Page 16 of Claimed By the Bikers

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 cameback, 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.

6

EMBER

I barely makeit through the motel room door before my back hits the wall, fingers pressed to my lips where I can still taste him. Silas. My heart pounds against my ribs, and heat pools low in my belly from that kiss. The way he backed me against his motorcycle, the way his voice dropped when he said my name.

“This is so stupid,” I whisper to the empty room, but my body doesn’t care about stupid. My skin feels tight, electric, like every nerve ending is awake and demanding attention.