Page 23 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

And I was bragging about the statute of limitations expiring on some of our MC’s past activities just the other day. It’s almost infuriating to think about the repercussions. “If the Feds come into Redwood, we’ll have to close ranks and be really careful about every operation.”

“Including our street policing initiatives,” Diesel says. “I’ll talk to Sheriff Bentley about this. Pull our lieutenants and prospects off the streets, at least for a while.”

Samson shakes his head. “That’ll give Marlo a green light to start sending her boys into town again. You know that’s the first thing she’ll do as soon as she sees the Riders pulling back.”

It sounds like a lose-lose scenario and it’s coming at the worst possible time. First, Calvin gets out on parole, putting Robyn on edge and now this. It’s as if the universe is conspiring to make our lives a living hell. We had four years of fucking peace. Would it have been so hard to just leave it at that?

“We need to get ahead of this,” I tell the guys.

“What, talk to Marlo?” Jagger says, picking up on my immediate thought. “We could try that. She may be shrewd and a Hughes down to the bone, but we handled her family before. We’ll do it again.”

“I guess we’ve got more to lose now,” Diesel chimes in.

Samson gives him an amused smirk. “You boys are so whipped; it’s fucking hilarious.”

Whipped. There’s that word again.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Diesel asks. He should’ve kept his mouth shut, but his Marine pride blinds him at times.

“Trying to bullshit a veteran bullshitter, son,” Samson says and laughs. “The others haven’t picked up on it yet, but I figured it out as soon as I saw Robyn walk into the clubhouse the other night. You boys have finally done the right thing, and now you have to protect what you’ve got.”

I give Samson a hard look. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, old man.”

“It’s almost insulting,” he scoffs. “You think I didn’t know about your monthly visits to Robyn’s house? You think I didn’t see the care packages you put together for her and Kyra? Or the money you slipped into those gift bags? Come on, Knox. It’s written all over your faces. I know you better than you know yourselves.”

“Samson, don’t breathe a word—” Jagger starts to say, but Samson cuts him off.

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I wouldn’t. I’m a Rider ’til death. And rest assured, even if this does get out, every man and boy wearing our patch will take your secret to the grave. But just to keep things on the level, allow this old bag of bones to give you a piece of advice. Make it official.”

I lean forward, elbows resting on the edge of my desk. “Official?”

“Well, not all three of you, obviously. One of you needs to step forward and claim Robyn. Publicly. You’re her man. Her protector. Word’s gonna get out to Calvin. That should be enough to keep that fucker away. You won’t have to worry about him with everything else that’s about to come down on Redwood like a shitstorm.”

The guys and I exchange glances. We did consider the possibility. All the sneaking around can be exhausting, and I’m pretty sure Robyn is running out of excuses with Ellie when it comes to last-minute babysitting requests for Kyra. It would be easier on everyone, truth be told. One of us would be the front guy. The official guy. And then everything else would fall into place.

“I’ll reach out to Marlo Hughes and organize a sit-down as soon as possible,” Jagger says.

“You’re the VP,” Samson replies. “Let Knox reach out directly. If the president of the Rogue Riders tells you he wants to talk, especially after this particular news segment, you’re gonna wanna listen to what he has to say.”

7

Robyn

It’s been three weeks of strange silence since Calvin got out of prison, with the occasional account of a sighting. People have seen him around Redwood, but never for long enough to even talk to him. He’s in and out of places. Never talks to anybody. Like a ghost. Sometimes, I think he’s just a mirage. A bad dream that’s only meant to haunt me.

But then I remember the hurtful words, the insults, the threats. The fists busting through walls, the punches, the kicks, his fingers shoved into my hair and pulling until my scalp almost came off, the pain, the fear, the constant misery and belittlement. It was real.

I jump out of my thoughts as Kyra comes downstairs in her white jeans dress. It’s so frickin’ cute, I’m about to melt. “My, my, you look so pretty.”

“I like it too,” she giggles. “I like the daisies a lot.”

“I’ve got your coat here,” I say, pointing at her yellow raincoat resting on a hanger in the closet next to my jacket and purse. “Do you want to take your bike to the park, or do we just walk around and hang out with the duckies?”

“The duckies,” Kyra declares. “Def… Defi… Ugh, de-fi-nite-ly the duckies!”

“Oh, that is a big-girl word you just said! You’re making Momma proud.”

“I like making you proud,” she says and runs into my arms.

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