Page 65 of Claimed By The Club
I perch on a stool near the bar, flipping through final receipts from last night’s event. Our newly revamped space drew an unexpectedly large crowd, and the register totals reflect it. We’ve also started selling branded merchandise—tees, hats, custom bike accessories—spun from the designs I pitched. The MC loves it because the symbol of Renegade Cross is no longer just a skull patch on the back of a vest. It’s a statement people line up to buy. The numbers prove that a little rebranding goes a long way.
A voice breaks my concentration. “Hey, Ms. CEO. We good?” Frost asks, leaning in. His tone is easy, but I catch the flicker of pride in his icy-blue eyes.
I glance at the final totals, letting a grin shape my lips. “We’re better than I dared hope. Profit soared last night, and interest in our merch line is still skyrocketing.” My gaze lifts, meeting his. “This all feels… surreal.”
He nods, resting an elbow on the bar. “We put the work in. You led the charge. Good synergy.”
My heart warms at the simple praise. He’s never been one to hand out compliments freely, but hearing it from him spurs an inner sense of satisfaction. Before I can respond, Ghost drifts over from his conversation with Axel, face reflecting calm contentment. He sets a folder down, likely containing the day’s security tasks.
I smirk lightly. “All quiet, Ghost?”
He dips his head. “Smooth as we’d like. No trouble from Reapers or old enemies. The truce sticks. We’re legit, and they’re licking their wounds.”
“Fewer guns, more receipts,” Viper chimes in, strolling up with a playful grin as a strong arm circles my waist. “I could get used to the calmer side of MC life.”
In an earlier time, such a relaxed gather might have seemed impossible. Yet the four of us standing here—Frost, Ghost, Viper, and me—prove that the battered edges of an outlawclub can transform into something stable without losing its heart. The men’s presence stirs a flutter of gratitude inside my chest, reminding me how precious this calm is after what we’ve survived.
I close my ledger, slipping it into a locked cabinet behind the bar. “I need to run some errands in town. Pick up a final batch of shirts from the print shop, check on some potential investors. I might also swing by the new property site.” I toss them a wink. “We’ll keep expanding, right?”
Frost smirks. “Absolutely. But no going alone. You know the rules. We haven’t entirely dropped our guard.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s affectionate. “Fine. Viper, Ghost—one of you want to play chauffeur?”
Viper lifts a brow. “I’m in the mood for a drive.” He turns to Ghost, quietly verifying they’re on the same page. Ghost nods, indicating he’ll handle the security rotation while we’re out. A sense of unity flows between them, a stark contrast to the simmering jealousies we once feared.
Frost glances at the time on his phone. “I’ll handle a few last-minute tasks here, then meet up at the new site. If that’s all right with you?”
I beam at him, recalling the old days when any conversation was laced with tension or bullets. “Sounds perfect.”
Viper and I cruise through town in a polished black SUV, a sign of how far the MC has come from battered vehicles and half-broken vans. The local shops welcome us with cautious respect now. They see Renegade Cross not as violent outlaws, but as community figures who sponsor charities and plan town events. Or maybe it’s because they’re terrified. Possibly both. We pick up boxes of new merchandise—hoodies and bandanas featuring our rebranded logo—then stop by the printing shop for a quick consultation. I handle negotiations with the manager, finalizing details for the next big order.
Viper leans against a counter, arms folded, wearing a small grin throughout. He never interrupts, but every so often, he sends an encouraging nod. Once we’re done, we load the boxes into the trunk. The entire time, that sense of synergy hums around us, unspoken but tangible.
As we pull away from the curb, I glance over. “Thanks for tagging along. I know you’d rather be on a bike.”
He shrugs, light dancing in his eyes. “Sacrifices I make for you, Ms. CFO. We can always ride together this weekend.”
My stomach flutters at the invitation. Even though we share an unconventional love, each man still courts me in his own style—Ghost with subtle touches, Frost with quiet responsibility, Viper with playful banter. The knowledge that I’m wholeheartedly accepted by them all never ceases to amaze me.
We head toward the property on the outskirts of town—a new commercial lot the MC acquired through legal channels, thanks in part to my negotiating. It’s a broad swath of land that might house a fresh bar or a bigger workshop. The SUV hums over a bumpy road, dust kicking up behind us. As we arrive, I spot Frost’s bike near a cluster of half-finished structures. Ghost’s ride stands alongside it. Surprised, I blink, wondering when Ghost arrived.
We park next to them, stepping into the dry heat. Frost waits with a small band of club members, wearing casual clothes instead of a cut—still authoritative, though. Ghost’s posture is relaxed but alert, scanning the horizon. A hush settles as we approach. I catch a spark of excitement in Frost’s gaze, which piques my curiosity.
“Everything all right?” I ask, stepping closer. Viper lingers behind me, exchanging a look with Ghost, who nods subtly.
Frost exhales, glancing around. “We have a little surprise.” He motions for me to follow him and Ghost. The other membersstay behind, wearing cryptic smiles. Viper remains at my side, guiding me around the corner of a half-constructed building.
When we reach a fenced-off section, my eyes widen. Beyond the chain-link stands a newly built house—nothing massive or opulent, but far from modest. A ranch-style layout with a wide porch, large windows, and a crisp paint job. The sight stuns me, breath catching. I had no idea the MC was building a private home here.
I spin, heart thudding. “What is this place?”
Frost smiles—a genuine, slightly bashful look I rarely see. “We commissioned it. For you… for us.” He pushes a key into my hand. “We figure living in the safe house or separate rooms at the clubhouse isn’t how we want to spend our future.”
Ghost steps forward, voice gentler than usual. “We talked about it months ago, after you first helped us see a stable path. Realized we want a real home, not just corners of the clubhouse. We want that with you.”
My eyes burn with emotion. Viper eases closer, the weight of his arms settles around me. “We know it’s unconventional. Three men, one woman. But we want to share a roof, share your mornings and nights, build a life that’s more than stashing your suitcase under a broken cot.”
Tears slip free, a shocked laugh escaping me. “You… you built me a house?”
