Page 7 of Claimed By the Bikers

“Found something interesting,” he says, keeping his voice low.

“Go on.”

“Ember Collins checks out on the surface. Employment records, university transcripts, and rental history in Phoenix. But there are gaps. Small ones, but they’re there.”

I set down my whiskey. “What kind of gaps?”

“Social media presence goes back three years, but earlier posts feel manufactured. It’s as if someone built a backstory. References in Flagstaff confirmed employment, but their descriptions were vague. Generic answers about work ethic and reliability, nothing specific about personality or memorable incidents.”

“Could mean she’s running from something personal. Abusive relationship, family problems, debt collectors.”

“Could be. Or it could mean someone with resources helped her create a clean identity.” Rico’s expression stays neutral, but his tone carries weight. “On the off chance that she isn’t who she claims to be, I’ve got an explanation that might just be the truth.”

“Go on.”

“Her employment gap last year matches a time frame when a federal task force was operating in the Phoenix area. Drug trafficking investigation, but they were looking at legitimate businesses suspected of money laundering.”

The federal task force means potential law enforcement connections. Employment gaps during active investigations suggest possible cooperation with authorities. Combined with a manufactured social media presence and vague references, the picture becomes concerning.

“Keep digging, but carefully. If she’s connected to law enforcement, we need to know before she gets deeper into operations.”

“Already on it.”

Rico melts back into the crowd, leaving me alone with uncomfortable possibilities.

The front door chimes as more customers enter, but my attention sharpens when I recognize the woman walking through.

Ember Collins, arriving exactly on time for her first shift. Her Black Wolf’s Den T-shirt fits her perfectly.

She stops at the hostess station to check in with Lizzy, and I watch her scan the dining room. When she turns toward the bar area, our eyes meet across the crowded space.

For a moment, neither of us looks away, and I feel that familiar tug of attraction mixed with wariness.

Then Garrett appears at her side, and the spell breaks.

3

GARRETT

“You must be Ember.”I push back from my corner booth, whiskey glass forgotten as I take in the woman walking toward me.

Atlas mentioned hiring someone new, but he failed to mention she’d look like every fantasy I’ve had since my wife died. “I’m Garrett. I’ll be showing you the ropes tonight.”

Her smile hits me square in the chest. “Nice to meet you. I’m ready to learn.”

Christ, that voice. Soft but confident, with just enough warmth to make a man wonder what it would sound like first thing in the morning.

I clear my throat and gesture toward the dining room, trying to keep my eyes on her face instead of the way that black T-shirt hugs every curve.

“Right then. Let’s start with the basics.” I move closer than necessary and catch a whiff of her perfume. “Lizzy showed you the POS system yesterday, aye?”

“She did. Seems straightforward enough.”

“Good. The kitchen’s simple too. Finn back there runs a tight ship, but he’s fair. Orders go in through the window, food comes out hot, and as long as you don’t mess with his system, you’ll get along fine.” I walk her toward the bar area. “Most of our customers are regulars. They’ll test you the first few nights, see if you’re going to stick around or disappear like the last three girls.”

“What happened to them?”

“Two quit after their first weekend. Said the crowd was too rough.” I lean against the bar, watching her process this information. “The third one lasted a month before she decided she wanted something with better hours and less attitude from drunk bikers.”