Page 18 of Claimed By The Club

SIERRA

I park my SUV in a cramped slot behind Dolly’s convenience store, shutting off the engine with a shaky exhale.

It’s midday, and the desert heat settles over everything like a heavy blanket.

I shouldn’t even be out here alone, not with the Iron Reapers prowling around again.

But I can’t hide behind locked doors forever, and we’re low on supplies for the safe house.

Besides, I’m on a tight deadline to finalize promotions for our next event at Bluelight, and Dolly’s place carries some random items I need.

Tugging on the door handle, I step into the blinding sun.

The asphalt sizzles under my flats, sending waves of heat against my ankles.

I glance around, scanning for any unfamiliar vehicles or suspicious onlookers.

The small parking lot appears empty except for a battered truck near the service alley.

My heart pounds anyway, reminding me of the risk I’m taking.

I hurry toward the store’s entrance, wishing I’d called Viper for backup.

He’s always eager to be by my side, half-joking that I need a personal bodyguard.

But after everything that happened with Frost, I feel weird leaning too hard on the other guys.

I already crossed lines I never expected to cross, tangling my fate with Renegade Cross MC.

My feelings for Frost are complicated enough.

Deep in my chest, though, there’s also a pull toward Ghost and Viper.

It’s confusing, as if my rational brain took a back seat to a swirl of emotions I can’t fully control.

Shaking off the thought, I walk inside. Dolly’s store is a small, cramped affair, lined with dusty shelves loaded with canned goods, cheap souvenirs, and random essentials.

An old ceiling fan spins overhead, rattling in uneven circles.

The place is deserted except for Dolly herself, perched behind a counter with a half-finished crossword puzzle.

She lifts her gaze. “Afternoon, honey.” Her tone carries a note of warmth, though her eyes dart to the glass door behind me as if checking for threats.

“Hey, Dolly.” I grab a small basket near the entrance. “Just picking up a few supplies.”

She inclines her head in a brief nod. “Be quick. Word is the Iron Reapers are in town again.”

My spine stiffens. “I heard. Hoping to avoid them.”

She purses her lips sympathetically. “Stay safe. You know how to reach Frost or Viper if something happens.”

I force a tight smile. “Yeah. I won’t be long.”

I move down a narrow aisle, collecting a few canned goods, some personal care items, and a small notepad.

My mind is half on my list, half swirling with images of the last two weeks—late nights at the clubhouse, chasing leads on my ex-partner, forging marketing deals for the MC’s businesses, and that growing sense of belonging that scares me more than I’d like to admit.

Every day, I find myself more attached to Renegade Cross.

Their brotherhood might be tough, but it’s genuine, and they’ve treated me like part of their circle—even if some still eye me warily.

And then there’s Frost, with whom I’ve shared secret moments, stolen touches, and more.

The memory of his hands on my skin still tingles, a reminder of the emotional minefield I’ve stepped into.

I grab a can of coffee and add it to my basket.

The next moment, the store door creaks open.

My heart leaps at the possibility of a threat, but I force my expression to remain neutral.

Over the top of the aisle, I glimpse a tall figure in a black jacket.

He has greasy hair, a mustache, and a patch on his sleeve.

I can’t see it clearly, but alarm bells ring in my head. Could that be a Reaper?

Stepping to the side, I shift behind the shelf, hoping to blend into the shadows. My pulse ticks faster, adrenaline spiking. Dolly’s voice drifts from the front, greeting the newcomer with forced politeness. He responds in a gravelly tone I don’t recognize.

I inch closer to the aisle’s edge to peek. Sure enough, my worst fear materializes: a patch reading “Iron Reapers” is stitched to his vest. I clamp a hand over my mouth, silently cursing. I should’ve texted someone before coming here. Why did I assume it’d be safe?

The man glances around, eyes scanning the shelves.

My gut clenches. If he spots me, he might recognize who I am.

Or, at the very least, he’d question why a random woman is hiding from him.

I consider making a run for the back exit, but Dolly’s store might not have a convenient back door. Even if it does, he could chase me.

I creep backward, each breath shallow. My foot lands on a loose jar that I didn’t see, and it rattles against the floor. The noise echoes in the quiet store, and I freeze, blood roaring in my ears.

“Who’s there?” The Reaper’s voice sharpens.

My heart hammers. I brace myself, stepping around the corner to face him, hoping for the best. But he spots me immediately, his gaze zeroing in on my face. Recognition flickers, and he smirks like a cat who’s cornered a mouse.

