Page 22 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

SILAS

Blood drips from the broken bottle in Ember’s hand, each drop hitting the floor with a sharp pat in the sudden quiet.

She stands over the cartel member’s body, her breath hitching, eyes locked on the jagged glass.

Her face is pale, but her posture is all steel, like she’s forcing herself to stay upright.

“Chérie,” I say, stepping closer, voice low over the distant wail of sirens. “You good?”

She glances at me, eyes sharp but unsteady. “I killed him,” she says, voice low, tight with an edge of something raw. “I fucking killed him.”

“Oui. You did.” I keep my tone steady, watching her. “You saved that family.”

She wipes her hand on her jeans, smearing blood.

“The cartel won’t care. They’ll come for me, Silas.

I’m just a waitress to them—a nobody who took out one of their own.

I know these people. I know their kind.” Her voice hardens, but there’s a flicker of paranoia in her eyes.

“I have to leave. Before they figure out who I am.”

“No, you don’t,” I say, stepping closer. “Running won’t stop them.”

“I killed him,” she snaps, her hands trembling as she drops the bottle, glass clinking on the floor. “They’ll make an example of me.”

Atlas is across the room, handling the sheriff’s deputies, his voice calm as he explains—self-defense, protecting customers, clean case. Ember’s eyes dart toward him, but she’s wired, her paranoia buzzing like static.

“They’d come for us anyway,” I tell her, grabbing her arm gently. “They’ve been sniffing around our territory for months.”

She exhales, a shaky huff, and mutters, “Still. That’s a target on my back.”

“Then we deal with it,” I say, holding her gaze.

Atlas calls out, not looking away from the deputy. “Silas, get her to the back. I’ve got this.”

I lead Ember through the mess—past shaken customers, paramedics working the scene—to the cramped bathroom in the back. The fluorescent light buzzes, casting harsh shadows. It’s private, at least.

“Sit,” I say, nodding at the toilet seat.

“I’m fine,” she says, but her voice catches as she notices the blood on her hands—cuts from the glass, scratches on her arms from diving behind cover.

“You’re bleeding. Sit.” I grab a towel, wet it with warm water and soap, and kneel in front of her. “Give me your hands.”

She hesitates, then extends them. I clean the cuts carefully, washing off the blood, watching her wince as the soap stings. “Those kids were screaming,” she says, voice quieter now. “The parents were shielding them, and that bastard was going to—”

“You stopped him,” I say, moving to her arms, rinsing the scratches until her skin’s clean.

She meets my eyes, fierce but shaken. “It was so close, Silas. I saw his face when he went down.”

“I know.” I brush my thumb over her wrist, steadying her. “I’ve been there. New Orleans, after my sister. I killed her murderer with a knife. Up close.” My voice drops. “You did what you had to.”

She nods, jaw tight. “The cartel won’t see it that way.”

“Let them come,” I say, voice low and hard. “They’ll learn what happens when they fuck with what’s ours.”

Her eyes flicker with that wild spark, and before I can even process it, she’s fisting my shirt in her hands, yanking me forward until our bodies collide.

Her mouth crashes into mine, her tongue thrusting deep, tasting of adrenaline and raw need.

“Silas, make me forget,” she growls against my lips. “Fuck me—now.”

I catch her wrists, pinning them above her head against the wall.

“You want rough?” My voice is gravelly. “Say it.”

Her jaw sets, fire flashing through her fear. “Rough. Hard. Don’t you dare hold back.”

The words ignite me. I release her hands, and her fingers fly to my belt, tugging with frantic precision, the buckle clinking open as she shoves my jeans down, freeing my cock.

“Look at that.” She smirks.

My cock is hard and throbbing, pre-cum glistening at the tip. She grips me, stroking firmly, her thumb smearing the slickness over the head, drawing a low groan from deep in my chest.

Her hands tear at her own jeans, unzipping and, shoving them down with her panties in one desperate motion, baring her pussy. I lift her onto the counter, her ass hitting the cold tile with a soft gasp, her legs spreading wide to hook around my hips, pulling me flush against her heat.

“You are mine, darling,” I murmur, voice thick with want, pinning her wrists against the mirror now, the cold glass making her shiver as she arches into me.

Our kisses turn feral, my teeth scraping her lower lip until I taste a faint hint of blood, and she bites back just as hard, a challenge in every press of her mouth.

I thrust into her tight, wet pussy. It clenches around my cock, so hot and slick it pulls a growl from my throat.

She cries out, head tipping back against the mirror with a dull thud, her walls gripping me as I pull out slowly, only to slam back in, the wet smack of our bodies echoing in the tight space.

