Page 9 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

EMBER

The silence in the office is deafening. Three pairs of eyes bore into me.

Atlas with blood on his split lip from where I hit him, Garrett’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, Silas gone completely still in that predatory way that makes my pulse race.

I’m trapped in this room with three men who know exactly who I am and what I’ve done to them.

And the way they’re looking at me now…

It’s not just anger I see in their faces. It’s hunger. Raw, desperate want that makes my stomach flip and heat pool between my thighs despite everything that’s happened. Despite the fact that I should be terrified.

I’ve been trained for situations like this—captured, outnumbered, facing unknown consequences. Fear should be flooding my system, making me cold and calculating. Instead, heat spreads through my body as all three men crowd closer.

I tried everything to get out of this situation. I bargained, I fought, I used every technique they taught me at Quantico. None of it worked. These men are too smart, too strong, too prepared. Whatever happens next, I can’t stop it.

But maybe I don’t want to.

“So what now?” I ask, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “You call your other gang members? Expose me? Kill me?”

“Kill you?” Atlas steps closer, and I can smell his cologne mixed with something darker. “Why would we kill you when we’ve barely begun to enjoy you?”

My breath catches. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Silas says softly, moving to my left while Garrett shifts to my right, “that you’ve been driving us crazy. FBI agent or not, that hasn’t changed.”

“You lied to us,” Garrett adds, his Scottish accent thick with fury. “Made us trust you. Made us want you.”

“And now we know why you kissed my brothers,” Atlas continues, backing me against his desk.

I know where they’re headed and if I’m going to die anyway, why not let the horny part of me have this moment?

Why not stop fighting the attraction that’s been eating me alive since Garrett kissed me in that storage room?

Since Silas looked at me with those piercing eyes and made my heart race with just a smirk?

I hated them when I first arrived. Wanted to handcuff Garrett myself for being such a pervert.

But then he protected me, kissed me, made me feel things I swore I’d never feel on a job again.

And Silas… God, when he came back to town looking like something out of a fantasy, I couldn’t hold myself back anymore.

At least I’ll get something out of all this mess. At least my body will know what it feels like to be claimed by men I’ve been craving despite every rational thought.

“Strip,” Atlas says quietly.

My hands shake as I reach for the hem of my T-shirt. This is really happening. I’m really going to let this happen. The smart thing would be to refuse, to try to maintain some control over the situation. But smart went out the window the moment I decided to stop fighting.

I pull the shirt over my head and drop it to the floor. My bra follows, and I hear Silas make a low sound of appreciation. The cool air hits my heated skin, making my nipples tighten.

“Magnifique,” Silas murmurs, moving closer. “Even more beautiful than I imagined.”

“Keep going,” Atlas commands, his voice rough.

I kick off my shoes and reach for the button of my jeans. When I hesitate, Garrett moves behind me, his large hands covering mine. “Let me,” he growls against my ear.

His calloused fingers make quick work of the button and zipper, pushing the denim down my hips. I step out of the jeans, standing before them in nothing but simple cotton panties that are already damp with arousal.

“Fuck,” Garrett breathes, his hands settling on my waist. “Look at you.”

“We are looking,” Atlas says, his eyes tracking over every inch of exposed skin. “And we like what we see.”

Silas reaches out to trace one finger along my bare shoulder. When I shiver at the contact, his mouth curves in a predatory smile. “We can’t do this here,” he says, more to his brothers than to me.

“The house,” Garrett agrees, already moving to gather my scattered clothes from the floor. He picks up my T-shirt, bra, jeans, even my purse that I dropped during our struggle. Everything gets bundled together in his arms.

“What about—” I start, but Atlas is already shrugging out of his suit jacket.

“Arms up,” he orders.

I raise my arms, and he slides the jacket over my shoulders. It’s massive on me, hanging almost to my knees, but it does nothing to hide the fact that I’m essentially naked underneath. The silk lining feels cool against my heated skin.

“Walk,” Garrett says, his hand on the small of my back.

They guide me out of the office, through the empty restaurant. My bare feet are silent on the wooden floors, but every step makes me hyperaware of how little I’m wearing. Just panties and Atlas’s jacket, which gaps open with each movement.

