Page 26 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

SILAS

The sound of hammers and power tools fills the restaurant as our crew works to repair the damage from the shootout. New windows are going in where bullets shattered the old ones, and fresh drywall covers the holes punched through the walls by automatic weapons.

The work is good—keeps everyone busy, gives us something productive to focus on while we wait for the next move in this chess game we’re all playing.

But Ember’s not focusing on anything.

I watch her from across the dining room, where she’s supposed to be organizing supply lists, noting how she’s been staring at the same piece of paper for ten minutes. There are dark circles under her eyes that suggest she’s not sleeping well.

“Chérie,” I call out, and she startles like I’ve fired a gun.

“What? Sorry, I was just…”

“Thinking too hard.” I cross to where she’s sitting, noting the slight tremor in her hands as she shuffles papers around. “When’s the last time you ate something?”

“I had breakfast.”

“You pushed eggs around your plate for twenty minutes, then fed most of it to the dog next door when you thought no one was watching.”

Her cheeks flush. “I’m not very hungry lately.”

“Mmm. Stress will do that.”

“Exactly. It’s just stress.”

But there’s something in the way she says it, too quick and defensive, that makes me think stress isn’t the only thing affecting her appetite. She’s been like this for days—distracted, tired, picking at her food like the sight of it makes her queasy.

“You know what you need?” I ask, settling into the chair beside her.

“What?”

“Fresh air. Open road. Something to remind you that we’re still alive and free to do whatever we want.”

“Silas, there’s too much work—”

“There’s always work. But right now, you look like you’re about to crawl out of your own skin.

” I gesture around the restaurant, where Atlas is coordinating window installation and Garrett’s arguing with a contractor.

“And honestly, between the power tools and my brothers micromanaging every detail, this place is loud enough to wake the dead.”

She manages a small smile at that. “They are being a little intense.”

“A little? They’re driving everyone crazy with their perfectionism.”

“They want to make sure we’re protected.”

“Oui, but protection doesn’t require measuring the same thing repeatedly. What it requires is clear heads and steady nerves, neither of which we’re going to have if we keep grinding ourselves into dust over details.”

She looks around the restaurant. “What did you have in mind?”

“A ride. Just you and me, somewhere quiet where we can actually hear ourselves think.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. What if something happens—”

“What if nothing happens? What if we spend a few hours enjoying the fact that we faced down federal agents and lived to tell about it?”

“This isn’t over, Silas. You know that. They’re planning their next move—”

“And they’ll still be regrouping whether we spend the evening here listening to power tools or somewhere peaceful where we can relax.

” I reach over to take her hand, noting how cold her fingers are despite the warm afternoon.

“When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to, not because it was part of some larger plan? ”

She considers this, staring at our joined hands. “I can’t remember.”

“Exactly my point. Ma belle, you’ve been living in crisis mode for months. Your body needs to remember what normal feels like.”

“Normal? I’m not sure I know what that means anymore.”

“Then let me show you.”

An hour later, she’s sitting behind me on my Harley, arms wrapped around my waist as we cruise through the winding mountain roads outside Wolf Pike. The sun is starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple that no camera could capture.

This is exactly what she needed. I’m taking her to a spot about ten miles outside town where the desert opens up into a natural amphitheater ringed by red rock formations.

The bike handles the dirt road easily, tires finding purchase on packed earth and scattered stone. Behind me, Ember’s grip tightens slightly as we navigate the rough terrain, but she doesn’t ask me to slow down or turn back.

When we finally reach my destination, I kill the engine and help her off the bike. The sudden silence is profound after nearly an hour of mechanical noise, broken only by wind moving through the rocks and the distant cry of a hawk above us.

“My goodness,” she breathes, staring at the landscape spread out before us. “It’s beautiful.”

“Wait until you see it with stars.”

The spot I’ve chosen sits on a natural ledge overlooking miles of desert, with Wolf Pike’s lights visible as tiny pinpricks in the distance. Behind us, the red rock formations provide windbreak and privacy, creating a natural room open to the sky.

I unpack the supplies I brought—a thick blanket, insulated bottles of water, and a simple meal of bread, cheese, and fruit that won’t spoil in the desert heat. Not fancy, but enough to keep us comfortable while we watch the sun finish setting.

“How long have you known about this place?” Ember asks, watching me spread the blanket on level ground.

“I found it well over two decades ago, when I needed somewhere quiet to think.” I settle onto the blanket and pat the space beside me. “Sometimes a man needs to get away from engines and voices and the constant buzz of other people’s energy.”

