Page 1 of Claim Me

SIOBHAN (pronounced shiv-AWN) O’MALLEY

The love bug bit me wrong. I hadn’t seen that coming. My parents are a great couple. Elvis O’Malley and Winifred Callaghan bring out the best in each other. Neither one sees the other with a “glass half empty” gaze.They are always enough.

My older sister looks like our mom. Carys got herself a man like our dad. They’ve made three kids together. When Pork Chop looks at Carys, he only sees his forever. I know my sister is blind to every other man.

I thought the pieces of my life would drop into place when I fell for Sync. Like Pork Chop, my fella came to the farm as a wild preteen in need of guidance. My parents used the money they made from the family business—Backcountry Kings Motorcycle Club—to buy a farm and set up a group home for rowdy, often unloved boys.

I’m not wholly certain when I first felt any desire for Sync. Many of the boys were handsome, but they were family. I have a large extended family on my mom’s side. The Callaghan clan lives up in the hills, causing trouble and creating drama.

My foster brothers weren’t so different from the rowdy people up in the hills. They arrived at the farm, stirred up crazy, and acted like fools. Most of them were eventually won over by my parents who guided them toward a new way of thinking.

One day, I simply realized Sync was different than the other boys. Tall and lean, he owned the big brown eyes and alluring smile of a man built only for me. The love bug had gotten me good.

I don’t know who flirted first. That’s the thing about falling for someone always in your life. Those subtle stirrings of attraction can take a long time to glow bright enough to be noticed.

Over time, Sync and I fell in love. Blissful and blind, we started a life together when we were too young to have any sense. Once our beautiful brunette twin girls named Kiera and Deirdre came along, I didn’t believe my life could get any better.

Sync and I were great until we weren’t. Our destruction didn’t happen overnight. Like our attraction, the bad feelings sort of snuck up on us.

No, not us.Just me.Sync wasn’t surprised when we ended. He’d been working double time to make me hate him enough to endthings. I tell people I don’t know how I stayed as long as I did.As if my heart was a mystery to even me.

The truth is I stayed because I believed the love bug wouldn’t steer me wrong. I decided Sync’s cheating was a phase. He couldn’t possibly be genuinely unhappy and want out.After all, the love bug had bitten him, too.

We’ve been apart for years now. Our girls are no longer babies. Sync and I co-parent like pros these days. We even recently threw the girls a joint party for their seventh birthday.

As I finish up my shift at the Backcountry Kings’ clubhouse—Above Snakes Bar & Grill—Deirdre and Kiera are cuddled up in their beds at Sync’s house. We own similar ranch-style homes only blocks from each other. Once a month, Sync throws a wild party at his place, living out the bachelor life he craved over being shackled with me.

I don’t cry much anymore. When I do, it’s not over losing Sync. I see him more clearly now. We were in love. That part was real. But he was too young when he shared his heart with me. That’s why he made promises he likely knew he couldn’t keep.

When I cry now, I weep over my lost dream of having the kind of love my parents share.

Recently, I gave up on finding someone new. In the past, I tried dating any interested man. I craved romance. I wanted sex.I needed to be loved.

Unfortunately for my libido, many of my foster brothers decided those eligible men weren’t good enough. They drove away my every opportunity to feel love again. I finally stood up to them and demanded they leave me alone.

They backed off for a very short window of time, allowing me to go on a few dates. I quickly realized the magic I was looking for was an illusion. I’d already gotten my one shot at romance. Too bad it was with a man who never wanted his heart to belong to anyone.

As two in the morning rolls by, my mind isn’t on Sync or the past. I’m preparing to close up the clubhouse. The customers are gone. Only one waitress lingers. I send my foster brother Indigo to check the back rooms, where Backcountry Kings members often enjoy naked time with club sluts and local girls. He returns to report they’re all empty.

Indigo will stick around until I close. Banta City has always been a wild place, yet it’s become downright crazy over the last year.

My best friend Natasha was nearly killed nine months ago, nearly drowning with her older sister, Petra. My other best friend Hunter was the victim of multiple failed abductions by a rich pervert.

The media is still in a tizzy over that last one. Local paparazzi occasionally creep around at the clubhouse, trying to dig up dirt on Hunter’s man and my foster brother, Tack O’Malley. He was filmed during the most public of the abduction attempts. The whole world saw him put his body between Hunter and danger.

Indigo was there on the road, too. I glance at him and consider how casually he stood with Tack while bullets whizzed past them. Most of my foster brothers are fucked up mentally, even the ones who believe they aren’t.

I suspect Indigo knows he isn’t wired right. He currently leans against a wall. His muscled arms are crossed. A gloomy expression darkens his handsome face. As usual, his shoulder-length brown hair is tied back. His golden-brown eyes catch me watching him. Our gazes hold. I offer him a smile, knowing he takes things too personally. Indigo tries to smile yet fails.

As the hour grows late and the final waitress heads out, I turn on “Biscuits” by Kacey Musgrave. I know Indigo doesn’t like country music. However, I’ve had to listen to rock all night, and I’m still looking at another thirty minutes to finish my closing routine.

I dance around while checking the cash registers at each bar top inside the massive building. I walk around the pool tables, searching for items left behind.

No matter where I go, I feel Indigo watching me. He always seems quietly uptight. His early life messed with his head. He suffers from a lot of hangups, especially about sex. That’s why he never wants me to get laid.

While I have no patience for his prudish thinking, I do pity the road he took to reach adulthood. Before arriving at the farm, Indigo suffered deep wounds. In many ways, he remains the same scared, sad boy I met more than a dozen years ago.

Back behind the bar top, I glance over my checklist before realizing Indigo is shadowing me. I turn around and gasp dramatically. Glancing around, I assume we’re in danger. When I find the bar quiet, my fear turns to irritation.

---