Page 58 of Claimed By The Club
Frost lifts my chin, eyes locked on mine. “We want you, Sierra. Don’t doubt that.”
Tears well up again, a disbelieving laugh escaping. “You three… I never thought I’d find a place in a biker club, let alone with all of you.”
They exchange glances, a silent understanding passing among them. Then Frost’s phone buzzes, snapping the moment. He glances at it, expression somber. “Marian’s awake. She wants to see you.”
Instantly, I straighten, wiping my eyes. “Let’s go.”
We arrive at the hospital an hour later, trudging through sterile corridors that reek of antiseptic. My stomach flips, fear returning as I recall Marian collapsing with a bullet wound. But the nurse assures us she’s stable, then escorts me alone into her room.
My breath hitches seeing her hooked up to monitors, side bandaged. Her usual fierce posture is softened by sedation. Still, her eyes light up when she sees me. “Hey,” she murmurs, voice raspy.
“Hi,” I say, settling in a chair beside her bed. “You gave me a scare.”
She manages a tired chuckle, wincing at the movement. “You’re the one who got ambushed. I just followed my gut. Glad you’re okay.”
A surge of gratitude almost overwhelms me. “You saved my life, Marian. I— I can’t thank you enough.” My throat tightens.
She waves it off. “We’re sisters in this. Not many female patched members, so I watch out for you. Simple as that.” Her eyes flicker with humor, then fade with seriousness. “You staying, right? Not running?”
I nod, tears threatening again. “The club wants me, unbelievably. I’m not leaving.”
A satisfied grin lifts her lips. “Good. This place needs a woman who can stand her ground, keep them from going off the rails. I got shot, but I’d do it again if it meant taking down that traitor and your ex-partner.”
I swallow. “Jen’s not my partner anymore. She lost that right ages ago.” My mind skims over the confrontation, the bullet that lodged in Jen’s leg. She’s in custody now, likely facing charges. “Anyway, I promise I won’t bail. I belong here.”
Marian nods, wincing again. “Damn bullet. Doctors say I’ll be out in a couple weeks, no permanent damage.”
Relief flows through me. “That’s so good.”
We talk quietly a bit longer, exchanging updates on the club’s reaction, the men’s plans for reinforcing security, and how she can’t wait to get back on her bike. Finally, a nurse appears, asking me to let Marian rest. I give Marian’s hand a gentle squeeze, then step out, heart lighter.
Back in the waiting area, Frost, Ghost, and Viper lean against a wall, each wearing variations of relief and impatience. Once they spot me, they straighten. I fill them in on Marian’s progress, and an unspoken tension in their expressions loosens.
“That’s excellent,” Ghost says softly, nodding to himself. Viper ruffles his own hair, as if releasing residual worry. Frost glances at his phone, posture still protective.
“How you holding up?” Frost asks me, voice warm.
“Marian’s okay, the club wants me, Jen’s out of the picture,” I answer, letting out a shaky laugh. “I should be ecstatic. But I’m just… tired. In a good way, I guess.”
Viper’s lips curve into a grin. “We can remedy that. Taking you home to rest. The real kind. No number-crunching, no meltdown about traitors, just actual sleep.”
My shoulders slump with relief. “Yes, please. No more drama for at least a day.”
They guide me outside, where the desert wind carries the scent of dust and faint exhaust. The ride back to the compound is unremarkable, so different from the chaos we’ve endured. I nestle in the truck’s passenger seat with Viper at the wheel, Frost and Ghost following on their bikes. The hum of tires on the highway lulls me, tension ebbing as the distance shrinks to home—my new home, battered but real.
When we arrive, the yard is calm. Prospects patrol the fence, members tinkering with bikes, a subdued atmosphere of rebuilding. The men help me inside, ignoring the curious stares. Once in my small room, I stand awkwardly, not sure what to do now that the worst has passed.
Frost sets a hand on my arm. “Lie down. You need genuine rest.”
I glance at the rumpled bed, cheeks heating at the memory of the nights I’ve spent with one or more of these men. The dynamic is unusual, but it’s ours. “Stay with me?” I ask softly, voice trembling with vulnerability.
Ghost nods first, stepping forward, silent acceptance in his eyes. Viper crosses his arms, then breaks into a rueful grin. Frost tilts his head, a flicker of longing crossing his stoic features. We all sense how fragile everything remains, how vital it is to reaffirm our bond.
“Just to hold me,” I add, clarifying with a shy laugh. “I want to feel safe for once.”
Viper snorts. “We can do that.” He gestures for me to climb onto the mattress. Ghost quietly removes his boots, settling on one side. Frost tugs off his jacket, joining me. Viper sits at the foot, arms draped over his knees. The bed creaks under the collective weight, but I don’t care. Surrounded by them, each man’s presence radiating comfort, I exhale tension I didn’t know I carried.
With the lights dimmed, we lie in a circle of warmth, no one rushing to complicate the moment. My eyelids droop, exhaustion creeping in. Quiet envelops us, only the soft sounds of breathing filling the air. I realize I’ve never felt as secure as I do right now, cradled by this fiercely devoted triad.
