Page 12 of Claimed By The Club

VIPER

I ’m wiping road dust off my bike near the garage when I notice Sierra making her way across the lot.

She’s holding a clipboard filled with notes and moving with quiet purpose.

The hot midday sun bounces off her black hair, which she’s wearing loose today.

Her face is set with determination, yet there’s a flicker of apprehension there too—like she’s balancing a mountain on her shoulders but won’t let it knock her down.

I pause mid-wipe, letting the cloth dangle from my hand, and watch her approach.

Even from a distance, the confidence in her stride is unmistakable.

She has an energy that makes you believe she’ll accomplish whatever she sets her mind to.

My thoughts drift to how relentless she’s been these past few days, throwing herself into the bar’s business plan, brainstorming ways to boost the club’s legit revenue, and keeping calm despite looming threats from the rival gang.

She stops a few paces away, shading her eyes with her free hand. “Viper, you got a minute?”

My pulse skips like it always does when she says my name. I force a casual smile. “For you, always. What’s up?”

She taps the clipboard. “I’ve got proposals for cross-promoting the bar with some local events, but I need input from the whole leadership. Think we can gather everyone?”

I tuck the cloth into a side pocket, nodding. “Sure. Frost is probably in his office. Ghost was around back, last I saw. Let’s track them down.”

She falls into step beside me, the aroma of sun-baked earth surrounding us.

A short walk takes us to a side entrance of the clubhouse, its heavy door propped open by a cinder block.

Inside, the air is cooler, but a faint smell of cigarette smoke lingers in the corridors.

Sierra glances around with a thoughtful expression, as if continuously assessing her new environment.

I lead her to Frost’s makeshift office. He’s at his desk, scanning a few printed spreadsheets. He glances up at our arrival, setting the pages aside. “Hey,” he says in that calm, even tone of his. His gaze slips from me to Sierra. “You need something?”

She lifts the clipboard. “I’ve put together a short-term plan to draw more riders to Bluelight. I need feedback from all of you, especially since we’ll be pooling resources.”

Frost nods, pressing a button on a walkie-talkie to summon Ghost. Then he stands, gesturing for us to follow him to the main lounge area, where a couple of old tables can fit more people.

As we step into the open space, Ghost enters from another door, moving in that stealthy way of his.

He’s so quiet sometimes, it’s easy to forget how large he is—broad-shouldered, tall, with that ash-blond hair cropped close.

He gives Sierra a brief nod, then addresses Frost. “You called?”

Frost motions for everyone to sit around the table. Sierra takes the seat across from me. Ghost leans against the wall, arms folded, but I can tell he’s listening. Frost slides into a chair beside her, looking composed as usual. I drop into the chair next to Ghost, crossing one ankle over my knee.

Sierra clears her throat. “All right, here’s the gist. We host ‘theme nights’ at Bluelight—live music, biker meetups, maybe a weekend fair with local vendors.

In the short term, it costs a little more to set up.

But with proper promotion, it pays off by drawing in bigger crowds and forming relationships with other clubs who want a neutral place to gather.

It’s not rocket science, but it has to be consistent. ”

Frost flips through a small stack of notes she hands him. “Looks good on paper,” he comments, “but is this feasible for a small town?”

She nods firmly. “We don’t need thousands of people. A modest increase in loyal customers can keep the bar thriving. With online promotion, we expand our reach, luring riders from neighboring counties.”

Ghost speaks without shifting his stance. “Any concerns about the Iron Reapers? If we draw bigger crowds, we risk them slipping in.”

Sierra’s lips flatten. “We can set some precautions. Strict ID checks, security at the door… hopefully your men can handle that. But if we’re too scared to do anything, we’ll stay stuck.”

I grin, tapping the table. “I’m for it. Better to build something legit than wait around for trouble to find us anyway.”

Frost hands the notes to Ghost, who skims them. Then Frost’s icy-blue gaze settles on Sierra. “We’ll discuss details at the next meeting, but I’m inclined to move forward. This is exactly why we brought you in—to help expand.”

She exhales softly, a flicker of relief brightening her features. “Thank you. I’ll outline a more detailed timeline by the weekend.”

I watch her closely, noting the way her shoulders relax when Frost gives approval. She’s been under so much pressure, yet she just keeps moving forward. That resilience is one of the reasons I can’t help admiring her. Anyone else might have cracked by now.

