Page 5 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

SILAS

It’s like the world stopped when this beautiful woman entered the room. She moves with a confidence that makes my pulse quicken, completely unaware that she’s captured the attention of every man in the place, including mine.

Mon dieu, she’s stunning.

I watch her check in with Lizzy, the way she smiles at our hostess with genuine warmth.

I try to follow the redhead’s story about her first time in Marseille, but I can’t.

When I look in her direction again, our eyes meet across the crowded space, and I feel that familiar spark of attraction that hasn’t hit me this hard in years. She holds my gaze for exactly three seconds before looking away.

Interesting.

I wait until she’s busy with a table of truckers before slipping away from the ladies at my table and heading toward Atlas’s office. My brother is hunched over paperwork, a tumbler of whiskey at his elbow despite the early hour.

“Who’s the hottie?” I ask without preamble, settling into the chair across from his desk.

Atlas looks up with the expression of a man who’s reached his limit. “Not you too.”

I grin, leaning back in my chair. “Garrett’s got his eyes on her already?”

Before Atlas can answer, our brother pushes through the office door, a joint dangling from his lips and sawdust in his hair from whatever project he’s been working on.

“Speak of the devil,” I murmur, rising to greet him properly.

I move toward Garrett and drape my arm around his shoulders. “We were just talking about you, mon frère.”

“Get off me,” Garrett grumbles, shrugging out of my embrace, but there’s no real heat in it.

“Who’s the new waitress?”

Garrett takes a long drag from his joint, studying me through the smoke. “Ember Collins. Started a few days ago.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Aye, that she is.”

Atlas pinches the bridge of his nose. “We need to talk business. And more importantly, our waitress may not be who she claims to be. Until I find out what she’s all about, both of you need to stay away from her.”

Garrett coughs suspiciously, suddenly very interested in the floor.

I raise an eyebrow. “Can’t promise you that, Atlas.”

“This isn’t a joke.” Atlas’s voice turns serious, and both Garrett and I straighten slightly.

When Atlas uses that tone, we listen. “Rico’s digging into her background, and there are inconsistencies.

She could be law enforcement, could be working for competitors, could be running from something dangerous. Until we know which, she’s off-limits.”

“Understood,” I say, though my eyes drift toward the door. Off-limits has never been much of a deterrent for me.

“Now,” Atlas continues, “let’s get into actual business. Silas, you haven’t given us a solid report on how things went in New Orleans.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts immediately, playfulness evaporating as we settle into our roles. This is why I came back early. Not just because I missed my brothers, but because the network we’ve built requires all three of us to function properly.

“Documentation is solid,” I report, pulling a manila envelope from my jacket. “Three clean identities, complete with social security numbers, credit histories, and employment records dating back five years. Cost us thirty thousand, but they’ll hold up to federal scrutiny.”

Atlas nods, examining the papers. “Good. We’ll need them for the Colorado operation.”

“Speaking of operations,” I continue, “I’ve been thinking about the car wash event. We were supposed to hold it last week, but obviously, I wasn’t here to organize it. I suggest we schedule it for this weekend. Community’s been asking about it, and we need to maintain our image as good neighbors.”

“Car wash brings in decent money too,” Garrett adds. “Last year, we raised eight thousand for the volunteer fire department.”

“Plus, it sets us up perfectly for the community dinner next month,” I say.

Atlas considers this. “Fine. Schedule it for Saturday. But keep it clean. No gambling, no deals, just washing bikes and raising money.”

“Oui, of course.” I pause, then grin. “Though I can’t promise I won’t enjoy watching our new waitress in a wet T-shirt.”

“Silas,” Atlas warns.

“What? I’m just saying she’d probably volunteer to help. Community spirit and all.”

Before Atlas can lecture me further, there’s a soft knock on the door. We all turn as Ember peeks her head in, looking slightly nervous.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “I was wondering if I could speak with you about my schedule?”

“Come in,” Atlas says, his tone carefully neutral.

She steps into the office, and I feel my breath catch. Up close, she’s even more beautiful—green eyes that seem to see everything, soft lips that look perfect for kissing, curves that make my hands itch to touch.

She’s wearing the standard Wolf’s Den uniform, but somehow she makes a simple black T-shirt look like haute couture.

My eyes roam over her as she settles into the remaining chair, and I don’t bother hiding my appreciation. She notices, of course—women always do—but instead of blushing or looking away, she meets my gaze directly.

Bold. I like that.

“Ember,” Atlas says, “it’s a good thing you’re here. I don’t think you’ve officially met my brother Silas. He just returned from New Orleans.”

I rise from my chair and extend my hand. “Enchanted, mademoiselle.”

“Nice to meet you, Silas,” she says, taking my hand, and I love the way my name sounds in her voice.

“The pleasure is entirely mine,” I murmur, releasing her hand reluctantly before settling back into my chair.

