Page 16 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

GARRETT

The cherry wood shavings curl away from my plane in perfect spirals, each stroke revealing the grain underneath.

I’ve been working on this cabinet since dawn, trying to get the door panels exactly right.

Precise work, the kind that demands complete attention and leaves no room for unwanted thoughts.

My hands know this rhythm. Push, lift, reset.

Push, lift, reset. Sarah used to tease me about losing myself in woodworking projects, said I disappeared into my own world when I had tools in my hands.

She wasn’t wrong. There’s peace in creating something beautiful from raw materials, in building things that last.

Unlike people. People don’t last.

“That’s gorgeous work.”

I look up to find Ember in the doorway of my workshop, coffee mug in her hands, wearing one of my flannel shirts over jeans. She’s been doing that more often since choosing our side over the FBI. Taking our clothes, marking herself with our scents, claiming space in our lives like she belongs here.

Which she does. Even if the sight of her still makes something twist in my chest, part protectiveness and part pure want.

“Thanks.” I run my fingers along the smooth wood, checking for any imperfections. “Anniversary present for the Hendersons. Forty years married next month.”

“Forty years.” She steps closer, admiring the intricate joinery. “That’s incredible.”

“Aye. Not many couples make it that long these days.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I can feel her watching me work. “How long were you and Sarah married?”

“Eight years.” The words come easier now than they used to. “Would have been longer, if…”

“If the world weren’t full of evil bastards who target innocent people.”

I glance at her, surprised by the steel in her voice. “Something like that.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

“Wasn’t it?” I set down the plane and turn to face her fully. “I left them alone. Went to church business when I should have stayed home.”

“You went to protect other families. That’s who you are, Garrett. You protect people.”

“I didn’t protect them.”

“You couldn’t have known—”

“Couldn’t I?” The old guilt rises, familiar and sharp. “I knew we had enemies. Knew the Serpents were escalating their war with us. But I went anyway because Atlas needed me, because the club needed me. Put strangers before my own family.”

Ember sets down her coffee mug and moves closer, close enough to touch. “And if you’d stayed home, they probably would have killed all three of you instead of just…” She stops, realizing how that sounds.

“Just Sarah and Katie.” I finish the sentence she couldn’t. “You’re right. If I’d been there, we’d all be dead. Doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Have you ever lost someone who mattered?”

“My mother.” She leans against my workbench, studying my face. “Cancer. I watched her waste away for six months, fighting treatments that made her sicker than the disease. At the end, she weighed ninety pounds and couldn’t remember my name half the time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The worst part wasn’t watching her die. It was the relief I felt when it was finally over. When I didn’t have to pretend to be strong anymore, didn’t have to smile and tell her everything would be fine when we both knew it wouldn’t.”

I understand that feeling. The guilt that comes with surviving, with being grateful that the suffering has ended even when it means saying goodbye forever.

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-one. Fresh out of college, just starting at Quantico. Ben fast-tracked my application because he said grief would make me more dedicated to the job.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Turns out he was right. Easier to disappear into work than deal with being alone.”

“You’re not alone anymore.”

“No.” She reaches out to touch my hand where it rests on the workbench. “Neither are you.”

The simple contact sends warmth up my arm, and I have to resist the urge to pull her closer.

Work time isn’t the right time for touching, for getting lost in the way she makes me feel.

But her fingers are soft against my calloused skin, and she doesn’t pull away when I turn my palm up to hold her hand properly.

“Lunch is ready,” she says softly. “Atlas sent me to collect you.”

“Give me five minutes to clean up.”

“Of course.”

She starts to leave, then pauses in the doorway. “Garrett?”

“Aye?”

“Sarah would be proud of the man you’ve become. Of the family you’ve built with Atlas and Silas. Of the way you’ve learned to love again.”

The words hit hard, and I have to swallow past the sudden tightness in my throat. “Thank you.”

She smiles and disappears back toward the house, leaving me alone with wood shavings and the lingering scent of her shampoo. I finish cleaning my tools, but my hands shake slightly as I put them away.

Lunch passes quietly with soup and sandwiches, casual conversation about supply runs and restaurant schedules.

But I catch Atlas watching me more carefully than usual, those sharp eyes cataloging details I’d rather keep hidden.

