Page 16 of Claimed By The Club
Her words echo in my head as she gets up to leave. One of us. The idea is both comforting and intimidating. Is that what I want? To become fully tangled in this lifestyle, with threats lurking at every turn? But it’s not like I have many options.
I finish updating the bar’s website draft and email it to an old contact who owes me a favor. Maybe he can help amplify our social media presence. Once that’s done, I decide to stretch my legs. The moon casts faint light across the compound, illuminating the bikes parked in neat rows. A few men gather near the fence, sharing jokes and cigarettes. I wave in passing, then wander toward the side lot where my SUV sits.
I hear a familiar rumble of a motorcycle before I see it. Viper cruises through the gates, parking near me. He slides off, removing his half-helmet, and drags a hand through his hair. “Working late again?”
I shrug. “Finishing some tasks. You?”
“Just checking on something in town. Dolly needed a ride to pick up supplies.” He dusts off his jeans, then nods at me. “You look like you need an actual break from spreadsheets. Want to sit on the porch or something? Maybe talk about anything besides finances?”
His genuine smile pulls me in. I feel a tug of longing for normalcy, for an evening not devoted to survival strategies. “That would be nice.”
We settle on the clubhouse porch, a battered wooden step that overlooks the quiet yard. Night air holds a mild coolness,and the stars spread overhead in an impressive display. Viper stretches out his legs, tapping the toe of one boot on the ground.
“So, Ms. City Girl,” he says, teasing. “You ever imagine yourself in a place like this?”
I chuckle softly. “Not in a million years. I was all about high rises, boardrooms, and fancy brand deals. Then my partner disappeared, and I got blindsided. Now here I am, hiding out with an MC.”
He nods. “Funny how life twists. What did you like most about running your own fashion business?”
I think for a moment, gazing at the stars. “I loved building something from scratch. Seeing people wear the pieces I designed or curated. Realizing I could make an impact. It felt powerful. Of course, there was a lot of stress, but it was worth it when the brand flourished.”
Viper’s green eyes flick to me. “You miss it?”
A lump forms in my throat. “Every day.”
He releases a slow breath. “Then maybe we can help you get that back. Could be a long shot, but you never know.”
The kindness in his tone makes my heart twist. I sense he means it, yet I’m also aware this is an outlaw club. They have bigger priorities than my fashion dreams. “You don’t have to be nice to me,” I say, voice hushed.
He tilts his head, an earnestness settling over his features. “I’m just telling the truth.”
For a brief second, I recall Ghost’s intense stare, how it sends shivers along my spine whenever he’s near. Then I remember Frost’s calm leadership, the magnetism in his presence. Now here’s Viper, looking at me with open curiosity, no hint of judgment. My insides tighten with confusing sensations. I want to remain focused on the work, keep things professional, but these men are all too compelling in different ways.
I shift on the step, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. “I appreciate that.”
He leans closer, voice dropping. “You know, if you ever need a break, like a real break, I can take you out on my bike. Show you the desert at night. It’s beautiful under a full moon.”
My pulse stutters. “I’d like that,” I admit. “But maybe once we finalize the bar’s plans?”
He grins, revealing a flash of teeth. “Sure thing, Ms. Workaholic. I can wait.”
Warmth creeps across my face. I laugh softly, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. This place still unsettles me, but moments like this hint that maybe, just maybe, there’s something here besides constant anxiety.
A flickering light draws my attention toward the clubhouse door. Ghost emerges, tall and silent, his ash-blond hair catching the glow of a single porch lamp. He notices us and freezes momentarily, eyes darting from Viper to me. There’s a tension in his posture, almost like he’s interrupting something.
Viper lifts a hand in greeting. “Hey, man. Sierra was helping me decompress from a day of madness. You need something?”
Ghost shakes his head, expression guarded. “Just heading out on patrol. Wanted to make sure everything’s good here.”
The quiet authority in his tone reminds me how he confronted those goons the other night, saving my skin. His intense gaze flickers toward me for a second, then moves away. I sense a guarded curiosity behind those pale gray eyes, but he doesn’t speak further. Instead, he descends the steps and crosses the compound, disappearing into the shadows.
Viper exhales softly, glancing my way. “He’s protective, in his own silent way. Don’t take his standoffish vibe personally.”
“I’m not offended,” I reply. “He saved me once already. I owe him for that.”
“Ghost doesn’t keep score, but he’ll appreciate that you notice.”
A trickle of guilt runs through me. I’m forging connections with all three of them in different ways. With Viper, there’s teasing warmth. With Ghost, a subtle tension. With Frost, a shared seriousness about the future. Each dynamic tugs at a separate corner of my heart. It’s confusing, but also strangely right.