As we wrap up, Sierra hesitates. Then she looks at me, at Ghost, then at Frost. “I know this might sound random,” she begins, “but can I ask something personal?”

Frost arches an eyebrow. Ghost remains impassive. I tilt my head, waiting. She fiddles with the edge of the clipboard. “I realized I don’t know your real names. I mean, I’ve heard people mention them, but I’m still not entirely sure. And I’m curious how you got your road names.”

There’s a moment of silence. Most people in this world don’t ask personal questions unless they’ve earned real trust. But Sierra is an outsider-turned-insider, walking that line.

I decide to speak first. “I’m Carter Bennett,” I say, “though pretty much everyone calls me Viper. I got the name during a scrap with a rival club a few years back. They said I struck fast, like a venomous snake, and it stuck.”

Sierra smiles, eyes shining with curiosity. “Carter,” she repeats, rolling the syllables. “I like Viper. Suits you—quick reflexes, surprising bites.”

I chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.”

Ghost steps away from the wall, crossing the room in a few strides. He stops behind the chair Frost is sitting in, resting a hand on the back. “Luke Harrington,” he says, voice low. “Everyone calls me Ghost because I’m quiet, stay under the radar. Some say I can appear out of nowhere.”

She nods, a thoughtful look on her face. “Luke,” she echoes, considering him with mild fascination. Then she glances at Frost expectantly.

Frost looks almost reluctant, but finally speaks. “Elias Mercer. The club started calling me Frost years back, after I kept my cool during a… complicated deal that went sideways. They said my blood never heated. The name stuck.”

A soft chuckle escapes Sierra’s lips. “Elias, Luke, Carter,” she murmurs. Then she straightens. “Thanks for telling me.”

Frost shrugs, dismissing any awkwardness. “We’ll still answer to our road names, but it’s good you know the difference now.”

Ghost—Luke—says nothing else, simply nods. I see the way Sierra’s gaze flicks among us, as if she’s memorizing each name and storing it away.

Frost pushes his chair back, signaling the end of our informal session. “All right, we’ve got other tasks. Sierra, share your final draft with Knox so he can budget. Viper, go handle that parts order for the garage. Ghost, you’re on security detail for the day.”

We murmur our agreements, and Sierra heads off to find Knox, who’s probably buried in receipts. Ghost disappears down the hall, leaving me alone with Frost for a moment. He stands, gathering his papers, that unflappable expression still in place. I study him, searching for any flicker of concern.

“You think we’re making the right call?” I ask. “Working with her so closely, trusting her plans?”

Frost’s jaw tightens momentarily. “She’s proven herself so far. We need to expand our revenue, and she’s the best shot we’ve got. So yes.”

“She’s good for the club,” I say. “And… maybe good for us too. Whether we like it or not.”

He sighs, glancing toward the door Sierra exited. “We’ll see how this plays out. Keep an eye on her, and let’s ensure no one takes advantage. The next time the Reapers show up, we’ll be ready.”

He stalks off, leaving me in the lounge with thoughts spinning.

I tuck a stray piece of paper into my jacket, then head out to handle the parts order.

The day passes in a rush of errands, phone calls, and short rides out to local suppliers.

Despite the routine, I keep thinking about Sierra’s determination and how it might reshape our future.

I park my Harley beside a couple of others near the far fence.

The sky’s an explosion of orange and pink, with the last rays of sun sinking behind the desert hills.

Dust swirls across the lot as I cut the engine.

A flicker of movement catches my eye: Sierra pacing near the safe house, phone pressed to her ear, frustration etched across her features.

My stomach tightens. Did something happen? I hop off the bike, approaching in careful steps. She ends the call, letting her phone drop to her side with a grimace.

“Everything all right?” I ask softly, halting a few feet away.

She lifts her gaze, and I see tension in the set of her jaw. “I just got off the phone with a contact. They’re backing out of a deal I was relying on for more funds.”

Disappointment radiates from her posture. I want to reassure her, but I know she’s proud and probably doesn’t want pity. “That sucks,” I say quietly. “Any backup plan?”

She nods, though the motion is subdued. “I’ve got another contact in Chicago who might help, but it’s a stretch.”

I comy my fingers through my hair. “We’ll figure something out. You’re not alone in this anymore.”

She forces a small smile. “Thanks.” Then she releases a shaky breath, as if bracing for the next blow. “I just wish I could get a lead on Jen—my ex-partner. If I could prove she funneled the stolen money or track the original funds, I might have leverage.”