Page 32 of Claimed By the Bikers

“Not with your hands tied.” I spear a bite of egg on the fork and hold it toward her mouth. “Open.”

She presses her lips together stubbornly.

“Natalie.” My voice carries warning now. “You need to eat. It’s been too long since you had anything, and you’re going to need your strength.”

“For what?”

“For adjusting to your new life.”

She stares at me for a long moment before reluctantly opening her mouth. I feed her slowly, making sure she gets enough protein and carbohydrates. When she’s finished, I hold a glass of orange juice to her lips.

“Good girl,” I murmur when she drains the glass.

Atlas leans forward, forearms on the table. “Here’s how this is going to work. You can’t go back to that motel. We can’t let you out of sight for obvious reasons. So Silas and I are going to handle checkout, and pack up your things.”

“What about my handler? He’ll expect check-ins.”

“Leave that to us,” Silas says. “We’re very good at making people disappear when necessary.”

“In the meantime,” Atlas continues, “you’ll be staying here. With us.”

“Where exactly? You’ve got three bedrooms, three men, and one me.”

Interesting question. We haven’t discussed sleeping arrangements, though I suppose we all assumed she’d rotate between our beds. But looking at her now, seeing the vulnerability she’s trying so hard to hide, I make a decision.

“She stays with me,” I say firmly. “In my room.”

Atlas raises an eyebrow. “Any particular reason?”

“I’m the only one who’s been married. I know how to share space with a woman, how to live with someone who isn’t just a convenient fuck.”

The words are harsher than I intended, but they get my point across. Silas and Atlas are used to women who come and go, who don’t leave toothbrushes or demand closet space. They’ve never had to navigate the intimate logistics of cohabitation.

I have. For eight beautiful years with Sarah, and I remember every lesson.

“You were married?” Natalie’s voice breaks the silence, curiosity overriding her anger for the first time since she tried to run.

“Yes,” I confirm, something cold settling in my stomach. “Past tense.”

“What happened?”

I look at her for a long moment, debating how much truth she can handle. How much truth I can handle sharing. But if she’s going to be part of our lives now, if she’s going to understand why we do what we do, she needs to know where we came from.

“Sarah was my wife. Katie was our daughter. She was six.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “Twenty years ago, the MC wars were brutal. Rival clubs fighting over territory, over drug routes, over pride. The Serpents decided to send a message to the Black Wolves.”

I can feel my brothers’ attention, their silent support. They know this story, lived through the aftermath with me, but they’ve never stopped it from hurting.

“They came to our house while I was at church with the club. Sarah was home with Katie, baking cookies for some school function. The Serpents broke in, did things…” I stop, swallow hard. “They left them for me to find.”

Natalie’s face has gone pale. “Garrett, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring them back.” I stand abruptly, moving to the sink to give myself something to do with my hands. “But it taught me that the people we love are targets. That caring about someone makes them vulnerable.”

“Then why?—”

“Why keep you here? Why risk caring about you?” I turn back to face her. “I learned something else that day.”

“What?”