“You…” His lips curl. “Aren’t you the broad who owes our club a chunk of change?”

I force my chin up, trying to project confidence. “I don’t owe you anything,” I say, though my voice trembles slightly.

He snorts, taking a menacing step forward. “That’s not what I heard. Word around is you skipped town with a debt that needs payin’.”

Dolly’s worried gaze flicks between us. She doesn’t intervene, probably sensing the tension is about to erupt. The Reaper’s hand hovers near his pocket, suggesting he might be armed.

My heart beats so loudly I can barely think. “Look, I’m not here to start trouble,” I manage. “I’m just picking up a few things?—”

“Trouble’s already here,” he interrupts, voice dripping malice. “Boss wants to talk to you, sweet cheeks. You’re coming with me.”

I glance at Dolly, who shifts anxiously but doesn’t move. She can’t risk her own life for me. Meanwhile, the Reaper edges closer. My chest tightens with fear, but a surge of defiance flares too—I’ve survived too much to be dragged away by some thug.

He lunges, presumably to grab me, but a flash of motion fills my peripheral vision.

Ghost—Luke—appears behind him with silent precision.

Relief floods me so intensely my knees nearly give out.

Ghost grips the Reaper’s arm, yanking it back with bone-rattling force.

The man howls in pain, and Dolly gasps, darting behind the counter.

Ghost’s ash-blond hair catches the overhead fluorescent light as he twists the Reaper’s arm behind his back. His voice is low and lethal. “Keep your hands off her.”

The Reaper tries to pivot, but Ghost slams him against a nearby display. Plastic wrappers and candy bars scatter to the floor. The man curses, face contorting in rage. Ghost doesn’t release him; instead, he presses him harder against the shelves, muscle rippling with controlled fury.

“Run,” Ghost hisses over his shoulder to me.

I hesitate. “But?—”

“Go! Now.”

My instincts scream to flee. Dolly gestures toward a side door behind the counter.

I rush that way, heart in my throat. Before I reach it, I glance back to see the Reaper lurch free and swing a wild punch at Ghost. Ghost dodges, returning a swift blow to the man’s ribs.

Fear twists my stomach. I can’t leave him to handle this alone, but I know I’ll only be in the way.

Shoving open the side door, I stumble into a cramped storage room stacked with boxes. Through a narrow window, I see the back alley. My hands shake as I dig for my phone. My mind scrambles to recall numbers. Frost. Viper. I need to call for backup, but the signal’s weak. Damn these thick walls.

Clutching the phone, I peer around the stacked crates, the adrenaline surging anew. Suddenly, footsteps pound into the room. I whirl, raising my fists uselessly. But it’s Ghost, chest heaving, a bruise forming on his cheek. Relief overwhelms me.

“Let’s go,” he orders, voice tight.

We slip out a rear exit that Dolly must’ve propped open. Outside, the alley bakes under punishing sunlight. Ghost presses a hand to my back, guiding me past a dumpster toward my SUV in the parking lot. We’re halfway there when the door behind us slams open, the Reaper bursting out with a snarl.

“Keep moving,” Ghost growls, pushing me forward. He whips around, planting his feet, ready to fight. I can’t stand the thought of him alone against that maniac. I pivot to help, but Ghost shakes his head. “Start the car.”

I fumble with my keys, sprinting the rest of the way to the SUV.

My fingers feel numb, but I manage to unlock it.

The engine roars to life, just as Ghost slams the Reaper’s head against the wall with brutal precision.

The man collapses in a groan of pain. Ghost strides toward me, posture unyielding, eyes stormy.

He yanks open the passenger door and hops in. “Drive,” he snaps, voice a little harsher than usual. “Unless you want more of ’em showing up.”

Tires squeal as I peel out of the lot. My pulse hammers in my ears, and my vision blurs with residual terror. We race onto the main road, dust swirling in the rearview mirror. I glance over, noticing Ghost cradling his right hand. A trickle of blood smears across his knuckles.

“Oh, God,” I whisper. “Are you okay?”

He exhales, wincing. “I’m fine. Just a scratch.”

My shoulders quake, the burst of adrenaline leaving me shaky. “Thank you,” I manage. “You saved me.”

Ghost’s gaze stays forward, expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t have been out alone. Frost would lose his mind if he knew.”

I bristle at the mention of Frost—Elias—though relief swamps me. “He’s probably out on that Reaper scouting run. I just… I needed groceries.”