling the wrongness of him being anywhere I wasn’t.
And for the first time, I admitted the truth:
The problem wasn’t wanting him.
It was him getting under my skin.
Letting him matter.
And that kind of weakness would get us both buried.