Page 15 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

SILAS

The sun hasn’t cleared the mountains when I finish the last knife order, sliding the custom blade into its leather sheath and setting it aside to cool.

Four hours in the forge, and my hands are steady again, the familiar rhythm of hammer on steel working its usual magic. There’s something about creating things that centers me, reminds me why I chose this life over the chaos I left behind in New Orleans.

Coffee first, then I’ll check on our girl.

Knowing Ember, she’s probably already awake and trying to make sense of everything that happened last night.

The FBI wanting her to frame us, choosing our side over theirs, finally admitting this ramshackle family means something to her.

Big decisions tend to keep people awake.

I push through the kitchen door, reaching for the coffee pot, when I notice Garrett’s bedroom door standing open. Empty bed, sheets still rumpled but cold. Interesting.

Atlas’s room is the same. The door ajar, bed unslept in. Either they’re both up early, or our little federal agent couldn’t sleep and went exploring.

The garage light is on, spilling yellow across the concrete floor. I find her there, sitting cross-legged on a crate, studying the wall map Atlas uses to track supply routes. She’s wearing one of my T-shirts. When did she steal that?

“Bonjour, beautiful,” I say softly, not wanting to startle her. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She looks up, green eyes bright despite the early hour. “Too much to think about.”

“Mmm.” I lean against the doorframe, taking in the picture she makes surrounded by our operation. Maps, supply lists, medical equipment inventory—the whole network spread out for her to see. “Finding anything interesting?”

“You’re really helping people.” It’s not a question, but there’s wonder in her voice like she’s still processing the reality of what we do.

“Were you expecting something else?”

“Honestly? Yes.” She gestures at the map, where red pins mark veteran housing, green ones show family drop points, blue ones indicate medical supply caches. “The FBI briefing made it sound like you were running drugs and weapons. This looks more like…humanitarian aid.”

“Disappointed?”

“Relieved.” She slides off the crate, padding barefoot across the concrete to where I’m standing. “It’s easier to betray criminals than it is to betray good men.”

“Who says we’re good men?” I reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her skin. “We break laws, chérie. Lots of them.”

“For the right reasons.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“So is the road to heaven, apparently.” She steps closer, close enough that I can smell the soap she used in Garrett’s shower, the faint scent of my T-shirt clinging to her skin. “Why do you do it? Really?”

“Because the government failed these people first.” I trail my fingers down her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under my touch. “Because sometimes being legal and being right are two different things.”

“That’s Atlas’s answer. What’s yours?”

She’s learning to read us individually, not just as a unit. “My answer is more personal.”

“How personal?”

I study her face, trying to decide how much truth she can handle. But if she’s going to be part of this family, if she’s really chosen our side over theirs, she deserves to know what drives us.

“I had a sister once. Céleste. Two years younger than me, and the only family I had left after our parents died.”

Ember goes still against me, sensing the shift in my tone. “Had?”

“She was killed in New Orleans. Nineteen years old, working as a nurse in the free clinic in the Quarter. Beautiful girl, had her whole life ahead of her.” I can still see Céleste’s smile, hear her laugh when she’d tease me about my terrible French accent.

“A drug dealer named Marcel Thibodaux decided she’d seen too much, knew too much about his operation. So he made sure she couldn’t talk.”

“Mon dieu,” Ember breathes, the French slipping out before she catches herself.

“The police couldn’t touch him. Too connected, too many officials on his payroll.

So I handled it myself.” I remember the weight of the knife in my hand, the look in Marcel’s eyes when he realized his money couldn’t save him.

“Then I ran. Ended up in Wolf Pike, where Atlas and Garrett took in a fucked-up Cajun kid with blood on his hands.”

“They became your brothers.”

“They became my family. Real family, the kind that fights for each other instead of abandoning each other when things get difficult.” I cup her face in my hands, studying those green eyes that see too much. “Just like you’re family now.”

“Silas…”

“Your turn, chérie. What made you so good at disappearing into roles? At becoming someone else so completely?”

