Page 11 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

GARRETT

Sunlight streams through the kitchen windows as I flip bacon in the cast iron skillet, the familiar rhythm of cooking helping clear my head after last night.

Every muscle in my body aches in the best possible way, reminders of hours spent claiming our little FBI agent until she was boneless and breathless beneath us.

Above me, the house is quiet. Atlas and Silas are still passed out, and Natalie—I refuse to think of her as Ember anymore—hasn’t stirred since we finally let her sleep around dawn.

Part of me wonders if we broke her, if we pushed too hard too fast. But then I remember the way she responded to us, the sounds she made, how she begged for more even when she could barely speak.

No, we didn’t break her. We just showed her who she really belongs to.

I crack eggs into a bowl, whisking them with practiced ease.

Growing up in a house full of men, I learned early that cooking was survival.

After I lost Sarah and Katie, it became meditation.

Something to do with my hands when the grief threatened to drown me.

Now it’s care—a way to show love when words feel inadequate.

The stairs creak softly behind me, and I smile without turning around. “Morning, lass. Sleep well?”

No answer. Just more careful footsteps, trying to be silent on hardwood floors that have betrayed every secret for twenty years.

I set down the whisk and turn slowly, catching sight of bare legs and one of my flannel shirts before she bolts for the front door. She’s fast, but I’ve been expecting this. Been waiting for her to try exactly this.

I catch her three steps from freedom, my arm wrapping around her waist and hauling her back against my chest. She explodes into motion immediately, all elbows and knees and furious determination.

“Let me go!” She drives her elbow into my ribs, hard enough to make me grunt. “I can’t stay here!”

“Like hell you can’t.” I tighten my grip as she tries to twist away. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Her bare feet find the floor, and she launches herself toward the door again. This time I’m ready, lifting her clean off the ground as she kicks wildly at nothing.

“Put me down! This is kidnapping! I’m a federal agent!”

“You’re ours,” I correct, carrying her back toward the kitchen despite her struggles. “You stopped being anything else the moment you spread your legs for us.”

She snarls something unprintable and manages to catch me in the shin with her heel. Pain shoots up my leg, but I don’t drop her. Instead, I pin her against the kitchen counter, using my body to cage her in.

“Fight all you want, lass. I’ve got all day.”

“HELP!” she screams at the top of her lungs. “SOMEBODY HELP ME!”

“No one’s coming,” I tell her calmly. “And you’re just going to wake my brothers, which won’t improve your situation.”

As if summoned by her shouts, heavy footsteps pound down the stairs. Atlas appears first, hair mussed from sleep but eyes sharp and alert. Silas follows a moment later, looking murderous at being woken up.

“Problem?” Atlas asks, taking in the scene with one glance.

“Just a bit of morning rebellion,” I say, maintaining my hold as Natalie continues to struggle. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m leaving,” she pants, glaring at all three of us. “You can’t keep me here against my will.”

Silas moves to the kitchen drawer, pulling out a pair of zip ties we keep for emergencies. “I’m pretty sure we can.”

Her eyes go wide as he approaches. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Atlas takes the zip ties from Silas, examining them with casual interest. “You’re a federal agent who’s been gathering intelligence on our operations. Kidnapping is the least of our concerns.”

“I could expose everything,” she threatens, but there’s desperation in her voice now. “One phone call and this whole place gets raided.”

“With what phone?” I ask reasonably. “The one Silas collected from your things last night? The one that’s probably been turned off and disassembled by now?”

The fight goes out of her suddenly, shoulders sagging as the reality of her situation hits. “You can’t just… I’m a person. I have a life, a job, responsibilities.”

“Had,” Silas corrects softly. “Past tense. That life ended when you decided to infiltrate ours.”

I study her face, seeing the exact moment she understands how thoroughly trapped she is. It’s not cruelty that makes us do this. It’s necessity. We can’t let her go, not now that she knows everything. But that doesn’t mean we have to be monsters about it.

“Hands behind your back,” Atlas orders, holding up the zip ties.

She looks between the three of us, calculation flickering in her green eyes. For a moment I think she might try to run again, but then she turns around and puts her hands behind her back with defeated grace.

Atlas secures the zip ties, not tight enough to cut off circulation but firm enough that she won’t slip free. When he’s done, I guide her to one of the kitchen chairs.

“Sit,” I tell her gently. “Let me finish breakfast.”

She perches on the edge of the chair, hands bound behind her, wearing nothing but my shirt. The picture she makes—rumpled and defiant and utterly beautiful—makes something twist in my chest.

I return to the stove, scrambling the eggs while bacon sizzles in the other pan. Behind me, my brothers settle into chairs at the table, the silence thick with unspoken tension.

When everything’s ready, I fix her a plate—eggs, bacon, toast with butter and jam. Simple food, but made with care. I pull up a chair beside her and cut the eggs into manageable bites.

“I can feed myself,” she says quietly.

“Not with your hands tied.” I spear a bite of egg on the fork and hold it toward her mouth. “Open.”

She presses her lips together stubbornly.

