Page 14 of Claimed By The Club

SIERRA

I trace a finger across the garage’s freshly painted wall, admiring the color that Knox insisted would look “classy yet tough.” It’s a deep charcoal shade, and it brings a sleek vibe to the once-rusted interior.

Two weeks ago, I never thought I’d be standing here, discussing decor with a bunch of bikers.

Then again, so much has changed in such a short span.

I’ve gone from hiding in a rundown motel to forging a strange alliance with Renegade Cross MC, all while trying to track down my missing ex-partner and avoid the Iron Reapers’ looming threats.

Somehow, this patch of desert has become my new reality.

I’ve upgraded the bar’s marketing strategy, pitched local sponsorships, and even convinced Frost—Elias—to let me help reorganize the MC’s garage into something more profitable.

A line of new merch is in the works, featuring custom Renegade Cross designs.

We’re also planning ride events to draw in fresh business.

It’s surreal, but it’s working. The club is slowly embracing these changes, especially after seeing the bar’s rising profits.

As I run my fingers along the wall, footsteps echo behind me. Turning, I spot Viper—Carter—carrying a set of wrenches and wearing that trademark grin of his. Sandy-blond hair is tied back in a short knot, and a glimmer of mischievous energy sparks in his bright green eyes.

“How’s the paint job?” he asks, setting the tools on a nearby workbench.

“Looks good,” I answer, proud of how we’ve tidied up the garage. “You guys did a great job clearing out the junk.”

He chuckles, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. “We aim to please. You’ve been busting your butt on all these projects. Don’t you ever slow down?”

My lips twitch into a faint smile. “I’ve always been the kind of person who throws myself into work. It’s a good distraction.”

He nods, reading between the lines. We’ve all been on edge since that phone call from the Iron Reapers, the one warning they’re close to Jen. The tension hasn’t disappeared, but everyday tasks keep us focused. I decide to change the topic before it gets too heavy.

“Have you heard anything new about that merch design? Axel said something about getting a local screen printer.”

Viper brightens. “They’re finalizing the first batch of T-shirts. We’ll debut them at Bluelight next week. Tourists and passing riders love souvenirs.”

I grin. “That’s the idea. Spread the name, build a legit image. It’s good for business.”

Before he can reply, a low rumble announces the arrival of another bike out front.

I peek past the open garage door and spot Ghost—Luke—rolling to a stop.

He’s dressed in black jeans and a half-unzipped hoodie.

His ash-blond hair still stands out against the desert’s muted backdrop.

He’s got a quiet way about him that manages to command attention anyway.

He dismounts in a single smooth motion. When he heads our way, I notice how he scans the garage, always on alert. That watchful demeanor never truly fades, especially after the recent threats.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and even. His gaze shifts from Viper to me. “Frost wants everyone at the clubhouse for a quick check-in.”

Viper nods, grabs a rag to wipe his hands, and gestures for me to follow.

Together, the three of us cross the dusty lot, weaving between a handful of parked bikes.

The afternoon sun bakes the ground underfoot, and a wave of heat rises from the dirt.

Inside the clubhouse, the AC unit rattles, offering relief from the scorching day.

We find Frost—Elias—near the bar counter, flipping through some papers Knox handed him.

Frost is tall, broad across the shoulders, and exudes that steady calm I’ve come to rely on—though we often clash over business decisions.

No matter how many times we butt heads, I can’t deny the pull of attraction that coils in my stomach whenever he’s near.

It’s ridiculous how my pulse speeds up the second I see him.

And it doesn’t help that I’ve caught him staring too, heated looks passing between us, neither of us willing to budge.

He glances up, ice-blue eyes flicking my way before locking onto Viper and Ghost. “Good, you’re all here.” He sets the papers down, lips pressing into a thoughtful line. “Just wanted to update everyone. The bar’s sales are up five percent in the last two weeks, which is more than we expected.”

A small rush of pride warms my chest. This is the outcome I’ve been working toward. Viper claps me on the shoulder. “Told you she was good.”

Frost’s expression remains unreadable, but a hint of satisfaction colors his voice. “We’ll push forward with the additional events. Sierra, keep coordinating with local vendors to host something next month. A summer rally, maybe.”

I nod. “Already started the planning. I’ve got three potential sponsors.”

Ghost steps closer. “Security will be tight, but we’ll manage. Any sign from the Reapers?”

