Page 31 of Claimed By The Club
Axel strides by, carrying a toolbox. He doesn’t notice us, or else he’s good at pretending. Once he’s gone, Sierra and I exchange a heavy look. Her shoulders sag, tension returning to her posture.
She forces a half-smile. “Guess we should get back. Frost will need a debrief, and you should probably see to those knuckles. I’ll check on him.”
I nod, stepping away. The distance between us feels colder than it did a moment ago. “Yeah,” I whisper. “See you inside.”
She slips around the corner, hair swinging, leaving me standing in the narrow corridor, grappling with an ache in my chest. I clamp down on my emotions, remembering that I’m not free to act on them. My priority is to guard the club, handle the Reapers, and ensure Sierra stays out of their clutches. This dangerous entanglement is the last thing any of us needs. But part of me can’t forget the sensation of her lips, the softness in her gaze, and how it made me feel more alive than I have in a long time.
At last, I pull myself together and walk back into the yard. Viper is talking with Knox near a few parked bikes, while Frost checks a phone call, scowl etched on his face. The men we fought earlier must be regrouping somewhere, furious at their defeat. This fight is far from over. Despite the churn in my stomach, I school my features into an impassive mask. No one suspects how deeply Sierra’s presence affects me. That’s for the best.
Frost catches my eye, beckoning me over. “We need to secure the perimeter,” he says, voice gruff. “And I want a guard on Sierra. The Reapers might retaliate.”
I nod, heart twisting at the mention of her name. “I’ll handle it,” I say quietly, ignoring the flicker of curiosity in his gaze. If he notices my tension, he doesn’t show it.
We disperse, each man heading to his assigned post. My steps lead me toward the safe house, where I’ll coordinate watch shifts and ensure no one slips through. But as I go, I can’t stop thinking about how violently my life has shifted in just a few weeks. Sierra’s arrival set everything in motion—she’s become a catalyst for change, an unexpected link binding me to her in ways I never saw coming.
Deep down, a voice whispers that this lifestyle might be too dangerous for her. Another part argues that she’s braver than we give her credit for. Either way, it’s my responsibility to make sure she doesn’t become another casualty in an endless turf war. I clench my fists, ignoring the sting in my bruised knuckles. My will hardens. I’ll protect her, no matter the cost.
When I reach the safe house, I pause at the threshold, scanning the area. The late morning sun glares down, highlighting every dusty inch of the yard. Sierra’s inside, probably finalizing some business plan or anxiously waiting for news. My chest constricts at the thought of her pacing behind those thin walls, already so entrenched in our world that leaving might not be an option. I wish I could offer a safe exit, but it’s not mine to give.
Taking a steadying breath, I plan out the guard rotations, determined to keep watch until the Reapers retreat or the threat is neutralized. This half-victory at Old Creek Road won’t end the conflict, but it might buy us time. Time to gather resources, strengthen defenses, and figure out how to shield Sierra from harm.
Yet as I stand there, the memory of her lips returns, a silent reminder that I’m guarding more than just a club asset.I’m guarding a woman who’s become essential to me. It’s not a mission I ever asked for, but it’s one I refuse to fail.
11
SIERRA
Istep into the small converted office at the back of the clubhouse and can’t hide a flicker of surprise at how well everything’s coming together. When I first arrived, this cramped space was a disaster—stacks of old receipts, empty soda cans, a sagging shelf on the brink of collapse. Now it resembles a functional operations center, complete with a decent computer, color-coded folders, and a whiteboard listing our current financial goals.
Knox stands to the side, tapping numbers into a spreadsheet. His wiry frame and perpetually busy hands remind me that he might be more comfortable tinkering with finances than making small talk, but we’ve found a tentative groove these last few weeks. He doesn’t volunteer conversation, but he respects the results I’m producing. I count that as progress.
“Revenue’s up again,” he announces in a calm monotone. “Five percent over last week. That new drink special at Bluelight is pulling in bigger crowds on Saturday nights.”
A rush of pride warms me. “Good. We’ll keep the promotion going. And if we tie it to a local band night, we might bump those numbers even more.”
He glances at me from behind his glasses. “That’s logical,” he admits. “I’ll run the numbers.”
I take the chair next to him, leaning forward. “We should also plan a small event around the new merch. Maybe a limited-edition run that matches our logo, something collectors will want.”
He nods, scribbling the suggestion into a notebook. We slip into a short exchange about cost-to-profit ratios and projected inventory. I notice how his stance toward me has changed in subtle ways: there’s no more eye-rolling or doubt in his tone. A month ago, he regarded me as an interloper. Now he asks for my input.
Footsteps approach the doorway, breaking our focus. Axel stands in the entrance, arms folded over his broad chest. The club’s Road Captain rarely looks rattled, but there’s a mild curiosity in his gaze.
“You busy?” he asks, flicking a glance at Knox.
Knox steps aside, letting me respond first. “We’re almost done,” I say, pushing my chair back. “Everything okay?”
Axel shrugs. “Just got back from a ride with a few guys. Word around town is folks are appreciating the MC doing community outreach—like the fundraiser table at Bluelight. They’re warming up to us more than usual.”
My eyebrows lift. “That’s great. The more positive the reputation, the easier it’ll be to expand our legit operations.”
He nods, shifting on his feet. “I’d never have considered half of these ideas if you hadn’t brought them up. Some members still watch you sideways, but they see the money rolling in, so grudging acceptance might be the best you’ll get. For now.”
I give a wry smile. “I’ll take it.”
Knox snaps his notebook shut. “That’s all for now, Sierra. Keep an eye on the promotion’s progress. I’ll do the number crunching.” He ducks past Axel, disappearing down the hall.
Axel lingers a moment, then smiles faintly. “Don’t work too hard. I hear Viper’s looking for you.”
