Zara
For ten long, loaded seconds, nobody moves.
The man chokes beneath Locke’s grip, boots scraping uselessly against the floor while the noise of the clubhouse seems to dull around us. Conversations falter at the edges as people realize exactly who they’re looking at and exactly how dangerous this could become if Locke Tanner decides he isn’t finished yet.
And through all of it, his arm never leaves my waist. Not once.
He keeps me locked tightly against his chest while his other hand holds a grown man effortlessly against the wall, calm enough to make the entire thing infinitely more terrifying.
Then Locke’s eyes zero in on me…and everything changes. Not in the room. In him.
The violence is still there, sharp and cold beneath the surface, but the second he looks at me, concern cuts