“Alright, what can we do for you?” Atlas asks.

“I was hoping to pick up some morning shifts,” she says. “I get bored sitting in the motel all day, and I could use the extra money. Plus, I think I could help with the lunch crowd.”

“Morning shifts are usually slower,” Garrett points out. “Tips won’t be as good.”

“I don’t mind. I’d rather be working than sitting around doing nothing.”

She’s lying. Not about wanting to work more—that reads as genuine—but about being bored.

“We could try it,” Atlas says slowly. “Start you on a few morning shifts next week, and see how it goes.”

“That would be perfect. Thank you.” Her smile is radiant, and I feel something tighten in my chest.

“Was there anything else?” Atlas asks.

“Actually, I was wondering if any community events are coming up that I could help with. I’d love to get more involved in Wolf Pike.”

I lean forward slightly. “Funny you should ask, chérie. We’re organizing a car wash this weekend. We always appreciate volunteers.”

Her eyes flick to mine at the endearment. “That sounds perfect. I’d love to help.”

“It’s for the volunteer fire department,” Garrett explains. “We’ll have food, music, and plenty of bikes to wash.”

“Sounds fun. I’ll be there.”

After she leaves, the three of us sit in silence for a moment.

“She volunteered awfully quickly,” Atlas observes.

“Maybe she’s just friendly,” I suggest, though I don’t believe it myself.

“Or maybe she’s looking for information,” Atlas counters. “Either way, my warning stands. Stay away from her.”

It took me three days to turn Wolf’s Den’s parking lot into this beautiful chaos. Water puddles everywhere as Maria from the diner wrestles with a hose that’s got more attitude than a wild mustang. Her bikini top is soaked through, and she’s laughing too hard to care that Tommy’s taking pictures.

“Dammit, this thing has a mind of its own!” she shouts, finally getting the spray aimed at the Harley instead of herself.

Ember shows up in cut-off shorts that showcase legs that go on for miles, and a white tank top that becomes nearly transparent when wet. Every man at the event notices, myself included, but she seems oblivious to the attention.

Or maybe she’s just good at pretending.

I corner Garrett near the beer tent while she’s washing a Harley with enthusiastic precision.

“We need to make something clear to the other men,” I say quietly.

Garrett follows my gaze to where Ember is laughing at something one of the bikers said. “Aye. I was thinking the same thing.”

We spend the next hour making casual conversation with every male present, dropping subtle warnings about keeping their hands to themselves around our new employee. Nothing threatening—just friendly suggestions that Atlas takes employee protection seriously.

By the end of the day, every man in Wolf Pike knows that Ember Collins is under the unofficial protection of the Bishop brothers.

Evening shift at Wolf’s Den passes quietly. Ember works with the same professional competence I’ve observed since I came back, but I catch her glancing my way more often than necessary.

The tension between us builds with each stolen look, and each accidental brush of hands when I help her reach something behind the bar.

I’m being careful, heeding Atlas’s warning while still letting her know I’m interested. It’s a delicate balance, but I’ve always been good at playing the long game.

When closing time arrives, I watch her gather her things and head for the parking lot. She’s alone, standing under the dim security light next to my motorcycle, running her fingers along the new paint job I had done in New Orleans.

“Like what you see?” I ask when I approach her.

She looks up, startled but not afraid. “It’s gorgeous. The detail work is incredible—is that hand-painted?”

“Every line.” I move closer, genuinely pleased by her appreciation. “Had it done by an artist in the French Quarter. Took him three weeks.”

“I can see why. I’ve been wanting to get a better look at it all week, but I’ve been so busy with shifts.” She traces one of the flame designs with her finger, careful not to actually touch the paint. “The colors are amazing.”

“You ride?”

“I do, but I don’t own a bike. Been thinking about getting one, though.”

“What’s stopping you?”

She laughs, and the sound makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “Money, mostly. And the fact that I’m living in a motel room that barely fits me, let alone motorcycle gear.”

“Fair points.” I lean against the bike beside her. “What kind would you get? If money wasn’t an issue.”

“Something like this, maybe. Fast enough to be fun, but not so powerful it kills me on the first ride.”

“Smart choice. This one’s got just enough bite to keep things interesting.”

We talk for another ten minutes about bikes, the differences between models, her experiences riding back in Phoenix. She’s more relaxed now, laughing at my stories about learning to ride as a teenager.

“You know,” I say finally, “you’ve been driving me crazy since the moment you walked into my restaurant.”

Her breath catches slightly. “Silas…”

“Say my name again.”

“We shouldn’t—”

“Probably not.” I lean down until my lips are almost touching hers. “But I’ve never been good at following rules.”

When I kiss her, she melts against me immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt as she kisses me back with surprising hunger. From the corner of my eye, I see Atlas and Garrett watching intently.

Maybe this will finally make them want what I’m taking.