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

EMBER

“Fuck.” I push against Garrett’s chest, breaking the kiss with a gasp. “This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong.”

His eyes are dark and confused, but he steps back immediately. “Ember—”

“No. Just…no.” I smooth down my shirt with shaking hands and bolt.

The walk back to the motel is torture. Ten minutes of replaying every second, analyzing every mistake, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

I’m a federal agent, for Christ’s sake. I don’t lose control. I don’t kiss targets. I don’t risk entire operations because some silver-haired bastard with talented hands made me forget who I am.

The moment I get inside room 12, I kick off my boots so hard that one hits the wall. I strip down to my underwear and collapse on the bed, burying my face in the pillow.

“Get your shit together, Natalie,” I mutter into the fabric. “This is your career. Your promotion. Everything you’ve worked for.”

But even as I drift into restless sleep, I can still taste whiskey on my lips.

I wake with my fingers pressed against my mouth, and the ghost of Garrett’s kiss hits me like a freight train, but my temper has significantly calmed.

My heart pounds as fragments of last night flood back. His hands on my waist, the storage room’s dim light, the way he tasted like whiskey and something darker.

“It’s just part of the job,” I whisper to the empty motel room. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get this done.”

But I know I’m lying to myself. That wasn’t strategic.

That was pure, stupid attraction to a man who could destroy everything I’ve worked for.

A forty-nine-year-old man with arms that could snap me in half, who cupped my ass like he owned it, who kissed me with decades of experience that left me breathless and wanting more.

I roll over and punch the pillow, frustrated with myself. “He’s a pervert,” I mutter. “And when this operation is over, I’m personally going to handcuff him and watch him get dragged away.”

The words sound hollow even to me.

I drag myself to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, avoiding my reflection.

This is exactly what Ben warned me about.

Don’t let the lines blur. Keep your head clear. Remember what happened with Nathan.

But Nathan never made me feel like this. Nathan was a professional. What happened with Garrett was raw and immediate and entirely out of my control.

I think about the promotion waiting for me back in Quantico.

Senior Special Agent Hayes. My own team, my own operations.

Everything I’ve worked toward for three years.

I usually don’t let myself dwell on it too much.

It’s easier to use it as motivation when things get difficult rather than obsess over what might happen.

Right now, though, I need the reminder. This assignment is my ticket to everything I want. I won’t let some silver-haired Scottish bastard with talented hands ruin that for me.

I turn on my burner phone.

Time to check in with Ben.

“Morning, sunshine.” Ben’s voice is clearer today, with no chewing sounds. “How’s small-town life treating you?”

“I’ve had correspondence with two out of three brothers,” I report, settling into the chair by the window. “The third seems to be out of town but will return soon.”

“Excellent. Any actionable intelligence?”

“Still building trust. These aren’t men who open up easily.”

“Keep at it. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“Right.” I hesitate, then decide not to mention the kiss. It’s irrelevant to the mission. “I’ll check in tomorrow.”

“Stay safe, Natalie.”

After ending the call, I stare out at Wolf’s Den in the distance. Sunlight catches the windows, making the building look almost peaceful. Hard to believe it’s the front for whatever operation brought me here.

I need to get out of this room. Clear my head. Explore Wolf Pike during the day to get a better feel for the town and its people.

An hour later, I’m walking down Main Street in jeans and a tank top, my hair loose around my shoulders. Without the Wolf’s Den uniform, I blend in with the locals. A few people wave or nod as I pass, and I wave back.

The sound of motorcycle engines roaring draws my attention toward the outskirts of town.

I follow the noise, curiosity getting the better of me, until I reach a clearing where a dirt track has been carved into the landscape.

Maybe two dozen bikes are parked in a loose circle, and riders are taking turns racing around the track at speeds that would make highway patrol officers weep.

I settle on a patch of grass about fifty yards away, close enough to watch but far enough to avoid drawing attention. The wind carries the smell of exhaust and burnt rubber, mixed with dust kicked up by spinning tires.

There’s something primal about it. The raw power of the machines, the skill required to handle them at those speeds, the way the riders lean into curves that would terrify most people.

For the first time since arriving in Wolf Pike, I feel myself relax, experiencing the simple pleasure of watching something exciting happen.

A rider on a black Yamaha takes the turn too wide and nearly goes down, managing to save it at the last second. Several people cheer, and I find myself grinning.

“First time watching the races?”

I turn to find a woman approaching, possibly in her late thirties or early forties, with intricate tattoos covering both her arms.

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, making room on the grass beside me.

“You’re sitting too far away. Locals know the best view is from the fence line.” She settles down. “I’m Evie.”

“Ember.” I study her tattoos—intricate designs that look professionally done. “Do you race?”

