Page 2 of King's Claim
Behind him, one of the others grabbed a handful of peanut shells from a bowl and crushed them in his fist, letting the crumbs scatter across the floor.A silent message.This could be you.
Lena’s heart hammered, but she refused to back up.She’d spent too many nights holding her mother’s hand, promising everything would be okay, swearing she’d keep them safe.She might be terrified, but she wasn’t going to give these men the satisfaction of seeing it.
“Last call’s in ten minutes,” she said flatly.“Drink or leave.”
The leader barked out a sharp laugh, his gaze glittering with something darker than amusement.Then his eyes raked her again, slower this time, hungry.
“You got fire.I like fire.”He licked his lips, smirk curling.“Bet you’d burn real sweet in bed.”
The words hit like a slap.The truckers at the far end of the bar kept their heads down, pretending they didn’t hear.No one wanted to draw Serpent attention.
Her hands trembled, but Lena curled them into fists at her sides.If she said the wrong thing, they could destroy the bar.If she gave in, they’d destroy her.She was trapped between two impossible choices.
For one raw second, she wished foolishly, desperately, that someone else would walk through that door.Anyone.Because the Serpents weren’t leaving without taking something from her.
The decision was snatched away before she could make it.
The bar door slammed open with a bang that rattled the frame, sharp as a gunshot.A gust of cold night air swept inside, curling cigarette smoke and exhaust into the room.Men followed, shadows cut from leather and steel.
They didn’t just enter.They occupied.
The one at the front was impossible to miss.He moved like gravity bent around him, drawing all eyes without effort.His cut bore a patch Lena knew too well from whispered warnings around town.The Devil’s Crown MC.
King Maddox.
The name rolled unspoken through the silence.She’d never seen him up close, only heard stories.Whispers of the things he’d done to earn that crown on his back, the way he’d built his throne with blood and fire.None of those stories had captured the sheer force of his presence.
King was tall, broad-shouldered, his dark beard framing a jaw carved from stone.His eyes swept the room like a predator sizing prey.When his gaze caught hers across the bar, Lena felt it land heavy, a brand pressed to her skin.She looked away too quickly, pulse skittering.
Then his attention shifted to the Serpent looming over her.
“You’re in my chair,” King said.His voice was low, a rough drag of gravel and steel.
It wasn’t a chair.It was just space, her space, but the way he spoke, the claim in his tone, made it sound sacred.
The Serpent sneered, shoulders squaring.“Didn’t know the Devil’s Crown gave a damn about some dive bar.”
“We don’t,” King replied, stepping closer.The weight of each step was deliberate, final.“But we give a damn when innocent people get dragged into your shit.”
Before the Serpent could respond, King’s hand shot out.
Lena startled at the speed of it.One second the Serpent stood smirking and the next he was slammed against the bar, King’s grip locked around his throat.Glass rattled on the shelves as the man choked, clawing at the iron grip crushing his windpipe.
The brutality was efficient, almost casual.King didn’t yell or posture.He simply applied violence the way other men breathed.His expression barely shifted, only those hard eyes narrowing as he leaned in.
“Ask me again if I give a damn,” he said, voice steady as if they were discussing the weather.
The other Serpents moved, but King’s men surged forward, too, leather and steel colliding with bone.One Serpent went down in a blur of fists, the crunch of bone splitting the air.
Another was hurled into a table, wood splintering beneath the weight of impact.The couple playing pool scrambled away.The truckers in the corner kept their heads low, wisely pretending none of this existed.
Lena pressed back against the shelves, heart pounding so hard she thought it might break through her ribs.Fear shivered through her veins, sharp and electric.But under it, something hotter pulsed, something she didn’t want to name.
King was terrifying.Brutal.Exactly the kind of man who destroyed everything he touched.Yet the way he moved, the control, the certainty that he owned the room, lit a spark low in her stomach that shamefully felt like hunger.
The Serpent in King’s grasp rasped out a strangled sound that might have been surrender.King released him suddenly, and the man collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, wheezing like he might vomit.
“Pick him up,” King ordered.His voice was calm, cold.“Show the rats the gutter they crawled from.”