She sits beside me with our shoulders touching. “What were you thinking about?”

“Whether I wanted to stay in Wolf Pike or keep moving. Whether Atlas, Garrett, and the other founding fathers of the Black Wolves MC were worth building something permanent with, or if I was just passing through like I had been everywhere else since New Orleans.”

“What decided it for you?”

“Atlas found me out here one night, brought coffee, and sat with me for hours without saying a word. He kept me company while I worked through everything that was eating at me.” I open one of the water bottles and offer it to her.

“That’s when I realized I’d found brothers.

These days, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

This is home, chérie. You, Atlas, Garrett, the restaurant, even the chaos and the danger. All of it.”

She takes a sip of water, then leans back on her elbows to watch the sky darken. Stars are starting to appear, faint at first but growing brighter as the last light fades from the horizon.

“I used to love looking at stars when I was a kid,” she says quietly. “My mom would take me camping sometimes, just the two of us. We’d lie on our backs and make up stories about the constellations.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Silly ones. The Big Dipper was a giant ladle for stirring up storms. Orion was a hunter who fell in love with the moon and kept chasing her across the sky.” She smiles at the memory.

“Mom said the stars were proof that beautiful things could survive in dark places. I think she would have liked you.”

“Why?”

“Because you see beauty in dark places too. The way you talk about your forge, about creating something from raw metal and fire. The way you found family with Atlas and Garrett after losing your sister.” She turns her head to look at me.

“The way you make me feel like maybe I can be beautiful too, even with all the darkness I’ve seen. ”

“Ma belle, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Dark places and all.”

She sits up and moves closer. I catch the faint scent of her shampoo, mixed with the desert air and the exhaust of a motorcycle.

“Silas?”

“Oui?”

She leans in, and I meet her halfway. Her mouth opens under mine, and when she sighs, I slip my tongue against hers.

There’s a moan humming in her throat as I cup her tits through her shirt, feeling her nipples harden under my palms. I roll a nipple between my fingers, pinching lightly, and she gasps into my mouth.

Her back arches, pressing closer, chasing the sensation.

That small sound she makes—it damn near undoes me.

I tease her again, and she moans, low and throaty, a sound that vibrates straight through my chest.

We pull apart only when breathing becomes impossible. She tips her head back, laughing, the sound bubbling out of her like a release valve. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed.

I laugh too, brushing her hair back, the coarse blanket beneath us gritty with desert sand.

“Silas, I needed that,” she says, her smile wide, eyes sparkling as she leans against me. “Pick one,” she says, pointing skyward. “A star. That one can be you.”

I cock an eyebrow. “And what if you put me halfway across the sky from you, hm? What then?”

She nudges me with her shoulder. “I’d never. I’ll find ones that stay close, no matter what.”

We lie back on the blanket, her hand slipping into mine, fingers lacing together. She names the first star Atlas—the brightest, steady, and commanding. The next, she claims for Garrett—a softer light, but always constant, dependable. Then she points out a star off to the side and declares it’s me.

“Why that one?” I ask, half-suspicious.

“It burns hotter,” she teases, eyes glinting.

“And you?”

She pauses, scanning the heavens, then points to a faint star nestled near ours. “That’s me. Right here, caught between the three of you, but close. Always close.”

“What are you thinking about?” I ask when she’s been quiet for several minutes.

“The future.”

“What do you want to happen next?”

“I want to build something. Something permanent and beautiful and worth protecting.” She tilts her head to look at me. “I want to have babies with you. With all of you. I want to fill that big house with children and laughter.”

“Ma belle…”

“I know it’s crazy. I know we’re in the middle of a war, that there are people who want to destroy what we’ve built. But maybe that’s exactly why we should think about the future. Maybe creating something beautiful is the best way to fight back against all the darkness.”

I think about this, about the image she’s painted—children running through our house, tiny voices calling for their fathers, the restaurant filled with family instead of just customers.

It’s a dream I didn’t know I wanted until she gave it words.

“You know what I think?” I tell her.

“What?”

“I think your mother was right. Beautiful things can survive in dark places. Sometimes they even shine brighter because of the darkness around them.”

“You think we could do it? Build something like that?”

“With you? I think we could build anything.”

The ride back is peaceful after we’ve eaten the supplies I brought. Her arms are secure around my waist as we navigate the dark roads home. But I catch her hand drifting to her stomach more than once, an unconscious gesture that makes me wonder if there’s something she’s not telling me yet.