Page 4 of Claimed By the Bikers
That’s why I keep work separate from everything else now. And why I won’t let myself feel anything for anyone on a job.
2
ATLAS
Wolf’s Denhums with evening energy as I watch servers weave between tables packed with locals and travelers. Kitchen noise filters through the pass-through window—orders being called, plates clattering, the steady rhythm of a restaurant in full swing. From my position at the bar’s end, I can monitor the dining room while staying close enough to the office if business calls.
“Atlas.” Rico slides onto the stool beside me, keeping his voice low. “You wanted to see me?”
I turn to face him, noting how his eyes automatically scan the room before settling back on me. Good habits die hard, especially for men like us who’ve learned that survival depends on constant awareness.
Rico spent eight years in Army Intelligence before everything went to hell in Afghanistan. Now he handles information gathering for our operations, and tonight I need his particular set of skills.
“New waitress starts tomorrow. Ember Collins.” I slide a folded paper across the bar. “Phoenix address, ASU graduate, references in Flagstaff. I want you to verify everything.”
Rico unfolds the paper, scanning the details with the kind of attention that made him valuable overseas. “Something feels off about her?”
“Maybe. Could be nothing.” I take a sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in my chest. “But I didn’t survive this long by ignoring instincts.”
“How deep do you want me to dig?”
“Deep enough to know if she’s who she claims to be. Check the references, verify the employment history, and see if there’s anything that doesn’t add up. And one more thing…” I meet his eyes. “Keep it quiet. I don’t want anyone else knowing about this yet.”
He nods and pockets the paper. “Give me twenty-four hours.”
“Good man.”
Rico disappears into the crowd, and I return my attention to the dining room. Business is strong tonight with bikers from three different clubs occupying separate sections, a few local families celebrating something, and truckers grabbing dinner before pushing on to their next destination. Everyone staying in their lanes, keeping the peace that keeps Wolf Pike profitable.
My phone buzzes against the bar. Unknown number. I step outside through the back door, letting cool mountain air hit my face as I answer.
“Bishop.”
I recognize the voice.
“Shipment’s running late.” Carlos’s tone is tight. It always gets like this when he encounters problems moving high-value cargo across state lines. “Border patrol’s been active the last two days. We’re taking the long route.”
“How late?”
“Forty-eight hours, maybe more. Can’t risk pushing it with this much heat.”
I lean against the building’s brick wall, calculating the delay’s impact on our timeline. “Is the storage facility ready?”
“Jake’s got everything set up on his end. Climate controlled, security cameras are disabled for the window you requested. He’s asking about payment.”
“Same terms as always. Half now, half on delivery.” I watch a pair of headlights wind up the mountain road toward town. “Make sure your boys understand the rules. No stopping in Wolf Pike, no contact with locals, no detours. They deliver and disappear.”
“Copy that.”
Call ends, and I pocket the phone. Forty-eight-hour delay means adjusting schedules, moving money, and ensuring our legitimate front operations don’t show any suspicious gaps. Government betrayal taught me that planning for contingencies keeps operations running when others fall apart.
Afghanistan feels like a lifetime ago, but the instincts never left. It still haunts my dreams sometimes. Alpha-7 was supposed to be elite, untouchable. Instead, I spent six months eating scrapsand watching good men die while Washington pretended we never existed.
Radio went silent when we needed extraction most. No backup, no support, no acknowledgment. Just me and my team abandoned in hostile territory because some desk jockey decided our mission was too politically sensitive.
That’s why I verify everything twice now. That’s why I trust only what I can control.
Back inside, I settle into my usual spot.
