Page 79 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

“Oh, no,” I whisper.

A swarm of men and women with cold eyes and hard faces walk toward the clubhouse, each wearing bulletproof vests underneath their DEA windbreakers. My stomach falls as I realize what’s about to happen. Their leader, a tall, bald man with a permanent frown raises a document in front of the door.

“DEA! We have a warrant. I need everybody to stay where they are!” he shouts, then comes in.

Behind him, a flood of DEA agents enter amidst confusion and chaos.

Knox practically flies downstairs. “I need everybody to stay calm and do as they’re told,” he says to his Riders. “Don’t panic. Don’t obstruct the agents. Just let them do their jobs. Our lawyers are on the way.”

“I was upstairs with the guys,” Samson whispers in my ear. “I saw the vans pull up outside. They came out like carrion descending on a carcass.”

“What’s going on?” I ask him.

“The DEA need to do their dance, I guess.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Knox says, coming closer, his hand touching the small of my back. “You’re going to be okay; I promise.”

“Knox—”

I want to say something, but the lead agent reaches us, warrant still up in the air for everyone to see.

“You’re done,” he tells Knox.

“Agent Spalding, cool your jets here. Can’t you see we have a child present?” Knox sternly replies. It’s actually enough to make Spalding take a cautious step back as he stares at my daughter.

Kyra is thoroughly confused and wide-eyed, with smudges of blueberry sauce around her mouth. “Mommy?”

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” I tell her.

“Who are they?”

“They’re police, honey,” I say.

Samson takes Kyra out of her chair. “Let me take the little monkey upstairs, eh? We’ll finish our breakfast there.”

“Good idea, Samson, thank you,” I reply, unable to move from my barstool.

Ellie is frozen behind the bar—but she doesn’t look scared; she looks more like confused and suspicious as she keeps measuring Agent Spalding from head to toe while the rest of the staff are just as paralyzed.

The club members remain calm, though it’s clear they don’t like the Feds.

“Typical,” one of them grumbles, “coming in here like they own the place.”

“We have a warrant,” an agent shoots back. “Deal with it.”

“Spread out. Check every room,” Agent Spalding instructs them, “every goddamn floor. Leave nothing unchecked, no stone unturned!”

“Do not scare my daughter,” I snap at him, catching a glimpse of Samson and Kyra halfway up the stairs. He’s carrying my daughter with one hand and the breakfast plate with his other, cautiously taking each step. “Be civil,” I add and give Spalding a hard look. “I’m sure your warrant doesn’t include destroying private property.”

“Actually, let me see that,” Knox cuts in and snatches the warrant from Spalding’s hand.

At the same time, Diesel and Jagger come downstairs.

“It’s legit,” Spalding tells Knox. “It’s signed by a judge and everything.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t apply to any of the personal residences such as Robyn’s apartment upstairs,” Knox says and quickly sends a text from his phone. “Just letting Samson know since he’s going up there with Kyra.”

“The warrant applies to the entire property,” Spalding insists.

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