Page 21 of Claimed By The Club
A ripple of tension moves through the room. The threat hovers like a storm cloud, unpredictable and dangerous. Viper fiddles with a coiled cable on the counter, brow furrowed. Ghost’s jaw sets, reminding me how protective he is. Frost’s gaze flits to me again, then quickly shifts away.
I can’t ignore the energy crackling between us. In the last two weeks, there have been moments—quiet standoffs in the hallway where our eyes locked, arms brushing as we passed, his low voice brushing my ear when he corrected me on something. Every time, my skin sparked. But neither of us ever crosses the final line.
I exhale, trying to ease the knot in my stomach. “Anything else we should discuss?”
Frost’s gaze settles on me. “We need to finalize the merchandise launch date. Also, you mentioned a potential garage revamp for outside customers. Run that by me tomorrow morning.”
We exchange a few more words, then wrap the meeting. Ghost returns to the yard, apparently on patrol duty, and Viper drifts toward the rec room. Frost lingers, stacking papers, jaw clenched. I shift awkwardly, debating whether to address the mounting tension.
“You know,” I say softly, “we keep butting heads, but I think we both want the same outcome—stability for the club.”
He lifts his eyes, offering a guarded look. “I don’t doubt your intentions. I just want to ensure your plans don’t get us overextended.”
“Fair enough,” I concede, crossing my arms. “I’m not here to wreck your MC. I’m trying to help.”
He exhales. “I appreciate it. Even if we clash sometimes.”
Our gazes lock, the air thick with unspoken words. My heart rate speeds, a pulse of heat settling low in my abdomen. I swallow hard, not wanting to reveal how much he affects me. Before I can respond, a commotion drifts in from the hallway—laughter and boisterous voices. We both step back, instantly on guard.
A group of visitors strides in—some of the club’s acquaintances, mostly men, plus a few women I’ve seen around. They’re the type who follow the club’s activities, hooking up at parties or large gatherings. In my head, I’ve labeled them “biker groupies,” though it’s not my place to judge. A tall blonde in tight denim shorts zeroes in on Frost, her red lips curving into a provocative smile.
“Elias,” she purrs, using his real name in a way that suggests she knows him well. My stomach clenches at the familiarity. “I heard you’ve been working too hard. Let me fix you a drink.”
He doesn’t move away, though he does cast me a quick glance. I can’t read the flicker of emotion in his eyes. Jealousy flares in my chest, hot and irrational. We aren’t a couple, so why do I feel stung? But the way she drapes herself against him sets my teeth on edge. He doesn’t push her off, though he looks uncomfortable.
An unwelcome surge of possessiveness grips me. I hate it. I try to stifle the feeling by busying myself with the papers on the counter, but I keep overhearing her flirty voice, the way she addresses him like he’s exclusively hers. Frost responds politely, but something about his tone is clipped. I sense him wanting to extricate himself.
My blood thrums in my veins. Why is this getting under my skin so badly? We’re not an item, and yet the idea of himindulging some random woman makes my chest ache. I take a breath, telling myself to grow up.
Eventually, Frost turns toward me. “Sierra, let’s head to the bar for a minute,” he says firmly, ignoring the blonde’s attempt to cling to his arm.
Relief floods me. I toss the papers into a folder, avoiding the woman’s glare. Together, we cross the clubhouse to the side door that leads to the attached bar area—our private space that’s separate from Bluelight, used mainly for MC gatherings or casual hangouts. It’s quieter tonight, only a few members hanging around.
Frost says nothing as we enter, though the muscle in his jaw flexes. Once we’re behind the bar, he sets both hands on the counter, exhaling. “Sorry about that,” he mutters. “She’s been around occasionally… not someone I have a real connection with.”
An awkward laugh escapes me. “It’s fine. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
He catches my gaze, eyes gleaming with something intense. “Maybe I do.”
Silence falls. Tension coils in the air, heavy and electric. My pulse thumps so loudly I can hardly think. All those pent-up sparks from the past weeks surge, bridging the short distance between us. I shuffle a step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
His voice lowers. “You’ve been here for weeks, and everything’s changed. You’re pushing this club to evolve, and it’s… good. But it also puts me on edge.”
I swallow. “Why?”
He meets my eyes. “Because I’m supposed to keep you at arm’s length, and I’m failing.”
My breath catches. The urge to close the distance, to see if he feels that same magnetic pull, burns through me. I part my lips,uncertain what to say. Before I can form a coherent sentence, he steps forward, capturing my mouth in a sudden, bruising kiss.
A jolt of pure electricity courses through me. I gasp against his lips, shock mingling with molten desire. His hands skim my waist, pulling me flush against him. The pressed heat of his body against mine wipes every coherent thought from my mind. We stumble back, colliding with the counter, the sound of glass bottles clinking.
He breaks away briefly, voice rough. “Tell me to stop if this isn’t what you want.”
I stare up at him, heart pounding like a drum. “It is,” I whisper, tangling my fingers in his shirt. “Don’t stop.”
He growls low in his throat, crashing his mouth back onto mine with a fervor that sears my senses. This is a release of all the unresolved tension—weeks of stolen glances, heated arguments, and carefully avoided feelings. My body hums with craving I can’t restrain.
We fumble along the edge of the bar, our lips never parting for more than a breath. My fingers slide under his cut, over the warm planes of his chest. He shudders when I touch him, responding with a fierce urgency that sets my nerves ablaze. I dimly register that we’re half-hidden from view, but not completely. It only ramps up the adrenaline.
