Page 52 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

“Knox. Marlo knows who I am.”

Almost a minute passes in silence, giving me the opportunity to take mental notes of the guards’ positions. They’re all easy to spot—big, burly guys in black suits with necks as wide as redwood logs. They’re all packing as well, eyes constantly darting everywhere. They see us, and I can almost feel the tension tightening their shoulders as the gates open wide for us.

“Alright, here we go,” Knox mutters.

We make our way up the driveway flanked by trimmed hedges and aging oak trees, their crowns thick and spattered in gold and amber. The last of the roses are showing off their crimson petals. Soon, this garden will look naked, cold, awaiting winter’s icy kiss.

The two guards manning the porch come down the steps with hard looks on their faces. I give them a wry smile. “Relax, fellas. You saw the gates open,” I say.

“Still need to pat you down,” one of them replies.

“No need,” Diesel says and lifts his jacket. “We’re obviously packing.”

Calvin walks out the front door. His face is swollen and bruised. I almost feel proud. “No guns in the house,” he declares. “My boys will hold on to your pieces while you talk to Marlo.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound fair,” Knox bluntly replies. “You get to carry while we’re defenseless in there? No. Besides, we’re not here to cause trouble; we’re only here to talk.”

“Them’s the rules,” Calvin says.

“Still quite the smooth talker,” I cut in. “Step the fuck aside, Calvin. The grown-ups need to have a chat.”

He places a hand on the gun holster mounted on his belt buckle. “Honestly, I’m dying to try this new gun. By all means, keep challenging my authority, you piece of shit.”

“That’s brave, considering the makeover I gave you,” I say. “Lose the gun and try saying that again.”

I catch a glimpse of the guards rolling their eyes. Diesel too, and it prompts a hearty laugh from him. “Are you really gonna let this clown call the shots here, fellas?” he asks them. “Calvin fucking Russo is your boss now?”

“He ain’t no boss of mine,” the second goon mutters. “But you still gotta surrender your weapons. You’ll get them back when you leave.”

Knox winces dramatically. “I don’t know, man. I don’t feel comfortable, not here, not with Calvin on the premises. What’s to stop him from seeking revenge after the beating Jagger gave him?”

“You either give us your guns, or you turn around and leave!” Calvin snarls. “Plain and fucking simple.”

A third guard comes out of the mansion. “Cal, stand down.”

“What?”

“Marlo said to stand down. They can come in, weapons and all.”

“Fuck that,” Calvin snaps. “They’re not going anywhere near her until they give me their weapons.”

The third goon exhales sharply. “Try telling Marlo that.”

I can’t help but smile as I watch Calvin struggle. He was so eager to flash his authority in our faces that he forgot he still has a boss. I can tell that Marlo’s people don’t respect him, but I’m also wondering what possessed her to hire him in the first place. He’s a charlatan, a narcissist with a God complex who tries a little too hard to be the smartest person in the room—even though he’s the furthest thing from it.

“You heard the boss,” I say.

“Out of the way, dipshit,” Diesel adds and walks up the stairs first.

Calvin only has a split second to move out of the way. Had he hesitated, Diesel would’ve knocked him down. Knox and I follow Diesel closely while goon number three guides us through the front door and into the mansion.

“You should watch how you talk to me,” Calvin says somewhere behind us. “You’re on my turf now.”

“We know who you are, Calvin, and I am not quaking in my boots yet.”

“Give it time.”

“Oh, enough with the dick swinging,” Marlo says with a laugh as we’re escorted into the living room. She gets up from a giant brown leather sofa, greeting us with a broad smile. “Welcome, gentlemen. I can’t remember the last time I received you in this house.”

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