Page 52 of Claimed By The Club
He shakes his head numbly, rising to his feet. “Lance nearly got me. I saw movement just in time.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “This has to end.”
My throat tightens. We’ve always known the Reapers wanted me, but seeing the lengths they’ll go to—turning our own prospects with bribes or threats—shakes me.
Frost forces a steady breath, meeting my eyes. “I told you to stay behind.”
I muster a wobbly smile. “You can thank Viper for driving me here. But we stayed out of direct line.” My gaze flicks over him, relief mixing with lingering fear. “I’m glad we did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known if you were?—”
He cuts me off by pulling me into a fierce embrace, ignoring the stares of a few nearby members. I cling to him, fresh tears burning at the corners of my eyes. The desperation in his hold speaks of the near-loss we both felt.
Viper steps closer, protective yet respecting the moment. Ghost, too, approaches with purposeful steps, scanning the battered scene. The Reapers lie subdued, moaning or glaring with defiance.
Frost releases me reluctantly, turning to the rest of the members. “Collect any intel these Reapers have—phones,patches, anything. Load them up. We’ll question them back at the clubhouse.”
Axel acknowledges, leading a handful of men to gather the wounded or disarmed Reapers. Ghost checks each captive for hidden weapons, methodical and coldly efficient. Viper stands near me, exhaling tension.
I glance around at the dust-laden carnage. Another chunk of the Reapers’ power has been shattered. But at what cost? Two of our own prospects turned traitor. Countless bullets fired. More blood spilled on both sides. Lance’s final bullet aimed at Frost. The reality of MC life never felt sharper.
Slowly, the adrenaline ebbs, leaving my limbs heavy. Frost notices my stagger and hooks an arm around my middle, guiding me away from Lance’s body. “You shouldn’t see this,” he murmurs.
I nod numbly, eyes burning from dust and unshed tears. The men busily load the subdued Reapers into a couple of trucks. Bruiser’s nowhere to be seen—maybe he fled or got shot earlier. I can’t keep track, my mind too full of relief that Frost is alive and sorrow that we can’t seem to stop these betrayals.
Viper helps me onto the tailgate of a battered pickup, offering a canteen. I drink, the water soothing my raw throat. Frost stands a few paces away, conferring with Ghost. I watch them, heart squeezed by conflicting emotions—gratitude they’re safe, fury at the Reapers, heartbreak for the betrayal that keeps haunting us.
Eventually, Frost motions for the group to gather. “Load up. We’re heading back before the law shows. We can’t be here if local deputies roll in.”
The men rush to secure bikes, guns, prisoners. Ghost climbs onto his bike, eyes flicking to me with that quiet care I’ve come to rely on. Viper readies the truck, while Frost stands by me, expression torn between relief and exasperation.
He murmurs low, “You disobeyed me.”
I meet his gaze, voice wavering. “I had to know you and Ghost were safe.”
His eyes soften, and he nods, unable to fully scold me. Then he helps me into the passenger seat of the same truck. Viper takes the driver’s side. We roll out, following the convoy of bikes, dust swirling behind our retreat.
Silence fills the cab. I stare out the window, replaying the moment Lance aimed at Frost. The bullet that ended his betrayal. My ex-partner, Jen, still looms beyond the horizon, pulling strings we can’t fully see. Another wave of worry steals my breath. Even though we claimed a victory, it feels tainted by the cost.
We arrive at the compound as the sun rises higher, painting the yard in stark light. The men unload Reaper prisoners, hustling them indoors for questioning. Frost heads off to bark orders, posture rigid with responsibility. Ghost disappears into the clubhouse with Axel.
That leaves me and Viper standing by the truck, dust caking our clothes and skin. I’m sore all over, nerves frazzled from the near-miss with Lance. Viper rests a tentative hand on my shoulder. “You all right?”
I manage a nod. “Relieved. Horrified. Everything at once.”
His mouth curves into a sad smile. “Same.”
A beat of shared understanding passes. We came dangerously close to losing Frost, and the club once again discovered a hidden enemy in its midst. But we survived. The Reapers took a hit.
Yet Jen remains out there, presumably funneling resources and collecting debts. And each new betrayal chips away at what innocence I have left. I swallow a lump of sorrow. The ambush succeeded, but it feels like a pyrrhic victory.
Viper squeezes my shoulder gently. “We’ll debrief, figure out the next move. For now, maybe try to rest. You look wrecked.”
I release a shuddering breath. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He nods, guiding me toward the safe house. Around us, the compound buzzes with tense energy: members hauling in captives, prospects disposing of spent shells, everyone bracing for whatever might come next. My feet drag, exhaustion hitting me in waves, but my mind refuses to settle.
As we near the doorway, I glance over my shoulder, spotting Frost watching from across the yard. Our eyes meet. For a heartbeat, the chaos and dust fade, leaving only the raw intensity of that near-loss. I can’t read everything in his gaze—relief, anger, gratitude, maybe heartbreak. Then someone calls his name, and he turns away.
Inside, the safe house feels marginally cooler, though it can’t erase the images seared into my mind. Viper lingers at the threshold, hesitation clear. “I gotta help lock down the perimeter,” he mutters, sounding torn.
I offer a reassuring nod, ignoring the quiver in my limbs. “Go. I’ll be okay.”
