Page 37 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

SILAS

I check my rifle one more time, chambered and ready despite the supposed ceasefire. Trust goes only so far when dealing with cartels who’ve already tried to kill the woman I love.

“Movement on the east access road,” Rico reports through my earpiece. “Three vehicles, moving slowly.”

Los Serpientes arrive exactly on time—black SUVs that gleam despite the dust coating everything else in this place. Their convoy stops fifty yards from our position, engines running, waiting.

Teller rides his Harley between our two groups, the neutral mediator who volunteered for this thankless job. At sixty-five, he’s survived more MC wars than anyone else in the state, which makes him the only person both sides trust to keep this meeting from becoming a bloodbath.

“Both sides disarm for the duration,” he calls out, his voice carrying across the empty lot. “Rifles stay with your vehicles. Sidearms only, safeties on.”

“Agreed,” I respond, securing my rifle in the truck bed.

From the cartel vehicles, their leader emerges—Diego Morales, cousin to the soldier Ember killed with a broken bottle. Mid-forties, expensive suit that doesn’t hide the violence in his movements. Three bodyguards flank him, hands resting on concealed weapons.

Atlas and Garrett join me at our designated position, both armed but relaxed. We’ve done this dance before with other enemies, other negotiations. Sometimes words work better than bullets.

Sometimes they don’t.

“Gentlemen,” Teller begins, dismounting his bike with the careful movements of a man whose joints remind him daily of past battles.

“We’re here to discuss terms that avoid unnecessary bloodshed.

Los Serpientes has grievances. The Bishop brothers have territorial concerns.

Let’s see if reasonable men can find reasonable solutions. ”

Diego steps forward, his English accented but clear. “My cousin Roberto died protecting cartel interests in your territory. The woman who killed him owes a blood debt.”

“Your cousin died attacking innocent families in our restaurant,” Atlas replies calmly. “Self-defense isn’t murder, even when it involves cartel soldiers.”

“Roberto was no soldier. He was nineteen years old, trying to make money for his family.”

“Nineteen-year-old Roberto was carrying an assault rifle and threatening to kill children,” Garrett adds, his Scottish accent thickening with controlled anger. “Age doesn’t excuse attempted murder.”

“The woman who killed him—where is she now?”

“Dead,” I lie smoothly. “Died in an industrial accident two weeks ago. Federal investigation confirmed it.”

Diego’s eyes narrow as he studies my face, looking for tells, for signs of deception. “Convenient timing.”

“Inconvenient timing, actually. We lost a good employee and gained federal attention we didn’t need.”

“Show me the death certificate.”

“Show me a warrant. We’re not here to prove our employee’s death to satisfy your curiosity.”

Teller raises his hand before the exchange can escalate. “The woman’s death is confirmed by federal authorities. That grievance is resolved by circumstances beyond anyone’s control.”

“What about territory compensation?” Diego asks. “Los Serpientes lost six men in your attacks. That represents significant operational investment.”

“Investment in what?” Atlas’s voice stays level, but I hear the steel underneath. “Human trafficking? Drug distribution? Protection rackets that target small businesses?”

“Legitimate security consulting.”

“Armed robbery and extortion.”

“Business is business.”

“Not in Wolf Pike.”

Diego pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with deliberate slowness while he considers his next move. Smoke drifts between us like fog, adding to the surreal atmosphere of enemies discussing terms at an abandoned truck stop.

“What do you propose?” he asks finally.

“Complete withdrawal from our territory,” I say. “No more soldiers, no more operations, no more threats against our people or our businesses.”

“In exchange for what?”

“We don’t hunt down every remaining member of your organization and eliminate them permanently.”

Diego laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “You think four men can threaten Los Serpientes?”

“Four men backed by the full resources of the Black Wolves MC,” Atlas corrects. “Fifty fighters, unlimited funding, and twenty years of experience dealing with organizations that don’t understand boundaries.”

“Plus federal law enforcement who’d love nothing more than to arrest cartel members operating in their jurisdiction,” Garrett adds. “We make one call to the right people, and your entire Colorado operation gets raided within twenty-four hours.”

