Page 49 of Claimed By The Club
I draw in a breath. “I trust you with her life.”
His shoulders relax slightly. “That means a lot, boss.”
We don’t say more. No apology or explanation is necessary right now. The club’s survival overshadows everything else. He dips his head, then returns to his post by the door. I linger for a moment, listening to the faint sounds from inside—Sierra’s footsteps, her soft voice speaking to herself or maybe reading documents. My chest tugs with longing, but I push it down. I’ll see her later, hopefully once my head’s clear.
The sun sags behind the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples. Another restless night creeps in, thick with unspoken fears. I stand in the main lounge, lights dim, the place mostly empty except for a few men playing cards at a corner table. My phone buzzes with an incoming text from Knox:Rumor’s circulating. Heard Lance mention it to the wrong ears.Perfect. The trap is set.
Ghost glides into the lounge, moving quietly. He raises an eyebrow in question. I show him the text. He nods once, returning to the hallway. Everything is in motion now. We wait for the Reapers to bite and see who among us helps them do it.
My muscles ache from tension. I find a half-forgotten bottle of water behind the bar, gulp it down, then prop my elbows on the countertop. The flickering neon sign overhead gives the room a ghostly aura. I close my eyes, allowing my mind drift to Sierra—her determined face, the flash of sorrow when she discovered her ex-partner’s betrayal. My fists clench at my sides. We have to end this, or she’ll never find peace.
A shuffle of footsteps behind me breaks my reverie. I turn, spotting Sierra stepping in, arms wrapped around herself. She looks exhausted, but also resolved. We meet in the center of the room.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask gently.
She offers a faint shake of her head. “Too much going on up here,” she murmurs, tapping her temple.
I understand the feeling. “Viper around?”
“He’s outside, double-checking some perimeter detail.” She takes a slow breath. “So it’s all set for tomorrow?”
“Yes.” My voice holds more confidence than I feel. “We stage the transport. If the traitor tells the Reapers, they’ll come. We ambush them. End of story.”
She swallows, eyes shining under the flickering light. “Just be careful, Frost.”
I tense at her use of my road name in such a tender tone. It’s a reminder of the distance I try to keep around others, but she’s slipped behind my defenses. “I promise,” I say quietly.
She steps closer, the air between us thick with unspoken truths—her worry for me, my responsibility for her safety, the knowledge we might be living on borrowed time. My heart beats faster. Before I can talk myself out of it, I possessively encircle her waist in my arm and pull her in, pressing my lips to hers in a swift, urgent kiss. She melts against me, arms winding around my shoulders. The sweetness is a temporary reprieve from the storm we’re about to face.
When we separate, a strange mix of relief and longing lingers in her eyes. I rest my forehead against hers. “We’ll get through this.”
She nods, a wry smile forming. “We better.”
A door slams somewhere down the hall, jarring us. We break apart, and she steps back, smoothing her hair. The moment’s gone, replaced by the stark reminder we’re not alone, that wehave an entire club waiting for decisions. She murmurs a quick “Good night,” then leaves, probably heading to her room in the safe house. My arms feel empty in her absence.
I let out a ragged exhale, then grab my phone. There’s no rest for me tonight. I need to finalize the finer points of tomorrow’s plan, confirm which bikes we’ll use, set the stationing points for the watchers. This night might be the closest we get to calm before the final assault. If the Reapers take the bait, everything either ends or erupts in a fury of violence. I push down the dread, focusing on the methodical tasks—guns, routes, vantage spots, contact signals. A plan is the only thing I can control.
By the time dawn creeps over the desert horizon, I’m hollow-eyed and tense, but determined. The men gather in the yard, checking engines, loading supplies. The air stinks of anticipation. I move among them, offering clipped instructions. We keep the specifics hush-hush, ensuring only a handful of the most trusted know the real details. Anyone else might be the mole.
Sierra stays near Viper, arms folded as she watches from a safe distance. Ghost stands by the gate, quietly surveying the activity. My phone buzzes again—Knox texting that Lance reported some suspicious movement. Could be the Reapers gearing up. Good. That means the rumor is working.
I pause in front of everyone, voice projecting across the yard. “We ride out in thirty minutes. If any of you see something off, call it out. We’re not losing anyone today.”
A chorus of agreement rumbles. The tension is suffocating. I feel the weight of each life on my shoulders. They’re trusting me to lead them into what might be the biggest fight of our lives. If we fail, the Reapers could crush us from within and without, all thanks to that unnamed traitor.
Sierra catches my eye across the dusty expanse. She doesn’t speak, but her expression conveys everything—fear, hope,unspoken love. I incline my head in a promise I can’t verbalize. Then I turn away, climbing onto my bike. The engine revs, jolting through my bones. Ghost mounts his ride next to me, face grim, ready for whatever comes next.
We roll out as a tight group, a show of force to the rest of the members left behind. They’ll defend the compound if anything goes south. I glance in the mirror, seeing Sierra’s figure in the distance, Viper standing protectively beside her. It’s almost enough to calm the fear gnawing at my gut. Almost.
Our convoy disappears over the horizon, dust kicking up around us. My mind churns with the plan: lure the Reapers, expose the mole, and secure Sierra’s future once and for all. We’re at the point of no return. Either this ends with victory, or the club tears itself apart under betrayal and violence.
I grip the handlebars tighter, the wind whipping my hair. One more day. One last confrontation. Renegade Cross either stands strong after this, or we don’t stand at all. And for Sierra’s sake, I will not let us fall.
17
SIERRA
The hush inside the safe house feels louder than a crowded stadium. I sit on the edge of a sagging couch, restless energy thrumming in my veins. Outside, dawn has barely touched the sky, but the men have already rolled out for their ambush. Frost led a tight group into the desert to corner the Iron Reapers once and for all, leaving me behind under strict orders to stay locked down. Again.