My heart pounds as we approach the front door. What if someone sees us? What if there are customers outside, or staff members who stayed late?

As if reading my thoughts, Atlas opens the door and peers out. “Clear,” he says softly.

But as we step outside into the cool evening air, I hear a low whistle from somewhere across the parking lot.

My face burns with humiliation as I realize someone can see exactly what’s happening.

That I’m being walked across the lot wearing nothing but a man’s jacket, my hair disheveled from fighting, looking exactly like what I am—a woman who’s been caught and claimed.

“Keep walking,” Silas murmurs from behind me, his voice amused.

The path to their house feels endless. Every step reminds me that I’m essentially naked, that anyone could see me like this. That I’m an FBI agent being paraded around like a trophy by the men I was supposed to investigate.

The worst part? Part of me likes it. Part of me is getting off on the degradation, the loss of control, the way they’re treating me like I belong to them now.

When we finally reach the front door of their house, Atlas opens it and ushers me inside. I’ve never been inside their home before—always kept at arm’s length, always the employee who didn’t belong in their private space. Now I’m being brought in under completely different circumstances.

The two-story log structure sprawls around me, exactly as I glimpsed from the outside. Exposed wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, and heavy furniture fills the living room. Everything speaks of permanence, of men who built something to last.

“Upstairs,” Atlas says, his hand on my elbow. “My room.”

They guide me up the staircase, and every step feels significant. Weighted with possibility and threat in equal measure. This is their territory, their domain, and I’m being brought deeper into it as their captive.

Atlas’s bedroom matches the rest of the house—massive bed with dark sheets, heavy furniture that looks handcrafted, windows overlooking the compound behind the restaurant. Everything about the space speaks of the man who commands it.

Now it’s going to be the place where everything changes.

“Second thoughts?” Silas asks, setting my clothes on a chair by the window.

I turn to face all three of them, standing in the middle of Atlas’s bedroom wearing nothing but his jacket and my increasingly damp panties. They’re looking at me like predators who’ve finally cornered their prey, and I can feel my last defenses crumbling.

“No,” I whisper. “No second thoughts.”

Atlas’s smile is sharp as a blade. “Good. Because there’s no going back after this.”

He’s right. Whatever happens in this room, whoever I am when I leave it, there will be no going back to the woman who walked into Wolf Pike six weeks ago. That version of me died the moment I stopped fighting.

This version? This version wants to see what happens when three dangerous men decide to keep what they’ve caught.

Atlas moves first, his hands framing my face as his mouth crashes down on mine. I taste blood from his split lip, metallic and warm, proof of our earlier struggle. But now instead of fighting, I’m kissing him back with desperate hunger.

When we break apart, I’m breathless and aching. Garrett’s hands are already on my waist, pulling me back against his solid chest, while Silas moves to stand in front of me.

“Our turn to learn the truth about you,” Silas murmurs, his fingers trailing along the lapels of Atlas’s jacket. “Every beautiful, lying inch.”

The jacket slides off my shoulders and puddles on the floor, leaving me in nothing but cotton panties that do nothing to hide how much I want this. Want them.

“Perfect,” Garrett growls against my neck. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

His mouth finds the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder while Silas’s hands map the curve of my waist. Atlas watches from a few feet away, those storm-gray eyes taking in every reaction, every shiver, every desperate sound I make.

“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for.

“Please what?” Atlas asks softly.

“I don’t know. I just…please.”

“She’s asking us to claim her,” Silas translates, his accent thicker than usual. “To make her ours.”

“Is that what you want?” Garrett asks, his hands stilling on my skin. “To be ours?”

I close my eyes, the last of my resistance crumbling. “Yes.”

“Say it properly,” Atlas commands. “Tell us what you want.”

“I want…” I take a shaky breath. “I want you to claim me. All of you. I want to be yours.”

Atlas doesn’t move at first. His dark gaze stays locked on mine, weighing my words, letting the silence stretch just long enough for my pulse to stumble. Then his mouth curves—not in a smile, but in something sharper.

“Knees.”

The word is quiet but absolute.

My body reacts before my mind catches up. I sink down in front of them, the plush rug brushing my knees. From here they seem impossibly tall, all raw power and control, the air thick with their heat.