“Sometimes. Today, I’m just here to watch.” She stretches her legs out in front of her, completely comfortable. “Had to get away from my kids and husbands for a few hours. Sometimes a woman needs to remember who she is outside of mom duties.”

“Husbands? Plural?”

Evie’s smile widens. “Wolf Pike has interesting customs. I’m married to three men, and we have four kids between us. Best decision I ever made, though it gets loud at breakfast.”

I blink, processing this. “Three husbands?”

“Rick, Chase, and Zane. They’re good men, great fathers, and they keep me thoroughly entertained.” She laughs at my expression. “I know it sounds crazy to outsiders, but it works for us. Has for years now.”

“I’m not judging. Just…adjusting my expectations about small-town life.”

“Wolf Pike isn’t like other small towns. We do things our own way here.” She gestures toward the track. “Like these races. Technically illegal, but the sheriff’s brother-in-law runs them, so nobody complains as long as we keep it safe.”

Another rider takes the track, this one on a red Honda, and executes a perfect turn that has the crowd whistling appreciation. I find myself leaning forward, caught up in the excitement.

“You ride?” Evie asks.

“I do, but I don’t have a bike here.”

“We can make arrangements for that when you’re ready.” Her eyes get distant as she watches another rider take the track. “There’s nothing like it. The freedom, the speed, the way everything else disappears when you’re focused on the road ahead.”

I understand that feeling more than I can say. “Maybe another time.”

“Standing offer. I’m in the phone book under Cross if you change your mind.”

Cross. The name rings a bell from my briefing materials, but I can’t place it immediately. “Were you born here?”

“Oh, no. I’ve been here for about six years. Came here running from my ex-husband, ended up finding my real family.” She stands and brushes grass off her jeans. “Speaking of which, I should get back before they send out a search party. Rick worries when I’m gone too long.”

“It was nice meeting you, Evie.”

“Likewise. Welcome to Wolf Pike, Ember. I hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

She walks away with the same confident stride she came with, leaving me alone with the sound of engines and the weight of her words.

I hope you find what you’re looking for here.

If only she knew what I was really looking for.

I stay another hour despite my rumbling stomach as I watch the races and think about Evie’s easy acceptance of my presence. There’s something refreshing about her directness, the way she talked about her unconventional family without shame or defensiveness.

In my world, everyone has ulterior motives, hidden agendas, and secrets that could destroy careers. Here, a woman can casually mention her three husbands and four kids like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

By the time I head back to the motel, the sun is starting to sink toward the mountains. I have a few hours before my second shift at Wolf’s Den. Time to shower, eat, and mentally prepare for another night of acting.

But first, I need to do something about the restless energy Garrett’s kiss left behind.

Thirty minutes of push-ups and sit-ups in my cramped motel room helps, but it doesn’t completely erase the memory of his hands on my body or the way he looked at me like he wanted to eat me and leave no crumbs.

Wolf’s Den is busier tonight, the dinner crowd mixed with early evening drinkers. I check in with Lizzy, who seems relieved to see me.

“Thank God you’re here. We’re slammed, and Garrett’s been asking about you.”

“Asking what?”

“Just when you were coming in. He’s been watching the door for the last hour.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “I’m sure he’s just concerned about staffing.”

“Uh-huh.” Lizzy’s knowing look suggests she’s not buying my casual tone. “He’s at his usual booth if you want to say hi.”

I don’t want to say hi. I want to avoid him entirely and pretend last night never happened. But avoiding him would be suspicious, and I can’t afford suspicious.

“I’ll grab my apron first.”

“Sure you will.”

I make my way through the dining room, noting the familiar faces from last night mixed with new customers.

Atlas is at his usual position at the end of the bar, and when our eyes meet, he nods slightly.

No indication that he knows what happened between me and Garrett, but something in his expression suggests he’s watching me more carefully tonight.

That’s when I see him.

The man in the corner booth is nothing like the photographs in my briefing materials.

Those pictures showed someone ordinary, forgettable.

The reality is devastating. He’s the last brother of the trio, forty-five years old, with dark hair that looks soft to the touch and a jawline that could cut glass.

Sharp green eyes that seem to see everything.

Women cluster around his booth like moths to a flame. A blonde in a tight dress, a brunette with impressive cleavage, and a redhead who keeps touching his arm. He’s charming them all, speaking in what sounds like a French accent that makes my stomach flutter.

Silas Delacroix.

The Bishop brother who was supposed to be out of town for another week. He must have returned early.

His eyes find mine across the crowded room.

Everything else disappears. The noise, the other customers, the weight of my cover story. There’s only him, looking at me with the kind of intensity that makes my heart race for completely unprofessional reasons.

He smirks, slow and devastating, and I realize I’m in serious trouble.

Because if Garrett’s kiss made me question my judgment, Silas’s smile just shattered my control entirely.