Page 21 of Claimed By the Bikers
Two kisses. That’s all it’s been. Two kisses and some flirting, and I’m already losing my objectivity. Already starting to think of Wolf Pike as home, of these men as more than targets.
When I emerge, both men are exactly where I left them, leaning against the wall in casual conversation. But their attention immediately shifts to me, tracking my movement like I’m the most interesting thing in the room.
“Ready to rejoin the party?” Atlas asks.
“Actually, I think I might head back soon. It’s been a long day.”
“I’ll walk you back to the motel,” Silas offers.
“That’s really not?—”
“It’s late, and you don’t have a car.” Atlas’s tone brooks no argument. “One of us takes you home.”
“All of us take her home.” Garrett appears with my purse, jacket, and a black helmet. Metal buckles jangle as he tosses me the gear. “Figured you might need these.”
Three Harleys sit gleaming under the streetlights, chrome pipes catching light like liquid mercury.
Atlas kicks his bike to life first—a deep, throaty growl that vibrates through the pavement into my bones. Garrett’s follows with a sharper bark that makes my teeth rattle. Silas’s purrs to life last, building from a whisper to a roar that drowns out everything else.
“I’ll take her,” Silas calls over the noise, patting the black leather seat behind him.
The helmet slides over my head, muffling sound but not the vibration thrumming through my chest. I swing my leg over the bike, leather creaking under my weight. My thighs press against Silas’s hips as I settle behind him, chest flush against his jacket. Under my palms, I feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the solid warmth of muscle and bone.
“Hold tight, honey,” he says, voice muffled by wind and engines.
The bike lurches forward like a living thing. My stomach drops as we explode out of the parking lot in tight formation.
Wind tears at my jacket, finding every gap and seam. Cold fingers snake up my sleeves, around my ankles, making me press closer to Silas’s warmth.
We hit Main Street at forty miles per hour. Streetlights blur into golden streaks in my peripheral vision. My heart pounds against Silas’s back so hard I wonder if he can feel it through the leather.
He leans into the first corner, and the world tilts sideways. My knee nearly kisses the pavement as we carve through the turn.
“AHHHHHHH!” The scream rips from my throat in half terror, half pure exhilaration, lost in the wind and engine noise.
The bike straightens, and Silas twists the throttle. We surge forward like a rocket, speedometer needle climbing—fifty, sixty, sixty-five miles per hour through the heart of Wolf Pike. Buildings flash past in blurs of brick and glass. My eyes water behind the helmet visor despite the protection.
Another turn, sharper this time. My stomach swoops as Silas drops his shoulder, and I feel his muscles shift beneath my hands as he controls the machine. The engine’s vibration travels through my bones, making my teeth chatter with adrenaline and speed.
Atlas and Garrett flank us perfectly, three bikes moving like a pack through the mountain night. Their headlights carve tunnels through the darkness ahead while our engines harmonize in a thunderous symphony that echoes off storefronts and empty buildings.
Silas guns it on a straight stretch, and another laugh-scream tears from my lungs. This is insane. This is dangerous. This is the most alive I’ve felt in years. No undercover agent shouldbe enjoying this much, should be feeling this wild and free, wrapped around a man she’s supposed to be investigating.
The ride feels both eternal and too short. When we finally roar into the Pineview Motel parking lot, gravel crunches and spits under our tires. Three engines cut to silence in unison, leaving my ears ringing in the sudden quiet.
My legs shake like a newborn colt’s as I climb off the bike. The helmet comes off with a soft pop, and cool air hits my sweat-damp hair. I’m grinning so wide my cheeks hurt.
“That was incredible,” I breathe, voice hoarse from screaming and wind.
Atlas kicks down his stand with one smooth motion, boot heel striking metal with a sharp click. Garrett’s boots crunch on gravel as he dismounts, leather creaking. Silas stays seated, green eyes bright with satisfaction as he watches me sway on unsteady legs.
“You’re a natural,belle,” he says, accent thicker than usual.
They walk me to my door like a protective escort. Every footstep echoes in the quiet night air.
At room 12, I fumble with the key, hands still trembling from the ride. The lock clicks open, and I turn to face them in the dim yellow glow of the motel’s security light.
“Thank you,” I say, voice still breathless. “For everything. For including me tonight, for the ride home.”