She’s quiet for a long moment, and I think she might not answer. Then: “My first undercover assignment. I was twenty-one, fresh out of Quantico, assigned to infiltrate a human trafficking ring in Seattle.”

“Ambitious for a rookie.”

“That’s what my partner said. But Ben insisted I was perfect for the role—young, pretty, desperate-looking enough to be believable as a runaway.” Her mouth twists into something that’s not quite a smile. “The plan was simple. Go undercover as a prostitute, gather evidence, extract after two weeks.”

“But it didn’t go according to plan.”

“Nothing ever does. My cover held for exactly ten days before one of the girls recognized me from somewhere. Maybe a coffee shop near the field office, maybe just a familiar face in the wrong place. Doesn’t matter.

What matters is that Marcus—the guy running the operation—figured out I was law enforcement. ”

I can see where this is going, and I don’t like it. “What did he do?”

“Gosh, I hate this part of my life story. Anyway, Marcus decided to make an example out of the federal bitch who thought she could infiltrate his organization.” She pulls away from me, wrapping her arms around herself like she’s cold.

“Three days in a basement. Three days of Marcus and his friends showing me exactly what they thought of cops who stuck their noses where they didn’t belong. ”

“Merde.” The word comes out rougher than I intended. “How did you get out?”

“I didn’t. Backup finally tracked me down, but not before…” She trails off, staring at something I can’t see. “Let’s just say I spent six weeks in the hospital afterward.”

“And Ben?”

“Told me it was a successful operation because we got the evidence we needed to shut down the ring. Said my sacrifice saved dozens of women from that life.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Funny how he used the same language last night when he wanted me to plant evidence on you.”

Now I understand why she’s so good at becoming other people, why she slips into roles like putting on clothes. When your survival depends on being whoever someone else needs you to be, you learn to disappear completely.

“That’s why you’re so careful about boundaries,” I realize. “Why you fought us so hard at the beginning.”

“I swore I’d never let the lines blur again. Never let myself care about marks or targets or anyone involved in an operation.” She looks up at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. “But you three made that impossible.”

“Good.” I pull her back into my arms, holding her against my chest where she can hear my heartbeat. “Caring about people is what makes us human, chérie. What makes life worth living.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Delacroix?”

“That’s my experience as someone who spent five years not caring about anyone after Céleste died.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Atlas and Garrett saved me from that. Just like you’re saving all of us from something else.”

“From what?”

“From becoming the kind of men who don’t trust anyone. Who see enemies everywhere and forget that some people are worth the risk.”

She tilts her head back to look at me, and I see the exact moment she decides to trust me completely. Not just with her body or her secrets, but with the part of herself she’s been protecting since Seattle.

“Show me,” she says quietly.

“Show you what?”

“Everything. The whole operation. Every route, every contact, every person you help. If I’m going to be part of this family, I want to understand what I’m fighting for.”

I study her face, looking for any sign that this is still the federal agent gathering intelligence. But all I see is a woman who’s made her choice and wants to honor it completely.

“D’accord. But first, coffee. And you need to put on pants if you want me to concentrate on explaining supply chains instead of thinking about all the things I want to do to you in that T-shirt.”

She grins, the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her since last night’s revelations. “What if I don’t want you to concentrate?”

“Then we’re going to scandalize the neighbors when Atlas and Garrett come looking for us.”

“Let them look.” She goes up on her toes, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss that tastes like morning and new beginnings. “I’m done hiding what I want.”

“And what do you want, ma belle?”

“Right now? I want you to show me those supply routes while I’m not wearing pants. Later, I want to help you plan how we’re going to protect this family from whatever the FBI sends our way.”

“In that order?”

“Definitely in that order.”

I laugh, lifting her off the ground and setting her on the workbench where she can see all the maps spread out before us.

“In that case, let’s start with the medical supply distribution network.

But I’m warning you—if you keep looking at me like that, we’re not going to make it through the first explanation. ”

“That’s okay,” she says, wrapping her legs around my waist and pulling me closer. “We have all day.”

“Chérie, we have the rest of our lives.”