Page 51 of Claimed By the Bikers

“It’s also completely illegal,” Atlas says bluntly. “Unlicensed distribution of prescription medications, operating an unregulated medical supply network, and tax evasion on charitable donations. We break federal laws every single day.”

“But you’re saving lives.”

“We’re helping people the government failed. Sometimes that means bending rules.”

“What about the Black Wolves? How do they fit into this?”

Atlas and Garrett exchange a look. “That’s more complicated,” Garrett says.

“The MC provided security, muscle when we needed it, connections for sourcing supplies,” Atlas explains. “But about fifteen years ago, the leadership started pushing for more lucrative operations. Drug distribution, protection rackets, the kind of criminal activity that brings federal attention.”

“We refused,” Silas says. “Told them we weren’t interested in anything that hurt innocent people.”

“That caused problems?”

“Understatement,” Atlas replies. “The club leadership said we were either fully committed or we were out. So we chose out.”

“You left the Black Wolves?”

“We stepped back from active membership, kept our patches, but stopped attending meetings, stopped participating in club business. Created some distance between our operation and theirs.”

“That must have been hard.”

“Like cutting off a limb,” Garrett admits. “These were our brothers, our family. But we couldn’t compromise what we’d built to keep them happy.”

I look around the room at these three men who’ve just told me they sacrificed everything—careers, military honors, brotherhood, financial security—to help people nobody else cared about. The FBI wants to frame them as criminals when they’re actually heroes.

“This is what you didn’t want me to find,” I say quietly.

“This is what we couldn’t let the FBI discover,” Atlas corrects. “If federal agents raid our operation, they don’t just arrest us. They shut down the medication network, the supply chain, and the housing assistance. Two hundred families lose their lifeline.”

“Because you’re operating outside the law.” My throat tightens with emotion. “Funny how the FBI told me you were drug dealers. Weapons smugglers. Dangerous criminals who needed to be stopped.”

“We are dangerous,” Atlas says seriously. “We’re armed, we’re organized, and we’re willing to break any law that stands between us and protecting innocent people. That makes us a threat to a system built on keeping people desperate and dependent.”

“They wanted me to gather evidence. To build a case that would justify taking you down.”

“What would you have found? If you’d dug deep enough, what evidence would you have gathered?”

I think about the maps in the garage, the supply lists, the careful records Atlas keeps. “Medical supply purchases. Medication distribution routes. Financial records showing money going to families instead of being reported as income.”

“More than enough to destroy us and everyone we help.”

“But not evidence of the crimes they told me you committed.”

“No. Because we’ve never sold drugs to kids or smuggled weapons or hurt innocent people for profit. We’re guilty of caring more about human lives than federal regulations.”

The room falls quiet except for the ticking of the mantel clock. I stare into my cold coffee, trying to process everything they’ve told me. The scope of their operation, the risks they take, the lives they’ve saved, while my own agency paints them as villains.

“I need you to understand something,” I say finally. “When I chose your side over the FBI, I thought I was choosing love over duty. But now I realize I was choosing right over wrong.”

“Ember—”

“No, let me finish. The FBI sent me here to gather evidence against criminals. Instead, I found people doing the job my government should be doing. Taking care of veterans, helping families, providing medical care to people who can’t afford it.” I look up at Atlas. “You’re not criminals. You’re patriots. Real ones.”

“The law doesn’t see it that way.”

“Then the law is wrong.” I stand up, pacing to the window where I can see the lights of Wolf Pike spreading out below us. “All those nights I lay awake feeling guilty about betraying my oath, about choosing personal feelings over professional duty. But I wasn’t betraying anything important. I was discovering what really matters.”