Page 4 of Claimed By The Club
“You’re welcome,” I reply, turning to face her. A swirl of desert wind kicks sand across the parking lot. “Marian mentioned you might be in town for a while.”
Her posture stiffens. “I’m exploring my options.”
“People don’t usually pick Clearwater Springs for a weekend escape.” I keep my tone casual, but my gaze sharp. “They either have nowhere else to go, or they’re running from something. Which is it?”
Sierra crosses her arms, a spark of anger lighting her expression. “You sure are direct.”
I shrug. “Keeps things simple. I’ve seen how quickly trouble can brew when folks aren’t honest.”
She glances toward the motel’s office, like she’s measuring whether to just walk away. Instead, she squares her shoulders. “I’m taking a break from my old life. Some financial issues came up, and I need a safe place to figure them out.”
Her voice shakes on the wordsafe,and I glimpse fear before she clamps down on it. “I see,” I reply, stepping back so she doesn’t feel cornered. “You might have chosen the wrong place if you’re looking for peace and quiet. Rival clubs sometimes pass through, and the desert can hide a lot of secrets.”
She lifts her chin, revealing a stubborn streak. “I’ll manage.”
I tilt my head, letting a slight grin tug at my lips. She’s got nerve, that’s for damn sure. But nerve isn’t always enough. “All right,” I say, exhaling slowly. “I’m not here to scare you off. Just trying to protect my club.”
A flicker of curiosity replaces some of her tension. “Protect it from what?”
“From outsiders bringing drama,” I answer. “We look after Clearwater Springs. We might not be official law, but we have our own ways of keeping the peace.”
She studies my cut, tracing the embroidered skull with her gaze. “Renegade Cross MC. Does that mean you’re…”
I fill in the blank for her. “Yes, I’m their President. If a conflict flares up in town, it eventually winds up on my plate.”
Her expression flickers between shock and thoughtfulness. “I guess that means you have… resources, then.”
I know what she’s implying. She wants protection. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. “We do,” I answer carefully. “But our help comes with a price. We don’t sign up for random fights without good reason. If you’re hoping to hire us like some personal security firm, that’s not how we operate.”
She doesn’t flinch, just nods. “I get it. You have your own code. I respect that.”
Silence settles between us, filled with the hum of cicadas and the distant roar of an eighteen-wheeler on the highway. I watch as her gaze flickers over the parking lot, then back to me. Her shoulders drop a fraction, as if she’s made a decision.
“Thank you for fixing my car,” she says, voice steady. “If you’re open to it, I’d like to talk. Maybe there’s a way to help each other.”
My pulse kicks up a notch, but I keep my face neutral. “What do you have in mind?”
She hesitates, glancing around like she’s worried someone might overhear. “I had a business… a fashion brand. It’s on pause because of a financial crisis. But I’m good at organizing and making things profitable. Maybe that’s something your club can use.”
I arch an eyebrow, skeptical. “Fashion, huh? Not exactly the type of expertise we look for in this dusty hellhole.”
A quick spark flares in her eyes. “I’m not just a pretty face who sews clothes. I handle branding, finance strategies, supply chain management. Don’t let the heels fool you.”
She’s feisty, I’ll give her that. I cross my arms. “I never said you couldn’t do more. But I need to think about what you’re offering—and what kind of trouble might follow you.”
Her lips press together. She seems torn, maybe wanting to lay out the full story but too nervous to trust me. I can’t blame her. I’m practically a stranger, and I’m part of a group known for handling problems in ways that aren’t always polite.
I turn to glance at my bike. “How about we continue this conversation somewhere else? If you’re serious about a deal, I don’t want half the motel eavesdropping.”
She pulls her phone from her pocket, checks the screen, then sighs. “I have some errands. Supplies for my room, groceries, that kind of thing.”
“All right. There’s a diner up the road called Ruby’s. Meet me there around noon. We’ll talk.”
Her gaze wavers, but she nods. “Fine. Noon at Ruby’s.”
I give her a curt nod and walk back to my Harley. Climbing on, I fire up the engine, the vibrations humming against my legs. I sense her watching as I pull away, that aura of city polish mingled with desperation. She’s definitely hiding something, and if she thinks we’re going to step in without knowing the whole story, she’s mistaken.
I ride around town, checking a few stops where Renegade Cross members gather. Ghost is at the garage on Elm Street, tinkering with a battered truck that belongs to one of our old-timers. He greets me with a nod, his ash-blond hair buzzed close on the sides. A raven tattoo peeks out from his sleeve.
