Page 8 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

ATLAS

Rico slides into the booth across from me at Mel’s Diner, two towns over from Wolf Pike. Early morning crowd means truckers and shift workers, nobody who knows us or cares about our business. Perfect for the kind of conversation that can’t happen at Wolf’s Den.

“You look like hell,” he observes, signaling the waitress for coffee.

“Didn’t sleep much.” I push the manila envelope across the table. “Tell me you found something concrete.”

He opens the envelope, scanning the photographs of fingerprints I lifted from Ember’s water glass last week. His expression grows grim as he reads the report clipped to the back.

“Agent Natalie Hayes, FBI. Twenty-four years old, three years with the bureau. Undercover specialist with a perfect record.” He looks up. “Atlas, this woman is the real deal. She’s taken down three major operations in the last two years.”

“What kind of operations?”

“Human trafficking ring in Miami. Money laundering network in Seattle. Arms dealing operation in Phoenix.” Rico’s voice drops lower. “She’s not some rookie they sent to play waitress. She’s their best.”

I take a long sip of coffee, processing this. “Any idea what brought her to us?”

“Financial crimes unit has been building cases against motorcycle clubs for the past year. Word is they’re targeting smaller operations first, using them to get to the bigger fish.”

“And we’re a smaller operation.”

“Compared to the Hells Angels or the Mongols? Yeah. But we’re also cleaner, more organized. Harder to infiltrate.” Rico leans back in his booth. “Question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to give her exactly what she wants.”

“Come again?”

“Agent Hayes is here to gather evidence on our operations. So I’m going to make sure she has access to some very interesting files.” I finish my coffee and drop money on the table. “Sometimes the best way to catch a hunter is to let them think they’ve found the perfect prey.”

Back at Wolf’s Den, I watch Ember work the lunch shift with new eyes.

Every movement is calculated, professional.

The way she remembers orders without writing them down, how she navigates between tables with military precision, the casual questions she asks customers about their lives and work.

Intelligence gathering disguised as friendly conversation.

She’s good. I’ll give her that.

“Atlas?” She appears at my elbow, order pad in hand. “Table six is asking about the daily special. Something about whether the fish is local?”

“Mountain trout from Clear Creek, about twenty miles north. Tell them it was caught this morning.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

She starts to turn away, then pauses. “Oh, and your office phone has been ringing. Sounds important.”

“I’ll check it. Thanks for letting me know.”

She nods and returns to her tables, but I catch the way her eyes linger on the door marked “Private” behind the bar. Curious about what goes on back there, what kind of business calls I might be taking.

Good. Curiosity is exactly what I’m counting on.

I disappear into my office and make a show of taking several calls, speaking just loud enough that anyone passing by might catch fragments of conversation.

Shipment schedules, delivery locations, payment arrangements.

Nothing incriminating by itself, but enough to paint a picture for someone trained to connect dots.

Around two o’clock, when the lunch crowd has thinned to a handful of regulars, I approach Ember at the coffee station.

“Hey, I need to run out to the warehouse. Supplier meeting that can’t wait.” I pull out my keys, making sure she sees me lock the office door. “Think you can handle things here for an hour?”

“Of course. Anything special I should know?”

“Just the usual. Finn’s got the kitchen covered, and most of the afternoon crowd won’t show up until after four.” I pause, as if remembering something important. “Oh, and if my lawyer calls back, take a message. Tell him I’ll have those insurance documents ready for review by tomorrow.”

“Insurance documents?”

“Nothing major. Just updating our liability coverage. Paperwork’s in the safe if he needs specifics, but I doubt he’ll call back today.”

I leave through the front door, making sure several customers see me go. Then I circle around to the back of the building and slip in through the rear entrance, moving quietly through the storage areas toward my office.

The bait is set. Now I wait to see if Agent Hayes takes it.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear the soft click of a lock being picked.

I position myself in the storage room next to my office, watching through the crack in the door.

She slips inside, moving with the fluid grace of someone trained in covert operations.

No hesitation, no wasted movement. She goes straight to the safe, pulling out a small device that makes quick work of the combination lock.

She photographs each document with practiced efficiency, using a camera that’s definitely not standard equipment.

When she reaches for the folder marked “Colorado Operations,” I make my move.

“Find what you’re looking for?”

She spins around, camera still in hand, and for a split second, I see the real woman underneath the cover identity. Alert, dangerous, ready to fight or run depending on which option gives her better odds.

“Atlas! You scared me. I was just—”

“Photographing confidential business documents with professional surveillance equipment.” I step into the office, closing the door behind me. “Great job, Agent Hayes.”