Frost shakes his head. “Not yet. But we’re not letting our guard down.”

A ripple of tension moves through the room. The threat hovers like a storm cloud, unpredictable and dangerous. Viper fiddles with a coiled cable on the counter, brow furrowed. Ghost’s jaw sets, reminding me how protective he is. Frost’s gaze flits to me again, then quickly shifts away.

I can’t ignore the energy crackling between us.

In the last two weeks, there have been moments—quiet standoffs in the hallway where our eyes locked, arms brushing as we passed, his low voice brushing my ear when he corrected me on something.

Every time, my skin sparked. But neither of us ever crosses the final line.

I exhale, trying to ease the knot in my stomach. “Anything else we should discuss?”

Frost’s gaze settles on me. “We need to finalize the merchandise launch date. Also, you mentioned a potential garage revamp for outside customers. Run that by me tomorrow morning.”

We exchange a few more words, then wrap the meeting. Ghost returns to the yard, apparently on patrol duty, and Viper drifts toward the rec room. Frost lingers, stacking papers, jaw clenched. I shift awkwardly, debating whether to address the mounting tension.

“You know,” I say softly, “we keep butting heads, but I think we both want the same outcome—stability for the club.”

He lifts his eyes, offering a guarded look. “I don’t doubt your intentions. I just want to ensure your plans don’t get us overextended.”

“Fair enough,” I concede, crossing my arms. “I’m not here to wreck your MC. I’m trying to help.”

He exhales. “I appreciate it. Even if we clash sometimes.”

Our gazes lock, the air thick with unspoken words.

My heart rate speeds, a pulse of heat settling low in my abdomen.

I swallow hard, not wanting to reveal how much he affects me.

Before I can respond, a commotion drifts in from the hallway—laughter and boisterous voices. We both step back, instantly on guard.

A group of visitors strides in—some of the club’s acquaintances, mostly men, plus a few women I’ve seen around.

They’re the type who follow the club’s activities, hooking up at parties or large gatherings.

In my head, I’ve labeled them “biker groupies,” though it’s not my place to judge.

A tall blonde in tight denim shorts zeroes in on Frost, her red lips curving into a provocative smile.

“Elias,” she purrs, using his real name in a way that suggests she knows him well. My stomach clenches at the familiarity. “I heard you’ve been working too hard. Let me fix you a drink.”

He doesn’t move away, though he does cast me a quick glance.

I can’t read the flicker of emotion in his eyes.

Jealousy flares in my chest, hot and irrational.

We aren’t a couple, so why do I feel stung?

But the way she drapes herself against him sets my teeth on edge.

He doesn’t push her off, though he looks uncomfortable.

An unwelcome surge of possessiveness grips me.

I hate it. I try to stifle the feeling by busying myself with the papers on the counter, but I keep overhearing her flirty voice, the way she addresses him like he’s exclusively hers.

Frost responds politely, but something about his tone is clipped.

I sense him wanting to extricate himself.

My blood thrums in my veins. Why is this getting under my skin so badly? We’re not an item, and yet the idea of him indulging some random woman makes my chest ache. I take a breath, telling myself to grow up.

Eventually, Frost turns toward me. “Sierra, let’s head to the bar for a minute,” he says firmly, ignoring the blonde’s attempt to cling to his arm.

Relief floods me. I toss the papers into a folder, avoiding the woman’s glare.

Together, we cross the clubhouse to the side door that leads to the attached bar area—our private space that’s separate from Bluelight, used mainly for MC gatherings or casual hangouts.

It’s quieter tonight, only a few members hanging around.

Frost says nothing as we enter, though the muscle in his jaw flexes. Once we’re behind the bar, he sets both hands on the counter, exhaling. “Sorry about that,” he mutters. “She’s been around occasionally… not someone I have a real connection with.”

An awkward laugh escapes me. “It’s fine. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

He catches my gaze, eyes gleaming with something intense. “Maybe I do.”

Silence falls. Tension coils in the air, heavy and electric. My pulse thumps so loudly I can hardly think. All those pent-up sparks from the past weeks surge, bridging the short distance between us. I shuffle a step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

His voice lowers. “You’ve been here for weeks, and everything’s changed. You’re pushing this club to evolve, and it’s… good. But it also puts me on edge.”

I swallow. “Why?”