“I’m making it controlled.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is right now.”
The room tightens.
Shadow watches.
Hammer stays quiet, but his presence leans my way.
Blaze shifts, reading the room, not pushing.
Joker smirks faintly. “Could always let the guy downstairs draw us a map in blood,” he says lazily. “Might speed things up.”
Logan cuts him a look. “Not helping.”
“Just offering creative solutions.”
“Stop.”
Joker leans back, amused.
Logan turns back to me. “Protection is one thing,” he says. “Claiming is another.” There it is. Out loud. In front of everyone.
I don’t hesitate. “She stays.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“She’s under me.” The words land heavier. Clearer. No room to twist them.
Logan’s eyes narrow slightly. “You’re saying that real careful, Cobra.”
I don’t look away from him. “I’m not saying it careful.” The room stills. No one shifts. No one speaks. Even Blaze shuts the hell up. I lean forward just enough that every man at this table hears me without me raising my voice. “I’m claiming her.” That lands. Heavy. Permanent. Final.
Logan’s jaw tightens. “You sure you want to say that in here?”
“I already did.” A beat passes. Then another. “She’s mine,” I continue, my voice flat, controlled, leaving no space for interpretation. “She falls under club protection. Any threat to her is a threat to us. Anyone touches her answers to me first… then the rest of you.”
Now the room reacts. Not loud. Not chaotic. But it shifts. Because this isn’t instinct anymore. This is law. This isn’t casual. This isn’t temporary. This is a line.
Logan stares at me. Long. Hard. “You think you can just bend the club around your instinct?” he asks.
“No.”
“Then what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Building around it.” That hits. The shift is immediate. Small. But there.
Logan exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face before dropping it back to the table. “You’re a problem.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re going to cost us.”
“Maybe.”
His eyes harden. “And you’re not backing off.”