Her face goes blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Agent Natalie Hayes, FBI. Three years with the bureau, undercover specialist. Should I continue, or do you want to drop the act?”

She straightens, and suddenly she’s not a nervous waitress anymore. She’s a federal agent who’s been caught in the act, and she’s calculating her next move.

Her eyes flick toward the door. Measuring distance, looking for an escape route.

“I wouldn’t,” I advise. “You’re outnumbered and outgunned. Better to cooperate.”

“Cooperate with what? You haven’t actually done anything illegal that I can see.”

Smart woman. Even caught red-handed, she’s not admitting to anything that could compromise her mission or her agency.

“Maybe not. But breaking and entering, theft of confidential documents, fraud—those are all very real crimes. Local prosecutor might be interested in hearing about them.”

“You invited me to work here. Gave me access to areas of the restaurant. Hard to prove breaking and entering when I was following legitimate job instructions.”

“Legitimate job instructions don’t typically involve lockpicks and surveillance cameras.”

She glances at the tools in her hands, then back at me. “Atlas, listen—”

“No, you listen.” I step closer, using my size to crowd her against the safe. “You’ve been lying to us for weeks. Playing games, gathering intelligence, planning our destruction. Did you think we were too stupid to notice?”

“It’s not personal.”

I move closer still, close enough to see the pulse fluttering at her throat. “It felt pretty personal when you kissed my brothers.”

“That was a mistake.”

The word hits harder than it should. “A mistake. Right.”

I reach for my phone, and she lunges forward, trying to knock it from my hand, but she’s not fast enough. I catch her wrist, but she uses the momentum to drive her knee toward my ribs.

I twist away, and she breaks free, heading for the door. But I’m between her and the exit, and when she tries to push past me, I grab her around the waist.

“Let me go!” She drives her elbow back into my solar plexus, hard enough to make me grunt.

“Not happening.”

She’s well trained, I’ll give her that. When I don’t release her, she stomps down hard on my instep, then tries to break my grip with a move that would work on most men.

But I’m not most men. Years of military combat training and twenty years of surviving in a dangerous business have taught me how to handle myself in a fight.

I spin her around, backing her against the wall, but she’s not finished. Her palm shoots up toward my nose in a move designed to break bone and send cartilage into the brain. I jerk my head back just in time, but she adjusts her angle and connects with my jaw instead.

The blow snaps my head to the side, splitting my lip and filling my mouth with the taste of blood. Stars explode across my vision for a moment.

“Bitch,” I growl, tightening my grip.

“Bastard,” she snarls back, still fighting.

But the fight is already over. She’s skilled, but I’m bigger, stronger, and have a reach advantage. Within seconds, I have her pinned against the wall, both her wrists trapped in one of my hands while I reach for my phone with the other.

“Garrett! Silas!” I call out, loud enough for my voice to carry through the building. “Get back here now!”

“Atlas, please.” Her voice drops, becoming urgent. “Don’t involve them. This is between you and me.”

“Is it? Because last I checked, you’ve been playing all three of us.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“How was it supposed to happen? You gather your evidence, build your case, then disappear back to whatever federal office sent you? Leave us to deal with the consequences?”

She doesn’t answer, but I can see the truth in her eyes. That’s exactly what was supposed to happen.

Heavy footsteps echo in the hallway, and moments later, both my brothers burst through the office door.

“What the hell is going on?” Garrett demands.

“Meet Agent Natalie Hayes,” I say, maintaining my grip as she goes still. “FBI undercover operative, currently assigned to build a case against our operations.”

I watch the betrayal register on both their faces, see the moment they realize everything they thought they knew about this woman was a lie.

“That’s impossible,” Silas says quietly.

“Caught her photographing our business records. Her real name is Natalie Hayes. She’s been working undercover for weeks.”

Garrett moves closer, his face a mask of fury and hurt. “Everything was a lie.”

“Not everything,” she whispers.

“Which parts were real?” I ask. “The way you kissed them?”

She lifts her chin defiantly. “You want the truth? Fine. I’m Agent Natalie Hayes, FBI Financial Crimes Unit. I was sent here to investigate your organization for money laundering, racketeering, and conspiracy charges.”

“And?” Silas’s voice is deadly quiet.

“And I’ve been doing my job.”

“What about the rest of it?” Garrett asks.

“That was…” She pauses, something vulnerable flickering across her face. “That was real.”

“Real enough to betray us anyway,” I observe.

“I have a job to do.”

“Had,” I correct. “Because your undercover operation just ended.”

I look between my brothers, seeing my own thoughts reflected in their faces. Anger, betrayal, hurt. But underneath it all, something else. Something darker and more possessive.