Page 14 of Claimed By the Bikers

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 scheduleit 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.