Page 18 of Claimed By The Club
I grin, tapping the table. “I’m for it. Better to build something legit than wait around for trouble to find us anyway.”
Frost hands the notes to Ghost, who skims them. Then Frost’s icy-blue gaze settles on Sierra. “We’ll discuss details at the next meeting, but I’m inclined to move forward. This is exactly why we brought you in—to help expand.”
She exhales softly, a flicker of relief brightening her features. “Thank you. I’ll outline a more detailed timeline by the weekend.”
I watch her closely, noting the way her shoulders relax when Frost gives approval. She’s been under so much pressure, yet shejust keeps moving forward. That resilience is one of the reasons I can’t help admiring her. Anyone else might have cracked by now.
As we wrap up, Sierra hesitates. Then she looks at me, at Ghost, then at Frost. “I know this might sound random,” she begins, “but can I ask something personal?”
Frost arches an eyebrow. Ghost remains impassive. I tilt my head, waiting. She fiddles with the edge of the clipboard. “I realized I don’t know your real names. I mean, I’ve heard people mention them, but I’m still not entirely sure. And I’m curious how you got your road names.”
There’s a moment of silence. Most people in this world don’t ask personal questions unless they’ve earned real trust. But Sierra is an outsider-turned-insider, walking that line. I decide to speak first. “I’m Carter Bennett,” I say, “though pretty much everyone calls me Viper. I got the name during a scrap with a rival club a few years back. They said I struck fast, like a venomous snake, and it stuck.”
Sierra smiles, eyes shining with curiosity. “Carter,” she repeats, rolling the syllables. “I like Viper. Suits you—quick reflexes, surprising bites.”
I chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.”
Ghost steps away from the wall, crossing the room in a few strides. He stops behind the chair Frost is sitting in, resting a hand on the back. “Luke Harrington,” he says, voice low. “Everyone calls me Ghost because I’m quiet, stay under the radar. Some say I can appear out of nowhere.”
She nods, a thoughtful look on her face. “Luke,” she echoes, considering him with mild fascination. Then she glances at Frost expectantly.
Frost looks almost reluctant, but finally speaks. “Elias Mercer. The club started calling me Frost years back, after I kept my cool during a… complicated deal that went sideways. They said my blood never heated. The name stuck.”
A soft chuckle escapes Sierra’s lips. “Elias, Luke, Carter,” she murmurs. Then she straightens. “Thanks for telling me.”
Frost shrugs, dismissing any awkwardness. “We’ll still answer to our road names, but it’s good you know the difference now.”
Ghost—Luke—says nothing else, simply nods. I see the way Sierra’s gaze flicks among us, as if she’s memorizing each name and storing it away.
Frost pushes his chair back, signaling the end of our informal session. “All right, we’ve got other tasks. Sierra, share your final draft with Knox so he can budget. Viper, go handle that parts order for the garage. Ghost, you’re on security detail for the day.”
We murmur our agreements, and Sierra heads off to find Knox, who’s probably buried in receipts. Ghost disappears down the hall, leaving me alone with Frost for a moment. He stands, gathering his papers, that unflappable expression still in place. I study him, searching for any flicker of concern.
“You think we’re making the right call?” I ask. “Working with her so closely, trusting her plans?”
Frost’s jaw tightens momentarily. “She’s proven herself so far. We need to expand our revenue, and she’s the best shot we’ve got. So yes.”
“She’s good for the club,” I say. “And… maybe good for us too. Whether we like it or not.”
He sighs, glancing toward the door Sierra exited. “We’ll see how this plays out. Keep an eye on her, and let’s ensure no one takes advantage. The next time the Reapers show up, we’ll be ready.”
He stalks off, leaving me in the lounge with thoughts spinning. I tuck a stray piece of paper into my jacket, then head out to handle the parts order. The day passes in a rush of errands, phone calls, and short rides out to localsuppliers. Despite the routine, I keep thinking about Sierra’s determination and how it might reshape our future.
I park my Harley beside a couple of others near the far fence. The sky’s an explosion of orange and pink, with the last rays of sun sinking behind the desert hills. Dust swirls across the lot as I cut the engine. A flicker of movement catches my eye: Sierra pacing near the safe house, phone pressed to her ear, frustration etched across her features.
My stomach tightens. Did something happen? I hop off the bike, approaching in careful steps. She ends the call, letting her phone drop to her side with a grimace.
“Everything all right?” I ask softly, halting a few feet away.
She lifts her gaze, and I see tension in the set of her jaw. “I just got off the phone with a contact. They’re backing out of a deal I was relying on for more funds.”
Disappointment radiates from her posture. I want to reassure her, but I know she’s proud and probably doesn’t want pity. “That sucks,” I say quietly. “Any backup plan?”
She nods, though the motion is subdued. “I’ve got another contact in Chicago who might help, but it’s a stretch.”
I comy my fingers through my hair. “We’ll figure something out. You’re not alone in this anymore.”
She forces a small smile. “Thanks.” Then she releases a shaky breath, as if bracing for the next blow. “I just wish I could get a lead on Jen—my ex-partner. If I could prove she funneled the stolen money or track the original funds, I might have leverage.”
