Page 17 of Claimed By The Club
We chat a bit longer, talking about everything from the weather to the best local diner to the weirdest stories from his MC travels. Time slips away, and I realize how late it’s gotten only when the clubhouse goes quiet. A few lights remain on, but most of the members have retreated to their rooms or homes.
Standing, I brush off my jeans. “I should get some sleep. Another busy day tomorrow.”
Viper follows suit, gathering the small styrofoam cup he’d been sipping from. “I’ll walk you back.”
At the safe house, the porch lamp reveals scuffed boards underfoot. Crickets chirp in the distance, a soothing background chorus. I turn to face Viper, opening my mouth to thank him, but words stall when he leans in just a fraction. His eyes search mine, looking for permission or maybe a sign I’m not ready.
A spark of adrenaline shoots through me. I feel my breath catch. For a moment, I think he might kiss me, but I’m not sure how I’d handle that. At the last second, he seems to decide against it, stepping back with a gentle smile.
“Night, Sierra,” he says quietly. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
I give a nervous laugh, fumbling with the doorknob. “Night, Viper.”
Inside, I lock up and set my laptop bag on the table. My legs feel shaky, adrenaline thrumming from that near-intimate moment. Leaning against the door, I close my eyes. Beingattracted to one man would be complicated enough. Being drawn to three is like dangling over a pit of fire.
I shake off the thought and head to the cramped bedroom, slipping into more comfortable clothes. My phone pings with a text from a prospective sponsor, so I reply quickly, scheduling a call for tomorrow. As I do, I replay the day’s events in my mind: the official acceptance from the MC, the progress on the bar finances, Viper’s gentle flirting.
I crawl under the blankets, exhaustion settling in. The soft whir of the air conditioner lulls me into near sleep, though my mind keeps wandering to the three men I can’t seem to ignore anymore. I tried, but it’s not working. Each one stirs something different in me—respect, fascination, desire. It’s been a whirlwind, but I can’t deny I feel more alive than I have in weeks.
I let that pleasant thought carry me into rest. Tomorrow, I’ll keep proving myself, solidifying this alliance with Renegade Cross, and ignoring any hush-hush stirring in my chest. Right now, survival is key, and romance or lust—whatever this is—needs to take a back seat. Or so I tell myself, right before drifting off, wondering if I’m stepping into a lion’s den full of hidden claws…and unexpectedly welcoming arms.
6
VIPER
I’m wiping road dust off my bike near the garage when I notice Sierra making her way across the lot. She’s holding a clipboard filled with notes and moving with quiet purpose. The hot midday sun bounces off her black hair, which she’s wearing loose today. Her face is set with determination, yet there’s a flicker of apprehension there too—like she’s balancing a mountain on her shoulders but won’t let it knock her down.
I pause mid-wipe, letting the cloth dangle from my hand, and watch her approach. Even from a distance, the confidence in her stride is unmistakable. She has an energy that makes you believe she’ll accomplish whatever she sets her mind to. My thoughts drift to how relentless she’s been these past few days, throwing herself into the bar’s business plan, brainstorming ways to boost the club’s legit revenue, and keeping calm despite looming threats from the rival gang.
She stops a few paces away, shading her eyes with her free hand. “Viper, you got a minute?”
My pulse skips like it always does when she says my name. I force a casual smile. “For you, always. What’s up?”
She taps the clipboard. “I’ve got proposals for cross-promoting the bar with some local events, but I need input from the whole leadership. Think we can gather everyone?”
I tuck the cloth into a side pocket, nodding. “Sure. Frost is probably in his office. Ghost was around back, last I saw. Let’s track them down.”
She falls into step beside me, the aroma of sun-baked earth surrounding us. A short walk takes us to a side entrance of the clubhouse, its heavy door propped open by a cinder block. Inside, the air is cooler, but a faint smell of cigarette smoke lingers in the corridors. Sierra glances around with a thoughtful expression, as if continuously assessing her new environment.
I lead her to Frost’s makeshift office. He’s at his desk, scanning a few printed spreadsheets. He glances up at our arrival, setting the pages aside. “Hey,” he says in that calm, even tone of his. His gaze slips from me to Sierra. “You need something?”
She lifts the clipboard. “I’ve put together a short-term plan to draw more riders to Bluelight. I need feedback from all of you, especially since we’ll be pooling resources.”
Frost nods, pressing a button on a walkie-talkie to summon Ghost. Then he stands, gesturing for us to follow him to the main lounge area, where a couple of old tables can fit more people. As we step into the open space, Ghost enters from another door, moving in that stealthy way of his. He’s so quiet sometimes, it’s easy to forget how large he is—broad-shouldered, tall, with that ash-blond hair cropped close.
He gives Sierra a brief nod, then addresses Frost. “You called?”
Frost motions for everyone to sit around the table. Sierra takes the seat across from me. Ghost leans against the wall, arms folded, but I can tell he’s listening. Frost slides into a chairbeside her, looking composed as usual. I drop into the chair next to Ghost, crossing one ankle over my knee.
Sierra clears her throat. “All right, here’s the gist. We host ‘theme nights’ at Bluelight—live music, biker meetups, maybe a weekend fair with local vendors. In the short term, it costs a little more to set up. But with proper promotion, it pays off by drawing in bigger crowds and forming relationships with other clubs who want a neutral place to gather. It’s not rocket science, but it has to be consistent.”
Frost flips through a small stack of notes she hands him. “Looks good on paper,” he comments, “but is this feasible for a small town?”
She nods firmly. “We don’t need thousands of people. A modest increase in loyal customers can keep the bar thriving. With online promotion, we expand our reach, luring riders from neighboring counties.”
Ghost speaks without shifting his stance. “Any concerns about the Iron Reapers? If we draw bigger crowds, we risk them slipping in.”
Sierra’s lips flatten. “We can set some precautions. Strict ID checks, security at the door… hopefully your men can handle that. But if we’re too scared to do anything, we’ll stay stuck.”