Her tits bounce under her shirt. I fuck her harder, faster, the counter creaking under the force, her breath coming in hot, ragged pants against my neck, urging me on.

“More—fuck, give me more,” she begs, voice breaking with need, and I don’t hesitate. I pull out and spin her around to bend her over the sink, her hands bracing the edge as her ass presses back against me.

I grab a fistful of her hair, pulling hard until her head snaps back, forcing her to meet her own gaze in the mirror. My hand cracks against her ass, a sharp smack that blooms red across her skin.

“Again!” she shouts.

I oblige, spanking her harder, the sound ringing out, her body jolting forward with each hit, arousal dripping down her thighs.

My fingers slide down, finding her clit, rubbing in tight, rough circles until she bucks against me, desperate for more.

“Look at yourself, chérie,” I growl, voice low and filthy. “So fucking wet, taking my cock like you were made for it.”

I thrust back into her, my cock slamming into her dripping pussy, wet sounds filling the room as I set a brutal pace, her moans growing louder and more frantic.

I keep one hand tangled in her hair, controlling her rhythm, the other alternating between pinning her hips and spanking her ass. Each strike makes her tighten around me, her juices soaking my shaft and dripping down my balls.

I pull out slowly, her pussy gripping my cock, desperate to keep me inside, and she whimpers, a needy sound that makes me throb harder. My hands clutch her hips, steadying her trembling body as I drag my slick, pulsing shaft over her reddened ass, marked from my spanks.

“Fuck, look at this ass, chérie,” I growl. “So fucking perfect, begging for my cock.”

I tap my cock against her ass. She arches her back, pushing her curves into me, daring me to take her again. My hands slide up her sides, rough palms cupping her tits through her shirt, squeezing until her nipples harden under my fingers.

“These tits drive me insane,” I murmur, kneading them hard, feeling her shudder.

Ember groans, impatient, and shoves her ass back, grinding against my cock.

Her slick skin rubs along my length, coating me in her arousal, the heat of her teasing me to the edge. She’s relentless, her movements hungry, like she’s trying to fuck the fear out of her system.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” I say, voice rough. “Grinding like a needy little slut.”

I reach for the drawer, grabbing a small bottle of lube, and her eyes catch mine in the mirror, confused. “Why the hell’s that here?” she asks, brow raised.

“Look, darlin’, before you rolled in, I was a wild bastard—kept this for…chance encounters,” I say with a smirk. She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch, and I pop the bottle open.

I drizzle lube over her tight second hole, the cool liquid glistening on her skin. My fingers circle her tight little star, then push inside, stretching her as she moans.

“God, Silas,” she gasps, gripping the sink tighter, her reflection wild with need.

“That’s it,” I snarl, curling my fingers hard until she cries out, her thighs shaking. “Show me how bad you want to be used. Make a mess all over my fingers. Come on, baby—ruin the fucking sink for me.”

“I can’t hold on any longer,” she pants, voice breaking, her thighs quivering against the counter.

I pull my fingers out, line up my cock, and ease into her tight hole, slow at first, then deeper, her moan loud and raw. “Fuck, I’m so deep in your ass,” I rasp, pumping steadily.

Her eyes roll back in ecstasy. “Fuck—Silas!” she screams, a shudder ripping through her as she comes hard after a few deep thrusts. Her walls clench hard, milking my cock as her body shakes.

I pump twice more, then pull out, my cock pulsing as I spill hot cum across her reddened ass, painting her skin in thick, glistening streaks. She collapses against the sink, panting, my hand stroking.

“Fuck,” she whispers, a half laugh breaking through. “That helped.”

A knock on the door. “You two decent?” Garrett’s voice is calm but edged with amusement.

“Give us a sec,” I call back, helping Ember off the counter. We straighten our clothes, wiping away the last traces of chaos. When I open the door, Atlas and Garrett are waiting in the hallway, faces serious but steady.

“Deputies need your statement,” Garrett tells Ember. “Self-defense, open and shut. You’re good.”

“And the cartel?” she asks, voice firm now, all traces of paranoia buried.

Atlas’s eyes narrow. “They’ll come. This was just a probe. But we’ll be ready.”

Ember nods, her posture all defiance. “Good. I’m not running.”

“Damn right,” Garrett says, a grin tugging at his mouth. “You handled yourself out there. Bottle and all.”

I slide an arm around her shoulders, feeling her lean into me. “You’re one of us, chérie. Always.”

“Then let’s get ready for the fight,” she says, her voice pure steel.

“Exactement,” I say, and we step back into the chaos, together.