Page 47 of Claimed By The Club
I cling to him for a moment longer, absorbing his warmth. Eventually, we separate, and I fix my clothes, flushing slightly at the memory of Frost’s watchful presence. Viper helps me stand, securing his belt. The tension from our shared moment lingers in the air, but the dread overshadowing us won’t wait.
As we leave the safe house, the yard greets us with relentless sun and the hum of anxious activity. Prospects scurry with messages, patched members huddle in corners, quiet arguments filling the dusty air. Every face I see could be a friend or the traitor. My heart lurches at the thought, but Viper’s hand on my back steadies me.
That’s how we head toward the main clubhouse, side by side, aware we’re plunging into deeper darkness. The traitor’s identity remains a haunting question, suspicion lands on someone we’d never suspect, and the Iron Reapers have all the ammunition they need if we don’t root out the leak. My breath stutters. I don’t know who to trust beyond these three men—Frost, Ghost, Viper—who’ve each claimed a corner of my heart.
We walk through the doors, and the hum of tension inside intensifies. Frost stands near the center, exchanging curt words with Ghost. They catch our arrival. Ghost’s gaze darts to Viper’s protective stance beside me, but he says nothing, only gives a tight nod. The four of us brace ourselves for the next step in this war, each carrying secrets and desires that both unite us and risk tearing us apart.
Under it all, a single question beats in my mind: who among the people I’ve come to trust is betraying me to the Reapers? If we can’t find them soon, all of us might pay the price. And though I draw strength from the unwavering support of these men, fear gnaws at my resolve. Because if the traitor is someone truly close—someone we’ve shared battle and laughter with—what hope do we have of emerging from this nightmare unscathed?
With that grim thought echoing inside me, I glance at Viper, then at Frost, each offering a nod of reassurance. Even in chaos, we stand together. For now, that has to be enough. We have one last chance to expose the turncoat before the Reapers come crashing down on everything we’ve built, and I’m determined to help them do it—no matter the cost.
16
FROST
Istand in the heart of the clubhouse, arms tight across my chest, scanning every face with a combination of frustration and wariness. The air crackles with tension, as though a single spark might ignite a full-blown explosion. We’re at a breaking point. Every conversation carries undertones of suspicion, and one sideways look could set off an argument nobody can afford. I used to think my biggest headache as Renegade Cross President would be negotiating deals or fending off local heat, but the constant fear of betrayal has proven far worse.
This is the last place I would like to be in, especially remembering Viper and Sierra’s ‘show’ last time. I can’t help but get hard whenever I think of her in that position. I spread my legs, willing my dick to calm down and focus on the task at hand. I look at everyone, committing every face to my memory.
Today’s church meeting ran twice as long as usual. Voices rose, accusations flew. Half our members want to storm into Iron Reaper territory guns blazing; the rest want to clamp down on security until we root out the traitor. I see reason on both sides, but I can’t broadcast that indecision. They need me toguide them when everything feels like it’s teetering. I try to maintain a confident stance, but inside, a knot of anxiety burns. We’re running out of time.
A few patched members huddle by the pool table, muttering about false leads we chased last week. Axel leans against the wall, fiddling with a half-smoked cigarette he can’t seem to light. Viper sits on a lopsided stool by the makeshift bar, half-focused on cleaning his favorite gun. Ghost lurks near the corridor, silent as always, presence almost invisible but never truly unseen. I can feel the tension radiating from him; he’s coiled, ready to strike at the slightest threat.
Amid all that, Sierra stands off to one side, quietly observing. She’s trying to stay small, as if the swirl of distrust among the club might focus on her if she draws attention. But we all know she’s right in the center of this war. The Reapers want her, the traitor might be feeding them everything, and I’m charged with protecting her while also running this place. My mind spins with too many tasks.
I clear my throat, stepping forward. “Everybody.” My voice carries in the hush. “We need to settle on a plan. The Reapers have grown bolder, smashing up our property and threatening to escalate. Knox confirms the money trails lead back to Sierra’s ex-partner, which means they have funds and leverage. We can’t let them keep the upper hand.”
A wave of murmured assent ripples through the men. One of the veterans, Iron, nods grimly. “We can’t stay idle, but we got no clue who inside’s feeding them intel.”
A sharp pang cuts across my chest. I place a palm on the worn tabletop in front of me, trying to look composed. “I’ve weighed every angle. It’s time we stop reacting and force them to show their hand.”
Axel blows a stream of cigarette smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Meaning what?”
I draw in a steadying breath. “A final confrontation. We give the Reapers a target—something big enough to draw them out—and we watch closely to see who tips them off. We set a lure, monitor communications, and see which of our people is the mole. Then we crush the Reapers before they can regroup.”
The room falls silent. A mixture of eagerness and apprehension charges the air. Ghost unfolds his arms, eyes narrowing. “We’re using ourselves as bait?”
“Not the entire club,” I clarify. “We stage a scenario—maybe a staged transport or a rumored deal, something that sounds plausible enough for them to bite.”
Sierra steps forward, gaze locked on me. “And if the traitor catches wind, they’ll pass it on to the Reapers?”
“Exactly,” I say, forcing a calm tone. “We watch the Reapers’ movements. The second they mobilize, we intercept. Meanwhile, we keep Sierra locked down. They won’t risk losing a prime bargaining chip, so if the rumor is big enough, they’ll scramble for it.”
She winces. “I hate feeling like a prize they want to seize.”
I step closer, quieter now. “I know. But this might be our only shot. We can’t keep waiting for them to strike.” I let my gaze flick around the room, locking on each member. “This stays within a tight circle. The fewer who know details, the better. Once we find out who’s leaking information, we deal with them. Fast.”
Viper nods, lips pressed thin. Ghost, arms crossed again, gives a single, firm nod. Axel grinds his cigarette against a nearby ashtray, tension visible. A handful of other men exchange looks, but nobody argues. We’re at the threshold, forced into a corner. Our best chance is to bring the Reapers to us, on our terms.
“All right,” I say, raising my voice. “Get your gear in order. We’ll plan specifics in the next hour, then move out. Stay sharp—any slip could blow this. Meeting dismissed.”
The men disperse, some heading outside to double-check ammo or bikes, others gathering in small knots to talk in hushed tones. I remain by the table, my mind racing through every detail. The club’s morale is shot to pieces, but if we can rally them behind this decisive plan, maybe we’ll emerge intact.
Sierra drifts closer, eyes searching my face. “You sure about this?” she asks softly.
I hesitate, aware of the weight behind her question. “We don’t have another option. We’re out of time.”
She lowers her gaze. “What about me? Where do I stay while you carry out this plan?”