The bodyguards shift restlessly, hands drifting closer to their weapons. Diego notices and waves them back with a sharp gesture. “What assurance do we have that you won’t interfere with our legitimate business activities?”

“Define legitimate,” I say.

“Import operations. Cross-border transportation. Financial consulting.”

I exchange glances with my brothers. Import operations means drug smuggling. Cross-border transportation means human trafficking. Financial consulting means money laundering.

“We don’t interfere with business that doesn’t affect Wolf Pike or the surrounding counties,” Atlas says carefully. “What happens in Denver or Colorado Springs isn’t our concern.”

“And what happens in Wolf Pike?”

“Stays in Wolf Pike. Permanently.”

Diego finishes his cigarette, grinding the butt under his expensive shoe. “My superiors will want guarantees.”

“Your superiors can have our word, backed by Teller’s witness. Honor among criminals, if you will.”

“And if someone violates the agreement?”

“Then we revisit this conversation with less diplomacy and more ammunition.”

Teller steps forward before either side can escalate further.

“Proposed terms—Los Serpientes withdraws all personnel and operations from Wolf Pike and the surrounding territory. Bishop brothers maintain neutrality regarding cartel activities outside their area of influence. Both parties agree to a non-interference clause with MC mediation available for disputes.”

“Duration?” Diego asks.

“Permanent, unless violated by either party.”

“Consequences for violation?”

“Open warfare with no neutral mediation.”

The cartel leader considers these terms, probably calculating profit margins against potential losses. Wolf Pike isn’t worth a war with an established MC, especially when other territories offer easier opportunities.

“I need to consult with my superiors.”

“You have twenty-four hours,” I tell him. “After that, we assume you’ve chosen warfare over negotiation.”

“Understood.”

Diego and his bodyguards return to their vehicles, engines starting with synchronized growls. Within minutes, their convoy disappears down the highway, leaving us alone with Teller at the abandoned truck stop.

“Think they’ll agree?” Garrett asks, lighting a cigarette with hands that show only the slightest tremor.

“They’ll agree,” Teller says confidently. “Wolf Pike isn’t worth the cost of fighting an entrenched MC with federal connections.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then we kill them all and take over their territory,” Atlas says matter-of-factly. “But negotiation was worth attempting first.”

I nod, satisfied with the morning’s work. Ember’s safe, the cartel has an exit option that doesn’t involve mass casualties, and we’ve demonstrated strength without unnecessary violence.

“Time to go home,” I say, reaching for my rifle. “Our woman’s probably wondering why we left so early without saying goodbye properly.”

“She was asleep,” Garrett points out. “Beautiful, naked, and completely exhausted from celebrating her makeover last night.”

“All the more reason to get home quickly.”

The drive back to Wolf Pike passes in comfortable silence, each of us processing the morning’s negotiations. Los Serpientes will withdraw—the economics make too much sense for them to choose warfare over easier targets. But until we receive official confirmation, we’ll maintain defensive readiness.

Rick Cross’s bike is parked outside our compound when we arrive, along with several other Black Wolves motorcycles. The brotherhood that reunited to protect us hasn’t dispersed yet, probably won’t until the cartel situation resolves completely.

“Any word?” Rick asks when we enter the house.

“Twenty-four hours for their answer. But I think they’ll accept terms,” I tell him.

“What terms?”

“Complete territorial withdrawal in exchange for non-interference with their other operations.”

“Generous.”

“Practical. Dead cartels can’t honor agreements, but defeated ones remember the cost of breaking them.”

Ember appears from the kitchen, still glowing from last night’s transformation and celebration. Her auburn hair catches morning light streaming through the windows, making her look like some ancient goddess of war and beauty combined.

“How did it go?” she asks, settling into my lap.

“Better than expected. They have twenty-four hours to agree to withdrawal, or we eliminate their organization permanently.”

“They’ll agree,” she says with absolute conviction. “Smart predators don’t fight battles they can’t win.”

“Spoken like a true federal agent.”

“Former federal agent. Current Bishop-McKenzie-Delacroix family member.”

