Page 44 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

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The supplier in Mason City always holds the good parts for me.

Been that way since Tank first introduced us, back when Black Dog was just a dream in a run-down building.

This morning’s haul is worth the early drive—custom chrome pieces you can’t find anywhere else, as well as specialty tools most mechanics don’t even know exist.

Maddox sprawls in the passenger seat of our work truck, boots on the dash like always. In the rearview, I catch Ryder going through the inventory list again. Three brothers, three different ways of handling the morning.

“Could’ve waited ’til later for parts.” Maddox yawns. “Sun’s barely up.”

“Early bird gets the chrome,” I remind him, taking the turn onto Main Street. “Besides, garage opens in an hour.”

Something’s off about the street ahead. A crowd’s gathered in front of our building, the kind that usually means trouble. My hands tighten on the wheel.

“The hell?” Maddox sits up straight, suddenly awake. “That better not be what I think it is.”

It’s exactly what he thinks it is.

I park the truck half on the curb, not caring about blocking traffic. The crowd parts as we approach; they know us and our reputation. Know what those bikes mean to us.

Three custom builds lying like fallen soldiers. Months of work scattered across asphalt. Paint jobs that took weeks to perfect are now scraped and dented.

“Jesus Christ.” Maddox is laughing even though it’s not funny. “Someone’s got a death wish.”

Ryder moves through the crowd like a shadow, examining each bike with a mechanic’s eye. His custom paint job—the one that won three shows last year—is gouged down to the metal.

My own bike took the worst hit, being first in line. The chrome we just replaced last week is twisted like modern art.

“Security cameras caught it.” The voice of our assistant, Lucy, breaks through my mental calculation of repair costs. “Clear footage of the whole thing.”

“How long ago?” I keep my voice steady. People are watching, judging how we handle this.

“Maybe an hour? I called as soon as I saw it, but you boys were already gone.”

We need at least five grand in repairs, and we’ll have to wait weeks for custom parts.

“Show’s over!” Maddox’s voice carries down the street. “Unless you’re helping move these bikes, clear out.”

The locals know when to leave and when to help. A few stick around to help us get the bikes inside.

The garage door groans open to the morning sun. Our workspace smells like oil, metal, and home. The bikes look worse under fluorescent lights—the damage you can’t hide even in the shadows.

“Parts might work.” Ryder’s voice is desert-dry. “Some of them, anyway.”

He’s being optimistic. The frames are tweaked. Even the wheels took damage from the domino effect.

The morning crowd starts rolling in—regular customers, parts deliveries, the normal flow of garage life. We handle it all while processing what happened. Multitasking is in our blood.

“Insurance forms are on your desk.” Nora appears like smoke, already handling paperwork. She’s been running our office since we returned to town six months ago. “And that security footage is ready when you want it.”

I want it now, but I need to finish this first.

Maddox finds dark humor in everything, and he’s already planning how to improve his bike with the repairs. Ryder works silently, focused, memorizing every detail of the damage. Me? I calculate costs and consequences.

“Parts inventory’s updated.” Ryder appears at my elbow, quiet as always. “Orders placed for what we need.”

“Insurance?” I know Nora handled it, but double-checking is a habit.

“Forms filled. Adjustor coming at ten.”

Efficiency runs in our blood too. Tank taught us how to handle problems head-on.

The morning rush slows around nine. Bikes are stable, damage documented, and parts ordered. Time to see exactly what happened to our machines.

“Lucy’s still upstairs.” Nora hands me coffee I didn’t ask for but definitely need. “Says she’ll fill you in on everything she knows about the new lady in town.”

A new lady who just cost us thousands in repairs and weeks of work, and who fled the scene instead of facing the consequences. One who’s about to learn how we handle problems in Wolf Pike.

“Let’s check the footage.” I head for the office, my brothers falling in step. “Want to see what we’re dealing with.”

Five hours after discovering our destroyed bikes, we’re finally ready to watch how it happened.

The security footage plays on our office monitor for the fifth time. Maddox sprawls in his desk chair while Ryder and I stand behind him, each seeing something different in the grainy images.

“Run it again,” I say, though I’ve memorized every detail. The way her Honda creeps past our bikes. The careful way she positions herself for parking. The moment everything goes wrong.

“She’s hot.” Maddox leans back, grinning despite our wrecked bikes. “Like, seriously hot. Even in grainy footage.”

He’s not wrong. Even through security cameras, her hair pulled up in a bun, there’s something about her that draws the eye.

“Focus,” I growl, but my own attention keeps catching on the way she moves. Controlled, aware, until that truck backfires.

“I am focusing.” Maddox rewinds again. “Focus is directly on that perfect—”

“Play it at normal speed.” Ryder’s voice holds an edge I recognize. He’s seeing what I’m seeing.

The footage rolls. Her car passes our bikes once or twice, testing the parking space. But her attention isn’t on parking—it’s on everything else—every person who walks past, every car that moves, every potential threat.

“There.” Ryder points as the truck backfires. “Watch her reaction.”

It’s not a normal startle response. Her whole body shifts like she’s expecting gunfire. Combat reflexes. Muscle memory.

“Damn.” Maddox sits up straighter. “Girl’s got training. Makes her even hotter.”

“Makes her dangerous,” I correct, but I can’t deny the way my pulse kicks as I watch her fluid movements.

The Honda lurches back. Our bikes fall. And then…

“Look at that sweep.” Ryder’s voice holds appreciation despite the destruction we’re watching. “Full tactical assessment before she moves.”

She’s good. Too good for some random girl who can’t parallel park.

“Ex-military?” Maddox spins in the chair, looking at me. “Doesn’t move like law enforcement.”

“Something else.” I watch her drive off. “Something that taught her to react to backfire like gunshots.”

Ryder’s silence speaks volumes. We all know what kind of life teaches those instincts. What kind of training makes you check exits before running.

“Lucy said she just moved in yesterday.” I pull up the rental application Nora got from Mae. It helps when your manager is besties with everyone in town, including landladies.

“Rowan Callahan. Twenty-four. Previous address in Seattle.”

“Bullshit.” Maddox spins back to the footage. “That’s not Seattle movement. That’s survival movement.”

He rewinds again, and yeah—there’s no denying the deadly grace in the way she handles herself. The kind of awareness that speaks of hard lessons learned young.

“She’s running.” Ryder’s voice holds certainty. And interest. “Running hard from something big.”

“Or someone.” I study her face on the grainy screen. Even through panic, there’s a beauty that catches like hooks under skin. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone took cover in Wolf Pike,” I say, my mind drifting to the Cross brothers’ partner, Evie. “Question is, what brought her to our town?”

“Here’s a better question.” Maddox grins up at us. “When do we go say hello?”

“After the insurance adjustor.” But I’m already planning the conversation. “Five grand in damages,” I remind them and myself. “Focus on that, not how good she looks running away.”

“Can’t it be both?” Maddox’s grin widens. “Hot girl with combat training who owes us money? This is getting better by the minute.”

Ryder makes a sound that might be agreement. His attention hasn’t left the screen; he’s studying every move she makes with a predatory focus.

“She’ll have an escape plan.” Ryder finally speaks. “Someone with those instincts always does.”

“Let her try.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “She owes us five grand and an explanation.”

“And maybe dinner?” Maddox ducks my half-hearted swat. “What? We all see it. Girl’s gorgeous even while wrecking our bikes.”

He’s not wrong. She’s a mystery wrapped in combat training and curves that catch even security camera attention. A runner who landed in exactly the wrong parking space.

Our parking space.

Time to say hello to our new neighbor.

End of Preview.