Silas makes his usual flirtatious comments to Ember, speaking French in her ear until she laughs, but even he seems to notice something’s off.

“You alright?” Atlas asks when Ember steps out to take a phone call from Lizzy.

“Fine.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been wound tight all day.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Silas leans back in his chair, green eyes studying my face. “When’s the last time you slept properly? Real sleep, not that restless tossing you’ve been doing.”

“I sleep fine.”

“You wake up swinging at shadows,” Atlas says bluntly. “Last week, you nearly put your fist through the wall before you realized where you were.”

“It’s nothing.”

“The dreams getting worse?”

I don’t answer, which is answer enough. Both my brothers exchange one of their wordless looks, the kind that says they’re worried and planning to do something about it, whether I like it or not.

“Maybe you should talk to someone,” Silas suggests. “There are therapists who specialize in trauma—”

“I don’t need a shrink.”

“You need something,” Atlas says quietly. “This can’t continue, Garrett. Not when we might have federal agents breathing down our necks soon.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“How?”

“I always handle it.”

But the truth is, I don’t know how much longer I can keep handling it. The dreams have been getting worse since Ember arrived, since I started caring about someone again. Started imagining what I’d do if anything happened to her, how I’d survive losing another person I love.

Because I do love her. All three of us do, even if we haven’t said the words yet. And love makes you vulnerable. Makes you a target. Makes you weak.

By evening, my nerves are stretched thin, and I catch myself snapping at Finn over something trivial.

“Go home,” Atlas tells me after dinner service winds down. “Get some rest.”

“I’m fine to close.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

I want to argue, but the exhaustion hits me suddenly, bone-deep weariness that makes my shoulders sag. “Right. See you in the morning.”

Ember’s in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book. She looks up when I enter, green eyes immediately cataloging my state.

“Rough day?”

“Long day.” I hang my jacket on the hook by the door, noting how my hands are still shaking slightly. “You don’t have to wait up for me.”

“I wasn’t waiting up. I was reading.” She sets down the book and stretches. “But I’m ready for bed if you are.”

We go through our usual routine—lock the doors, turn off lights, brush teeth in comfortable silence.

But when we finally lie down, I can’t seem to settle.

Every time I close my eyes, I see flashes of things I’d rather forget.

Sarah’s face. Katie’s toys scattered across the living room floor.

Blood on walls that should have been safe.

“Garrett.” Ember’s voice is soft in the darkness. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I’m not carrying anything.”

“Liar.” She turns onto her side, facing me. “Tell me what you need.”

“Sleep. Just sleep.”

“Then sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“It’s how it works tonight.”

I want to argue, want to tell her I don’t need protection, don’t need someone else taking responsibility for my safety. But the exhaustion is pulling me under despite my best efforts, and eventually I stop fighting it.

The dreams come fast and brutal.

I’m back in the house I shared with Sarah, walking through rooms that smell like death and fear.

Calling their names, knowing I won’t get an answer, knowing what I’m going to find, but unable to stop looking.

The kitchen first, where Sarah always made Katie’s breakfast. Empty.

The living room, where they’d watch cartoons on Saturday mornings. Empty.

Then upstairs. Katie’s room first, because I’m a coward who hopes against hope that maybe the monsters left my baby alone. But her bed is torn apart, pink sheets stained with something dark, and her favorite stuffed rabbit is on the floor with its head ripped off.

Sarah’s in our bedroom. What’s left of her.

I’m screaming, but no sound comes out. I’m running, but my feet won’t move. I’m reaching for a gun that isn’t there, trying to fight enemies who are already gone.

“Garrett. Garrett, wake up.”

Hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently. A voice that’s familiar but wrong, not Sarah’s voice, not Katie’s laughter.

I come up swinging, muscle memory taking over before consciousness fully returns. My fist connects with something solid, and there’s a sharp intake of breath.

“Fuck. Garrett, it’s me. It’s Ember.”

The fog clears slowly. My bedroom, not the house I lost twenty years ago. Moonlight through windows, not the harsh fluorescents of a crime scene. And Ember sitting beside me on the bed, one hand pressed to her cheek where I caught her with my knuckles.

“Christ. Did I hurt you?” I reach for her face, but she catches my wrist gently.

“I’m fine. Just surprised me.”

