Page 9 of Claimed By The Club
He laughs, a cheerful sound that echoes in the cramped space. “Deal.”
We walk out, and I cast a quick glance at Ghost. He meets my eyes, nods once, then looks away as if he’s giving me privacy. Frost thanks the bartender for his patience and mentions they’ll fix the cooler soon. Then we step into the blazing sunlight again.
Viper hands me a spare helmet from a hook near his seat, then climbs onto his Harley. When he’s settled, I slide on behind him, uncertain where to place my hands until he quietly says, “Hold on around my waist.”
I do, feeling the heat radiating from his body. The engine roars, and a jolt of excitement combines with my lingering nerves. My heart thuds as he maneuvers us out of the parking lot. There’s a thrill in the sudden acceleration, the wind tugging at my blouse, the horizon rushing toward us. We weave through the outskirts of Clearwater Springs, passing dilapidated storefronts and a couple of scattered trailers. Every so often, I glimpse a roadrunner darting away from the noise.
We stop at a small bar with a sign reading The Rusted Horse in faded letters. A dusty old truck sits out front, and a single large fan whirls behind screened windows. Viper helps me off the bike, steadying me with a hand on my elbow. I realize my pulse is still racing from the ride.
“Not too terrifying?” he teases, releasing me once I stand upright.
I push my hair out of my face. “I survived.”
He winks, then heads inside. The interior of this bar is even darker than Bluelight. The walls are covered with old license plates, band posters, and a few neon signs. There’s a jukebox in the corner, currently silent. A tall woman behind the bar glances up. She’s got bleached-blonde hair piled high and wears heavy eyeliner.
“Viper,” she says in a smoky voice, “what brings you here so early?”
“We got a broken cooler at Bluelight, Dolly,” he replies, leaning on the counter. “Thought maybe that old fridge you got rid of might still have parts lying around.”
Dolly’s gaze drifts to me. “Who’s your friend?”
“I’m Sierra,” I offer, trying to sound relaxed. “Visiting, sort of.”
She looks amused, her glossy lips twisting in a small smirk. “Sure, hon. Let me see if I can find that piece. I stored some junk out back.”
While Dolly disappears into a back room, Viper leads me to a table. The air feels stale but not in a hostile way—just old. Posters advertise upcoming live music nights, although the dates have passed.
Viper settles into a chair, stretching his long legs out. “You seem calmer than I expected,” he says, flicking his gaze to my hands resting on the tabletop. “Most folks freak when they jump into this life.”
I press my lips together. “Trust me, I’m nervous. But if I want help, I have to face all this. I can’t hide forever.”
He taps a finger against the wood. “Not everyone’s got that kind of backbone. Some women I’ve known run for the hills after one look at the clubhouse.”
I recall my first impression: a grim building in the desert. Still, there’s a sense of community behind those walls, even if it’s hidden under layers of caution. “I built my fashion business from nothing. I’m used to pushing through difficult situations.”
His grin softens, hinting at genuine admiration. “Good. We could use some fresh perspective around here. Frost is a good leader, but we’ve been stuck in a rut, trying to go legit enough to avoid constant raids while not losing our core identity. Maybe you’ll shake things up.”
The idea of playing a role in transforming this club spurs a small spark of excitement. Before I can respond, Dolly returns with a small metal clamp in hand. “Will this do?”
Viper hops up, examines the part, then breaks into a broad smile. “This is exactly what I need. You’re a lifesaver, Dolly.”
She shrugs, placing a hand on her hip. “You owe me one. Now, how about a drink before you go?”
I glance at the clock on the wall—barely past noon. Viper catches my hesitation and laughs. “We’d better pass. Got to fix that cooler ASAP.”
We thank Dolly and step outside, blinking in the sudden brightness. Viper secures the clamp in a compartment on his bike, then gestures for me to hop on again. I feel a flicker of apprehension and excitement. This time, sliding my arms around his waist feels slightly less awkward. The engine’s rumble resonates up my legs, through my core. It’s an odd mix of fear and raw exhilaration that sends my thoughts spinning.
The ride back to the Bluelight Bar passes faster, the desert whipping by in sun-baked waves. I tighten my hold around Viper, noticing the warmth of his torso under the leather cut. It’s strangely comforting, even though I hardly know him.
When we arrive, Frost and Ghost are outside discussing something with the bartender from earlier. They glance up as we park. Ghost’s pale gray eyes flick from me to Viper, then settle on the clamp in his hand.
“Perfect timing,” Ghost says, voice subdued but surprisingly welcoming. “We were just about to head out, but if you two want to tackle that cooler, go for it.” He turns to me. “You sticking around?”
I nod, sliding off the bike. “Might as well learn how it all works.”
Frost approaches with that same composed demeanor. “We’ll catch you both later at the clubhouse. Viper, keep her safe.”
With that, he and Ghost mount their motorcycles. The roar of their departures fades into the surrounding emptiness. I glance at Viper, who’s already heading inside with the clamp. There’s something about these men—Frost’s calm intensity, Ghost’s silent watchfulness, and Viper’s easy charm—that makes me feel unbalanced yet oddly safe. They’re suspicious of me, sure, but they’re also acknowledging my capabilities.
