Page 20 of Claimed By The Club
Despite the churn of unease, I sense a strange confidence. Sierra’s got grit. She’s turned Bluelight’s finances around in record time and gained the loyalty of men who usually don’t trust newcomers. She’s forging a path for us to move beyond small-town hustles into something bigger and more stable—if we can survive the storm coming our way.
I look toward the safe house, recalling the fear in her eyes and the determination that countered it. Protecting her might be risky, but it feels right. I climb onto a nearby stoop, sinkingonto the concrete step. The desert wind ruffles my hair, carrying the scent of dust and possibility. The Reapers’ threat looms, but we’re not backing down. Not anymore.
As the stars shimmer overhead, I mull over a notion I can’t shake. Sierra might be the key to a whole new era for Renegade Cross, a future that doesn’t revolve solely around brawls and backroom deals. We can have a legitimate empire, and that means a safer life for the brothers—and for her. The idea sparks hope I haven’t felt in ages.
But first, we need to neutralize the chaos tied to her past. If the Reapers want to bring war, they’ll find out what it means to stand against this club. I’ll do whatever it takes to see that Sierra emerges on the other side, unbroken. That’s a promise I silently make under the desert sky.
I remain there for a while, weighing what comes next. Tomorrow will bring phone calls, hasty planning, and the possibility of a confrontation. I’m prepared to face it. I know Ghost and Frost are too. We might differ in style—Elias keeps his emotions in check, Luke is the silent sentinel, and I’m the one who leaps first—but we all agree on one thing: Sierra’s part of our circle now, and nobody messes with our own. Not the Iron Reapers, not any rival gang.
Eventually, I push to my feet, dust off my jeans, and head indoors to catch what little sleep I can. This is the turning point, the moment we transition from quiet collaboration into full-blown battle stance. If we’re crossing that line, we’ll cross it together, and heaven help anyone who stands in our way.
7
SIERRA
Itrace a finger across the garage’s freshly painted wall, admiring the color that Knox insisted would look “classy yet tough.” It’s a deep charcoal shade, and it brings a sleek vibe to the once-rusted interior. Two weeks ago, I never thought I’d be standing here, discussing decor with a bunch of bikers. Then again, so much has changed in such a short span. I’ve gone from hiding in a rundown motel to forging a strange alliance with Renegade Cross MC, all while trying to track down my missing ex-partner and avoid the Iron Reapers’ looming threats.
Somehow, this patch of desert has become my new reality. I’ve upgraded the bar’s marketing strategy, pitched local sponsorships, and even convinced Frost—Elias—to let me help reorganize the MC’s garage into something more profitable. A line of new merch is in the works, featuring custom Renegade Cross designs. We’re also planning ride events to draw in fresh business. It’s surreal, but it’s working. The club is slowly embracing these changes, especially after seeing the bar’s rising profits.
As I run my fingers along the wall, footsteps echo behind me. Turning, I spot Viper—Carter—carrying a set of wrenches andwearing that trademark grin of his. Sandy-blond hair is tied back in a short knot, and a glimmer of mischievous energy sparks in his bright green eyes.
“How’s the paint job?” he asks, setting the tools on a nearby workbench.
“Looks good,” I answer, proud of how we’ve tidied up the garage. “You guys did a great job clearing out the junk.”
He chuckles, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. “We aim to please. You’ve been busting your butt on all these projects. Don’t you ever slow down?”
My lips twitch into a faint smile. “I’ve always been the kind of person who throws myself into work. It’s a good distraction.”
He nods, reading between the lines. We’ve all been on edge since that phone call from the Iron Reapers, the one warning they’re close to Jen. The tension hasn’t disappeared, but everyday tasks keep us focused. I decide to change the topic before it gets too heavy.
“Have you heard anything new about that merch design? Axel said something about getting a local screen printer.”
Viper brightens. “They’re finalizing the first batch of T-shirts. We’ll debut them at Bluelight next week. Tourists and passing riders love souvenirs.”
I grin. “That’s the idea. Spread the name, build a legit image. It’s good for business.”
Before he can reply, a low rumble announces the arrival of another bike out front. I peek past the open garage door and spot Ghost—Luke—rolling to a stop. He’s dressed in black jeans and a half-unzipped hoodie. His ash-blond hair still stands out against the desert’s muted backdrop. He’s got a quiet way about him that manages to command attention anyway.
He dismounts in a single smooth motion. When he heads our way, I notice how he scans the garage, always on alert. Thatwatchful demeanor never truly fades, especially after the recent threats.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and even. His gaze shifts from Viper to me. “Frost wants everyone at the clubhouse for a quick check-in.”
Viper nods, grabs a rag to wipe his hands, and gestures for me to follow. Together, the three of us cross the dusty lot, weaving between a handful of parked bikes. The afternoon sun bakes the ground underfoot, and a wave of heat rises from the dirt. Inside the clubhouse, the AC unit rattles, offering relief from the scorching day.
We find Frost—Elias—near the bar counter, flipping through some papers Knox handed him. Frost is tall, broad across the shoulders, and exudes that steady calm I’ve come to rely on—though we often clash over business decisions. No matter how many times we butt heads, I can’t deny the pull of attraction that coils in my stomach whenever he’s near. It’s ridiculous how my pulse speeds up the second I see him. And it doesn’t help that I’ve caught him staring too, heated looks passing between us, neither of us willing to budge.
He glances up, ice-blue eyes flicking my way before locking onto Viper and Ghost. “Good, you’re all here.” He sets the papers down, lips pressing into a thoughtful line. “Just wanted to update everyone. The bar’s sales are up five percent in the last two weeks, which is more than we expected.”
A small rush of pride warms my chest. This is the outcome I’ve been working toward. Viper claps me on the shoulder. “Told you she was good.”
Frost’s expression remains unreadable, but a hint of satisfaction colors his voice. “We’ll push forward with the additional events. Sierra, keep coordinating with local vendors to host something next month. A summer rally, maybe.”
I nod. “Already started the planning. I’ve got three potential sponsors.”
Ghost steps closer. “Security will be tight, but we’ll manage. Any sign from the Reapers?”
Frost shakes his head. “Not yet. But we’re not letting our guard down.”
