Page 61 of Claimed By The Club
He steps inside, scanning the spreadsheet-laden desk, then meets Sierra’s gaze. “Frost says we need your final numbers for the bar renovations. He’s going to pitch them at the next meeting.”
Sierra nods, brushing away tears. “Sure. Let me finalize a few details.” She draws in a steadying breath. “We’ll meet soon?”
Ghost inclines his head, stepping closer. His voice softens as he addresses her. “Thank you, for doing all this. The chaos might be over, but we need your help to solidify our future. And… I’m glad you’re staying.”
She blushes, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “Me too.”
He offers a rare, genuine smile, then turns to me with a pointed look, as if acknowledging he witnessed our heartfelt exchange. Instead of jealousy or awkwardness, I see acceptance in his eyes. My chest warms. He leaves us, presumably heading back to finalize whatever Frost needs.
Sierra takes a shaky breath, turning to me again. “I guess I better finish these spreadsheets so the club can vote on them.”
I nod, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Yeah, but no rush. We’re not chasing bullets anymore. We can actually breathe.”
Her lips tilt into a soft grin. “I can’t believe it. No urgent calls, no ambushes, no traitors lurking.”
I tuck a finger under her chin, tilting her face up so our eyes meet. “Just us building something real. Stick around, build it with me?”
She laughs, watery but bright. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I capture her lips in a brief kiss, heart hammering with happiness. Then we pull apart, returning to practical tasks. She resumes scanning columns of data, I hover, offering input on what changes the club might support. We discuss expansions to our legitimate operations, marketing strategies to draw a broader audience. Everything is fresh territory for an MC that spent decades straddling the line between legal and not.
Time slips by in a gentle rhythm, me leaning over her shoulder, her scribbling notes, both of us sneaking playful smiles or stolen kisses whenever an opportune moment arises. The hush in the small office feels peaceful now, no looming threat to jolt us out of the moment.
Eventually, the door cracks open again, and Frost appears with Ghost behind him. They glance at the papers, then at us. Frost quirks a brow. “Productive session?”
Sierra stands, arms filled with printouts. “I think so. I’m ready to present the bar renovation plan. Also have ideas for a new brand approach, maybe a small clothing line tie-in with the MC’s aesthetic.” Her eyes flash with excitement, a glimpse of the influencer-entrepreneur who once dazzled city crowds.
Ghost snorts in mild amusement. “Clothing line, huh?”
She crosses her arms, grin mischievous. “We gotta keep it edgy, though. Something that says Renegade Cross, but also appeals to the mainstream. A portion of the proceeds can fund local charities, help shift our image from criminals to protectors.”
Frost exhales, yet a reluctant smile curves his mouth. “We’ll see how the guys react. But I won’t lie—it might be a game-changer for how the public sees us.”
Sierra and I exchange triumphant glances. We’re stepping into new territory, but we have the drive to make it work. Ghost gestures for us to follow him. “Let’s take it to the meeting, then. No time like the present.”
We head to the main lounge, me walking beside Sierra, feeling the warmth of her presence at my side. Frost and Ghost lead the way, shoulders set with confidence. This time, the hush that greets us isn’t tense; it’s anticipatory. The men sense a shift, some new wave about to roll in.
Sierra steps to the front, spreading out her documents on the pool table. The members gather in a loose circle, curiosity piqued. Even older guys who might normally scoff at “legit expansions” watch with grudging respect, having seen her handle traitors and Reapers like a champ.
Her voice is steady as she outlines the bar revamp plan, focusing on expansions that triple revenue without losing the MC’s gritty charm. She floats the idea of a clothing brand tie-in, emphasizing how it can raise the club’s profile, fund charitable work, and bolster local alliances. Men murmur among themselves, exchanging nods or frowns.
When she finishes, the hush lasts a moment longer than normal. Then Iron speaks. “I remember when we only made money hustling contraband. Times changed, I guess. You’re sure these expansions won’t get us in trouble with the law?”
Sierra shakes her head. “No. We’re staying within legal boundaries. Actually, the point is to keep the heat off. Diversifying means we’re less reliant on anything shady.” She glances around. “We could become a real fixture in the community, not just the big bad MC in the desert.”
That statement draws a few laughs. I watch as the older guys trade considering looks, while younger members seem intrigued by the concept. Nobody’s raising objections. In fact, a handful of them break into grins, nodding at each other.
Axel claps a heavy hand on the table. “Let’s vote.”
In a surprisingly smooth process, the vote swings in favor of her proposals. Sierra’s eyes shine with a mixture of relief and excitement. I catch her grin, returning it with a private wink. She’s shaping our future as a partner, not just an outside consultant. My chest swells with pride.
Frost wraps up the meeting, reminding everyone about the new ceasefire with the Reapers, the upcoming bar remodel timeline, and the clothing brand. Some men step forward to talk details with Sierra, voices humming with a cautious optimism. I can’t recall the last time the club felt so united without the undertone of threats.
After the meeting dissolves, Sierra meets me by the bar. “I can’t believe they said yes. Do you think they’ll really push for a legitimate future?”
I slide an arm around her waist, drawing her against me. “They trust you. They trust us. Why not try something new when we’re this close to losing everything? Might as well build something strong.”
She glances at the battered pool table, still littered with empty coffee cups and random gear. “We’re forging a different path for the MC, and that’s huge.”
