Page 15 of Claimed By the Bikers

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 wildmustang. 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.