Page 69 of Claimed By the Bikers

A loudspeaker crackles to life outside, amplified voice carrying clearly through the boarded windows.

“This is Assistant Director Benjamin Torres, FBI. We have a federal warrant for the arrest of Natalie Hayes. Send her out, and no one else gets hurt.”

Ben. He’s been promoted? That fucking piece of shit. Three years of loyalty and this is how he repays me.

“Your move,” Atlas says quietly.

I look around at the destroyed restaurant, at these three men who kidnapped me and somehow became my family, at the quiet mountain town that’s slowly become home.

“Let’s show them what happens when they threaten our family.”

Atlas grins, the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him since the shooting started. “That’s my girl.”

Through the plywood gaps, I can see Ben himself now, standing behind one of the SUVs with a bullhorn in his hand. Tall and lean with that familiar long neck. Chewing on something, as always.

“This is your last warning.” Ben’s voice echoes across the compound. “Send out Natalie Hayes, or we’ll come in for her.”

I check the magazine on the rifle Silas hands me, noting the familiar weight and balance. Good equipment, well maintained, reliable.

Just like the family I’ve chosen to protect.

21

EMBER

“Ready?”Atlas asks, hand on the door handle.

“No. But let’s do it anyway.”

He pushes open what’s left of our front door, and we step into the morning sunlight.

Immediately, I’m looking down the barrels of at least a dozen assault rifles, red laser dots dancing across our chests like deadly fireflies despite the daylight. The tactical team has positioned themselves with agents in overlapping fields of fire and snipers on the ridgeline behind them.

They came prepared for war.

Atlas moves slightly to my left, Garrett to my right, Silas behind me. Their triangle formation is loose enough that we don’t present a clustered target.

“That’s far enough.” Ben’s voice echoes across the parking lot through his bullhorn. “Weapons down, hands visible.”

“Fuck you too,” I mutter under my breath.

“Agent Hayes,” Ben continues, stepping out from behind his SUV. He looks exactly the same as he did three months ago—tall, lean, that long neck making him look like a crane in tactical gear. Still chewing gum like it’s his job. “You’re under arrest for failure to complete your assigned mission, destruction of federal property, and conspiracy with known criminals.”

“Known criminals?” Atlas’s voice carries dry amusement. “That’s new.”

“Atlas Bishop, you’re also under arrest for harboring a federal fugitive, obstruction of justice, and operating a criminal enterprise.”

“What criminal enterprise would that be?” Atlas asks calmly.

“The one Agent Hayes was sent here to investigate.”

I step forward slightly, just enough to draw Ben’s attention. “You mean the medical supply network that helps veterans who can’t afford their medication? That criminal enterprise?”

“Agent Hayes, stand down. You’re clearly suffering from Stockholm syndrome and are not thinking rationally.”

“I’m thinking more clearly than I have in years.”

“These men kidnapped you. Held you against your will. Whatever they’ve done to make you sympathize with them?—”