Page 2 of Claimed By the Bikers

I turn to find a young woman behind the hostess station, maybe early twenties, with blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her name tag reads “Lizzy” in cheerful blue letters.

“I’m looking for work,” I say, giving her a genuine smile. “Heard you might be hiring waitresses.”

Lizzy’s eyes light up. “Oh, thank God. We’ve been short-staffed for weeks.” She glances toward the back of the restaurant, then lowers her voice. “Fair warning, though, the boss can be intense. But he’s not mean or anything, just really direct.”

“I can handle direct.”

“Cool. Let me grab him.” She disappears through a door marked “Private,” leaving me alone to study my surroundings.

Photographs on the walls showcase the restaurant’s history, including grand opening ceremonies, community events, and groups of men in leather jackets raising beer bottles to the camera. In several of them, I recognize the faces from my briefing materials, though younger versions. My targets—often called “the Bishop brothers” even though they technically havethree different last names—have been part of Wolf Pike for a long time.

“Miss?” I turn to find Lizzy beckoning me toward the back. “He’ll see you now.”

The hallway behind the dining room is narrow, lined with doors on both sides. Lizzy stops at the last door on the right and knocks twice.

“Come in.”

Atlas Bishop’s office is modern and clean. Large windows overlook the back of the property, and the filing cabinets appear to have been recently purchased. The air carries the faint scent of expensive cigars, and everything is meticulously organized.

But it’s the man behind the desk who commands attention. Atlas Bishop fills the space just by existing in it, silver threading through dark hair that’s been cut short.

He’s wearing a simple black T-shirt that does nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders, and when he looks up from papers scattered across his desk, his eyes are the color of storm clouds.

“You’re here about the waitress position.” It’s not a question.

“Yes, sir.” I settle into the chair across from him without being asked, maintaining a relaxed yet attentive posture. “I’m Ember.”

“Atlas.” He watches me with the unnerving calm of a chess player. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Actually, I just got into town. I used to visit here all the time as a kid.” I let a small smile play at my lips. “My mom and I would come up from Phoenix every summer to stay with theCarmichaels. Harold and Mary. They had this little house on Pine Street with the blue shutters.”

Atlas nods slowly. “Harold died four years ago. Mary followed about six months later.”

“I heard.” My voice thins. “They were like grandparents to me. My mom passed two years ago, and I guess I just needed to be somewhere that felt like home again.”

“I see. What’s your experience?”

“I’ve been waiting tables since I was eighteen. Worked at a diner in Flagstaff for two years, then at a sports bar in Phoenix.” I shift slightly in my chair. “But honestly, I was getting tired of the city. Too loud, too crowded. I remember Wolf Pike being quiet as a kid.”

Atlas nods without much interest. He pulls out a single sheet of paper and slides it across the desk. “Fill this out. References, previous employment, emergency contact information.”

I take the pen he offers and begin writing, aware that he’s watching my hands as I work. The application is basic, nothing that would trip me up, but I make sure my handwriting looks natural.

“You should know,” Atlas says as I finish the last line, “the men who come in here can be difficult. They’re not used to being told no, and they don’t always remember their manners. You need to be able to handle yourself.”

“I can.” I meet his eyes again, letting some steel show in my voice. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

His eyebrows rise slightly. “Good. You start tomorrow at five o’clock, ask for Garrett. He’ll show you the ropes. Pay is twelve an hour plus tips, and tips here are usually decent.”

“Really? That’s fantastic! Thank you so much, Mr. Atlas.” I stand up, a wide grin on my face, extending my hand.

“Just Atlas is fine.” He stands, taking my hand. “Welcome to Wolf Pike.”

His handshake is firm and warm.

“Thank you,” I say again. “I won’t let you down.”

“Lizzy will show you around so you’re not walking in blind tomorrow.”