“I could have broken your jaw.”

“But you didn’t.” She releases my wrist and touches my cheek instead, thumb stroking across skin that’s damp with sweat. “You were dreaming.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for having nightmares. Apologize for trying to handle them alone. What do you need?” she asks again.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” Her hand slides down to rest over my heart, where it’s still pounding against my ribs. “Tell me what you need, Garrett.”

The truth comes out before I can stop it. “I need to feel alive. I need to remember that I survived for a reason.”

“What reason?”

“This. You. Atlas and Silas and the family we’ve built.” I cover her hand with mine, holding it against my chest. “I need to know it’s worth it.”

“Then let me show you.”

She moves before I can process what’s happening, swinging one leg over my hips to straddle me. The flannel shirt she was wearing hits the floor, and suddenly she’s naked in the moonlight, all soft curves and pale skin.

“Ember—”

“Shh.” She leans down to kiss me, and I taste determination on her lips. “Let me take care of you.”

Her mouth moves down my neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin, while her hands work at the drawstring of my sleep pants.

I want to stop her, but when she wraps her fingers around me, all rational thought disappears.

“You’re alive,” she whispers against my collarbone. “You’re here with me, in this bed, in this moment. That’s all that matters.”

She takes me inside her slowly, and the feeling of being surrounded by her heat, her softness, her strength, drives away the last shadows of the nightmare. This is real. This is now. This is worth surviving for.

“Move,” I growl, hands gripping her hips.

“Not yet.” She stills completely, holding me deep inside her. “Look at me, Garrett. See who’s here with you.”

I force my eyes open, meeting her gaze in the dim light. Green eyes full of fierce love, dark hair falling around her shoulders like a curtain. Not Sarah. Not a ghost or a memory or a dream. Ember. Mine.

“There you are,” she breathes. “Now show me you’re alive.”

I flip us over in one smooth motion, pinning her beneath me on the mattress. She gasps, back arching as I drive deeper, harder, desperate to lose myself in the feeling of being connected to her.

“Is this what you wanted?” I demand, setting a rhythm that’s rough and claiming and probably too much. “Is this alive enough for you?”

“Yes.” Her nails dig into my shoulders, leaving marks I’ll wear like badges of honor. “This is exactly what I wanted.”

I take her like a man drowning, like she’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the world. And maybe she is. Maybe this fierce, beautiful, dangerous woman is the lifeline I didn’t know I needed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers when I bury my face in her neck. “I’m not leaving you, Garrett. I’m not disappearing.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours, and I’m staying right here.”

The words push me over the edge, and I come with her name on my lips and her body wrapped around mine like armor against the dark. When the tremors fade, I collapse beside her, pulling her against my chest where I can feel her heartbeat steady and strong.

“Better?” she asks softly.

“Aye.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Much better.”

“Good.” She traces patterns on my chest with one finger, idle touches that ground me in the present. “The nightmares won’t stop, you know. Not completely.”

“I know.”

“But they don’t have to control you. And you don’t have to face them alone.”

“I’ve been alone for twenty years.”

“Not anymore.” She tilts her head up to meet my eyes. “You have Atlas and Silas. You have me. We’re your family now, Garrett. Let us help carry the weight.”

“What if I lose you too?”

“Then you’ll survive it, because that’s who you are. But you won’t lose me. I’m too stubborn to die, and too invested in this life we’re building to give up without a fight.”

I study her face in the moonlight, looking for any sign that she’s just telling me what I need to hear. But all I see is truth, steady and unwavering as stone.

“I like you,” I tell her, the words coming easier than I expected.

“I like you too,” she chuckles. “All of you. This strange, complicated, dangerous family that somehow became everything I never knew I wanted.”

“Even though we kidnapped you?”

“Especially because you kidnapped me.” She grins up at me. “Best worst decision you ever made.”

“Second best,” I correct. “Best was deciding to keep you.”

“Good thing, because I’m not going anywhere.”

She says it again, and this time I believe her completely. Believe that this fierce woman, who chose us over everything else in her life, will fight just as hard to stay as we’ll fight to keep her.

The nightmares will come again. The guilt and the fear and the memories of loss that never quite fade. But for the first time in twenty years, I won’t face them alone.

And that makes all the difference.