I kiss her temple, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with lingering traces of last night’s passion. “Current mother of our unborn child.”

Her hand drifts unconsciously to her stomach, still flat but carrying the future we’re fighting to protect. “Current many things.”

“Most importantly, the current survivor of every threat thrown at this family.”

Atlas joins us, coffee mug in hand, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him in weeks. “Finn’s been transferred to federal custody. Turned state’s evidence in exchange for witness protection for himself and his sister.”

“What did he tell them?”

“Everything about Los Serpientes’ recruitment tactics, operational structure, and planned activities in Colorado. FBI’s building a massive case that should neutralize their organization within six months.”

“Even if they honor our agreement?”

“Even if. Finn’s information gives federal law enforcement everything they need to dismantle the entire network.”

Ember leans back against my chest, fitting against me like she was designed for this position. “So we win either way. They withdraw and leave us alone, or they refuse and get destroyed by federal prosecution.”

“Plus whatever we do to them personally,” Garrett adds, joining our impromptu strategy session. “Can’t forget the personal revenge factor.”

“I prefer the negotiated settlement,” Ember says quietly. “Less chance of any of you getting hurt defending what we’ve built.”

“Less exciting though,” I tease, earning a gentle elbow to the ribs.

“I’ve had enough excitement to last several lifetimes. Ready for boring domesticity with three overprotective men and a baby who’s going to drive us all insane with worry.”

“Speaking of the baby,” Atlas says, pulling folded papers from his jacket pocket. “Doctor Morrison confirmed the pregnancy officially. Also scheduled your first ultrasound for next week.”

“What will the ultrasound show?”

“How far along you are, whether everything’s developing normally, maybe the gender if you want to know.”

“Do we want to know?” she asks us.

I look at my brothers, seeing my own curiosity reflected in their faces. Planning is easier with specific information, but surprises have their own appeal.

“Your choice,” Garrett says diplomatically.

“Our choice,” she corrects. “This baby belongs to all of us equally.”

“Then I vote we find out,” I decide. “I want to know if we’re having a son or daughter so we can start planning appropriately.”

“Seconded,” Atlas agrees. “Practical preparation requires specific information.”

“Motion carries,” Garrett concludes with a grin. “We’ll find out the baby’s gender next week.”

The phone rings before anyone can respond, interrupting our domestic planning session. Atlas answers with his usual business tone, but his expression quickly shifts to alert attention.

“Understood. We’ll be ready.” He hangs up, turning to face us with grim satisfaction. “That was Diego Morales. Los Serpientes accepts our terms. Complete withdrawal from Wolf Pike territory, effective immediately.”

“Just like that?” Ember asks.

“Just like that. Sometimes negotiation works better than violence.”

“Disappointing,” Rick says from the doorway where he’s been listening. “We were hoping for a proper war.”

“Next time,” I promise. “There’s always another enemy looking to test our resolve.”

But for now, peace. For now, safety for the woman carrying our child and the community that’s accepted us as family. For now, the chance to build something beautiful instead of just defending what we’ve already claimed.

“So what happens now?” Ember asks, settling more comfortably in my lap.

“Now we plan a nursery,” Atlas says. “Now we prepare for parenthood. Now we figure out how to raise a child in a family that defies every conventional definition.”

“Now we celebrate,” Garrett adds. “Victory over cartels, federal agents, and anyone else who thought they could take what belongs to us.”

“Now we love each other,” I conclude, wrapping my arms around the woman who chose us over everything safe and predictable in her former life. “For as long as we’re all breathing.”

Ember tilts her head back to look at me. “That sounds like a perfect plan,” she says softly.

Outside, motorcycles roar to life as our Black Wolves brothers begin departing now that the crisis has passed.

But inside our kitchen, surrounded by the men who’ve become my family and holding the woman who’s become our future, I feel something I haven’t experienced since I was a child in New Orleans.

Complete peace. The kind that comes from knowing you’re exactly where you belong, with exactly the people who matter, building exactly the life you never dared hope you deserved.

C’est parfait, I think, pressing another kiss to Ember’s temple.

This is absolutely, utterly perfect.