“Natalie.” My voice carries warning now. “You need to eat. It’s been too long since you had anything, and you’re going to need your strength.”

“For what?”

“For adjusting to your new life.”

She stares at me for a long moment before reluctantly opening her mouth. I feed her slowly, making sure she gets enough protein and carbohydrates. When she’s finished, I hold a glass of orange juice to her lips.

“Good girl,” I murmur when she drains the glass.

Atlas leans forward, forearms on the table. “Here’s how this is going to work. You can’t go back to that motel. We can’t let you out of sight for obvious reasons. So Silas and I are going to handle checkout, and pack up your things.”

“What about my handler? He’ll expect check-ins.”

“Leave that to us,” Silas says. “We’re very good at making people disappear when necessary.”

“In the meantime,” Atlas continues, “you’ll be staying here. With us.”

“Where exactly? You’ve got three bedrooms, three men, and one me.”

Interesting question. We haven’t discussed sleeping arrangements, though I suppose we all assumed she’d rotate between our beds. But looking at her now, seeing the vulnerability she’s trying so hard to hide, I make a decision.

“She stays with me,” I say firmly. “In my room.”

Atlas raises an eyebrow. “Any particular reason?”

“I’m the only one who’s been married. I know how to share space with a woman, how to live with someone who isn’t just a convenient fuck.”

The words are harsher than I intended, but they get my point across. Silas and Atlas are used to women who come and go, who don’t leave toothbrushes or demand closet space. They’ve never had to navigate the intimate logistics of cohabitation.

I have. For eight beautiful years with Sarah, and I remember every lesson.

“You were married?” Natalie’s voice breaks the silence, curiosity overriding her anger for the first time since she tried to run.

“Yes,” I confirm, something cold settling in my stomach. “Past tense.”

“What happened?”

I look at her for a long moment, debating how much truth she can handle. How much truth I can handle sharing. But if she’s going to be part of our lives now, if she’s going to understand why we do what we do, she needs to know where we came from.

“Sarah was my wife. Katie was our daughter. She was six.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “Twenty years ago, the MC wars were brutal. Rival clubs fighting over territory, over drug routes, over pride. The Serpents decided to send a message to the Black Wolves.”

I can feel my brothers’ attention, their silent support. They know this story, lived through the aftermath with me, but they’ve never stopped it from hurting.

“They came to our house while I was at church with the club. Sarah was home with Katie, baking cookies for some school function. The Serpents broke in, did things…” I stop, swallow hard. “They left them for me to find.”

Natalie’s face has gone pale. “Garrett, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring them back.” I stand abruptly, moving to the sink to give myself something to do with my hands. “But it taught me that the people we love are targets. That caring about someone makes them vulnerable.”

“Then why—”

“Why keep you here? Why risk caring about you?” I turn back to face her. “I learned something else that day.”

“What?”

“That I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt what’s mine. Anyone. FBI, rival clubs, doesn’t matter. You’re ours now, Natalie. Which means you’re under our protection. But it also means you’re our responsibility.”

She’s quiet for several minutes, processing this. When she speaks again, her voice is softer. “They died because of the life you chose.”

“They died because evil exists in the world. Because some men have no honor, no code, no line they won’t cross.” I return to my chair, leaning forward to meet her eyes. “I can’t change what happened to them. But I can make sure it never happens to you.”

“By keeping me prisoner?”

“By keeping you safe.”

“Those aren’t the same thing.”

“In our world, they are.”

Atlas clears his throat. “We should get moving.”

“Right.” Silas stands, stretching. “Give us two hours. We’ll bring back everything from her room, make sure there’s no trace left behind.”

They head upstairs to get dressed, leaving me alone with Natalie.

She’s staring at the table, lost in thought, and I take the opportunity to really look at her.

Even bound and defeated, she’s beautiful.

But it’s more than that. There’s strength in the line of her shoulders, intelligence in her eyes, fire that no amount of captivity will extinguish.

Sarah was gentle, soft-spoken, content to build a quiet life within the protection of the club. Natalie is none of those things. She’s dangerous, complicated, and probably going to fight us every step of the way.

I’m looking forward to it.

“Can I ask you something?” she says without looking up.

“Go ahead.”

“Do you really think this can work? Keeping me here, making me part of your lives? I’m not some stray you can domesticate.”

“No,” I agree. “You’re FBI. You’re trained to survive, to adapt, to find ways out of impossible situations. Which is exactly why this might work.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Sarah couldn’t protect herself. When danger came, she was helpless.” The old guilt rises, familiar and sharp. “But you? You can fight. You can handle yourself. You’re not fragile.”

“So you want me because I’m not easy to break?”

“I want you because breaking you would be a waste.” I reach over to brush a strand of hair from her face, noting how she doesn’t flinch away. “We don’t want to break you, Natalie. We want to keep you exactly as fierce as you are.”

“While keeping me tied up?”

“The zip ties are temporary. Until you accept that running isn’t an option.”

“And if I never accept that?”

I smile, and she shivers at whatever she sees in my expression. “Then I guess we’ll find out just how stubborn we both are.”