Page 58 of Claimed By the Bikers
The men turn, and I recognize them from the community dinner. Kip is tall with dark hair and the kind of eyes that suggest he’s comfortable with violence. Zane has broader shoulders and an easy smile that doesn’t quite hide the alertness in his eyes.
“Heard you might have some excitement coming your way,” Kip says, clasping Garrett’s hand in greeting. “Thought we’d make sure our equipment’s ready if you need backup.”
“Appreciate the support,” Atlas says. “How’s your crew?”
“Ready for whatever. You know how it is—family looks out for family.”
“Speaking of family…” Zane’s gaze shifts to me, smile becoming more genuine. “Good to see you again, Ember. How are you settling into Wolf Pike life?”
“Learning something new every day,” I tell him honestly.
“Like what?” The question comes from the younger guy with the patch, voice carrying just enough attitude to make it a challenge. He’s maybe twenty-five, cocky in the way that suggests he hasn’t been hit hard enough yet to learn humility.
“Colton.” Atlas’s voice holds warning. “Mind your manners.”
“What? Just making conversation. Wondering what our new neighbor is learning about our little community.” Colton grins, clearly enjoying himself. “Bet it’s different from whatever big city you came from.”
“Phoenix isn’t exactly New York,” I say mildly.
“Still, big change. Going from city life to…this.” He gestures around the range. “Must be overwhelming. All these guns, all this talk about cartels and territory disputes. Probably scary for someone who’s not used to that kind of thing.”
I glance at the brothers, noting the various levels of annoyance on their faces.
“It’s definitely been educational,” I agree.
“I bet. Learning about safety protocols, maybe how to load magazines if you’re feeling adventurous.” Colton’s grin widens. “No judgment. We all start somewhere. Hell, I remember my first time holding a real gun. Scared the shit out of me.”
“Actually,” I say, moving toward the equipment shed, “I wouldn’t mind trying a few things. If that’s okay?”
“Help yourself,” Atlas says, following me over. “What catches your eye?”
I scan the available options, noting everything from basic handguns to rifles that could stop a vehicle. My fingers settle on a Glock 19, nothing fancy but reliable as sunrise.
“Good choice,” Silas says, appearing at my other side.
“Probably the only good one I’ve made since I got here,” I murmur, checking the chamber and loading a magazine with movements that are automatic after years of training.
“Which target?” Garrett asks.
I study the range, noting distances and wind patterns. “How about the blue circle at fifty yards?”
“Fifty yards?” Colton laughs. “Maybe start a little closer. That’s pretty far for?—”
His words cut off as my first shot punches through the center of the target. The second opens up the hole slightly. By the fifth shot, I’ve put a grouping tight enough to cover with a quarter.
Silence fills the range like morning fog.
“Beginner’s luck,” Colton says.
“Must be.” I eject the magazine and reload. “Mind if I try something a little more challenging?”
“Like what?” Kip asks, genuine interest replacing his earlier casual attention.
“Moving targets?”
Atlas grins, finally understanding what I’m doing. “Garrett, fire up the system.”
The moving target system is more sophisticated than I expected—multiple tracks with varying speeds and patterns, some targets appearing only briefly before disappearing behind cover.
