Page 23 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

EMBER

The restaurant looks like a war zone in the morning light. Shattered glass everywhere, bullet holes stitching the walls, dark stains I try not to look at too closely.

Atlas told the staff to take the day off, no explanations, just his word they’d be paid. Nobody argued. After last night, nobody wanted to walk back in until the blood was gone and the bullet holes patched over.

The familiar booths where I’ve served countless meals are overturned, riddled with holes, transformed into makeshift barricades.

“Insurance is going to have a field day with this,” Atlas mutters, surveying the damage with his coffee mug in hand.

“Assuming they cover acts of war,” Garrett adds, sweeping glass into a pile near what used to be the front door.

“They’ll cover it. I made sure the policy was comprehensive when we opened.” Atlas takes a sip of coffee and winces. “Though explaining how this was self-defense might get creative.”

I’m mopping blood from the kitchen floor, trying to keep my hands busy while my mind processes everything that happened last night. The weight of the mop handle feels strange after gripping a rifle, after driving a broken bottle into someone’s throat.

Every few minutes, I catch myself listening for gunfire.

“You okay over there?” Silas asks where he’s boarding up the front windows with plywood.

“Just thinking,” I tell him.

“About?”

“How normal this feels. Like cleaning up after a firefight is just part of running a restaurant.”

“In our world, it kind of is,” Atlas says matter-of-factly. “This won’t be the last time someone tries to muscle in on our territory.”

“Comforting thought.”

“Reality. Better to accept it now than pretend we’re living some peaceful small-town life.”

He’s right, but it’s still jarring. Three months ago, my biggest worry was maintaining my cover story.

“What’s the plan?” I ask, wringing bloody water from the mop.

“Short-term? Get this place functional again. We reopen tomorrow night, business as usual.” Atlas gestures around the destroyed dining room. “Can’t let them think they shut us down.”

“And long-term?”

“Long-term, we prepare for the real attack. Last night was reconnaissance with teeth. They wanted to see how we fight, how we’re organized, what our response time looks like.”

“And now they know?”

“Now they know we’re not going to roll over. Which means they’ll come back with more men and better tactics.”

Garrett pauses his sweeping to look at me. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

“I killed one of their soldiers with a wine bottle. I’d say I’m committed to this fight.”

“Killing in the heat of battle is different from planning for war,” Atlas says quietly. “What happened last night was reactive. What’s coming next will be deliberate.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they’ll target our weaknesses. Our people, our supply routes, anyone we care about.” His gray eyes meet mine across the destroyed dining room. “They’ll come after you specifically, because you proved you’re dangerous.”

The thought sends ice through my veins, but not because I’m afraid for myself. “What about the families you help? The veterans who depend on the medical supplies?”

“We’ll protect them. But it’s going to get complicated—”

The sound of multiple vehicles pulling into the parking lot cuts through our conversation.

“Expecting company?” Silas asks, hand drifting toward the gun tucked into his waistband.

“No.” Atlas moves to the boarded-up window, peering through a gap in the plywood. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Federal agents. At least six vehicles, maybe more.”

My stomach drops. “FBI?”

“Has to be. Local sheriff wouldn’t bring that kind of firepower for a follow-up interview.”

Garrett appears at my side, expression grim.

Through the gap in the plywood, I can see them deploying from the vehicles.

The Black SUVs are positioned to block escape routes, and agents in tactical gear are taking defensive positions.

This only means one thing. It’s a forceful extraction.

Through the gaps in the plywood, I count at least a dozen agents in tactical gear, maybe more, positioned where I can’t see them.

I watch the federal agents spreading out around the compound.

My former colleagues, with whom I’ve worked, trained, and shared dangerous assignments.

Now they’re here to drag me back to a life I don’t want, to an agency that tried to use me as a disposable asset.

“So what do we do?” I ask.

“We show them you’re under our protection now,” Atlas says, checking his rifle. “Give them a lesson they won’t forget in a long time.”

The irony isn’t lost on me. Months ago, I was FBI Agent Natalie Hayes, sworn to uphold federal law and bring criminals to justice. Now I’m standing in a shot-up restaurant, planning to resist federal agents alongside the men I was sent to investigate.

“How long before they move?” I ask.

“Not long. They’ll want to control the situation before we can organize a response.”

“Then we’d better get ready.”

“Ember.” Atlas’s voice stops me as I head toward the weapons cache. “You sure you’re ready for this? Fighting federal agents is different from cartel soldiers.”

“They’re the ones who sent me here to frame you. They’re the ones who wanted me to plant evidence on innocent people.” I check the rifle Silas hands me. “I made my choice weeks ago.”

A loudspeaker crackles to life outside, amplified voice carrying clearly through the boarded windows.

“This is Assistant Director Benjamin Torres, FBI. We have a federal warrant for the arrest of Natalie Hayes. Send her out, and no one else gets hurt.”

Ben. He’s been promoted? That fucking piece of shit. Three years of loyalty and this is how he repays me.

“Your move,” Atlas says quietly.

I look around at the destroyed restaurant, at these three men who kidnapped me and somehow became my family, at the quiet mountain town that’s slowly become home.

“Let’s show them what happens when they threaten our family.”

Atlas grins, the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him since the shooting started. “That’s my girl.”

Through the plywood gaps, I can see Ben himself now, standing behind one of the SUVs with a bullhorn in his hand. Tall and lean with that familiar long neck. Chewing on something, as always.

“This is your last warning.” Ben’s voice echoes across the compound. “Send out Natalie Hayes, or we’ll come in for her.”

I check the magazine on the rifle Silas hands me, noting the familiar weight and balance. Good equipment, well maintained, reliable.

Just like the family I’ve chosen to protect.