Page 21 of Claimed By The Club

Frost meets my gaze, nodding in acknowledgment. A rare flicker of approval dances in his cool eyes. “Nice work,” he says, voice level. “Let’s get them out of here before anyone else arrives.”

We gather the captives, dragging them outside to the dusty yard.

Viper escorts his two, while Axel and Frost handle the others.

I take the last one, the crowbar-wielding man who’s half-limping.

We line them up near their bikes, searching for any contraband.

Sure enough, we find a small cache of weapons hidden in saddlebags—pistols, knives, maybe a box or two of ammo.

One of the Reapers spits on the ground, glaring. “Renegade Cross ain’t got no jurisdiction here,” he snarls.

Frost’s expression remains icy. “Clearwater Springs is our territory. You want to bring guns around, you answer to us.” He looks ready to continue, but Axel nudges him, reminding him we don’t want a prolonged scene. The local sheriff might show up if we linger.

While Frost and Axel debate our next move, I scan the horizon, adrenaline still pulsing through my veins. The Reapers glare at us with varying degrees of defiance. None of them appear frightened, which tells me they have reinforcements somewhere. This is a taste of the conflict to come.

A rumble of motors draws my attention to the road.

The pickup is still parked behind a stand of shrubs, but I see no other vehicles.

My chest tightens briefly. Sierra’s image appears in my thoughts—her wide brown eyes, the fear on her face when that Reaper cornered her at Dolly’s.

A protective surge twists in my gut. This skirmish is only a warning.

If they get a real chance to target her, things could end badly.

We decide to let them walk, minus their weapons.

Tying them up or dragging them back to the clubhouse could escalate hostilities.

We smash a couple of the guns underfoot, making our point.

Viper looks half-tempted to do more, but we’re not here to draw blood.

Not yet. The Reapers curse us, but we untie them eventually, dumping their confiscated contraband in a pile behind the barn.

Frost stands before the men, posture rigid. “Tell your boss to keep clear of our territory. We catch you again, it won’t be this civil.” A steely finality underscores his words. The Reapers glower, probably memorizing our faces. This isn’t over, but we’ve bought ourselves a brief advantage.

Once they shuffle off, we gather by our bikes, silent in the aftermath. My fists still ache from the fight, and a bead of sweat trickles down my neck. The desert sun beams overhead, scorching the ground beneath us. Frost exchanges a look with me and Viper.

“That was too simple,” he mutters. “They’ll regroup.”

Viper nods in agreement. “No question. We gotta stay sharp.”

Axel sighs, taking a swig from a water bottle. “At least we’re sending a message. They’ll think twice.”

I doubt it. The Reapers have a reputation for ruthless persistence. Smashing a few weapons and scaring off half a dozen grunts won’t stop them from creeping back with bigger numbers. But for now, we can chalk this up as a minor win, a demonstration that Renegade Cross won’t roll over.

We mount up, leaving the barn behind. The wind whips across my face, carrying the smell of dust and sunbaked sage.

My mind drifts, consumed by an uneasy blend of triumph and trepidation.

We handled these Reapers with minimal drama, but the tension simmering under the surface isn’t going away.

They’re after Sierra, her ex-partner, or both.

If they think capturing her is the fastest route to their payday, they’ll keep trying.

Back at the compound, we file in through the gates.

A few members cheer quietly when they notice our return, but the mood stays subdued.

No one thinks this is the final resolution.

We park the bikes, and Frost dismounts, giving me a quick once-over for injuries.

I wave him off, stepping away to find some space.

I’m halfway to the side entrance when Sierra appears, hurrying across the yard with a worried expression. She’s changed into a sleeveless top and loose jeans, hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her gaze flicks between me and Viper, scanning us for blood or wounds.

She stops in front of me, breath catching. “You’re okay?”

I clench my jaw, nodding. “It was nothing major.”

Her gaze roves across my knuckles, still raw. “Looks like something.” She gently cups my wrist. “Can I?—?”

I swallow, letting her inspect my hand. The warmth of her touch stirs a deep ache in my chest. I remember the kiss we shared, the fear in her eyes at Dolly’s, the new terror that overcame me at the idea of losing her.

I’ve never been so defensive of anyone outside the MC before, and it unsettles me more than the fight did.

She traces a bruise with careful fingertips. “You should clean this,” she murmurs, voice quiet.

I exhale, stepping closer without thinking. “I will.” My heart beats faster as I catch a faint hint of her perfume—something floral but not cloying. “It’s just a scratch.”

Her lips press together. “It’s more than that.” A flicker of raw concern moves across her features. “Why do you put yourself in harm’s way? I mean, I know it’s your job, but?—”

I cut her off, glancing around. We’re in full view of any curious onlookers. “We can’t talk here,” I say softly, motioning toward a side corridor. She hesitates, then follows me around the corner, out of sight.

Once we’re out of the main yard, she shifts her weight, searching my face. “I was worried.”

Guilt twists in my gut. She shouldn’t have to live with fear, wondering if we’ll come back from each confrontation. “This is what we do,” I reply, trying to keep my tone steady. “It’s how we protect the club… and you.”

Her expression clouds, as if she wants to argue, but she just nods. “I appreciate it. Even if it scares me.”

I hesitate, a wave of protectiveness surging again. My stoic shell threatens to crack under her worried gaze. “I don’t want you to be terrified,” I murmur, glancing at her parted lips. “But the Reapers aren’t backing down. We had to push them out today.”

Her eyes dart to my bruised jaw, then back to my eyes. “What if it gets worse? You could be…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but I see the flash of worry. In that instant, the memory of our kiss tugs me closer. My heart beats so loudly I’m sure she hears it.

I grit my teeth. “This is the life I chose.” My voice lacks its usual certainty. “You’re in it now too. I’d understand if you wanted to leave.”

She shakes her head, a sudden resolve shining there. “I’m not… Well, I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. You, Frost, Viper… this place… it’s all I’ve got left. I’m not running. No family. I might go back to my fashion empire… but not soon.”

My chest tightens. Her loyalty is powerful, yet it weighs on me. I step in, bridging the distance, ignoring the rational voice telling me to keep away. “You’re sure?”

She lifts her chin. “Yeah.”

I can’t resist the urge to touch her cheek, letting my thumb graze her soft skin.

She exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat.

The gentle contact seems more intimate than any punch I’ve thrown today, more dangerous to my equilibrium than a fistfight.

This woman is entangled in our world because of events she never chose, and I need to shield her.

“Sierra,” I say, voice barely audible. “I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”

Her breath catches. “You can’t promise that.”

I tip my forehead against hers, eyes sliding shut for a moment.

“I’ll try.” My body hums with tension—an odd mix of battle adrenaline and longing.

I know I shouldn’t be this close. We’ve already broken so many boundaries.

But her presence grounds me, reminding me that there’s more to life than violence.

She leans in, lips brushing my jaw in a featherlight gesture. The contact stirs warmth in my chest, a fleeting comfort after the carnage. I have this overwhelming urge to wrap her in my arms, block out the fear that dogs us. Another part remains alert for footsteps or voices that might catch us.

Before we can cross another line, the slam of a door echoes around the corner. We jump apart, hearts pounding. I see regret flash in her eyes, but we both know it’s too risky to get caught. Footsteps approach, so I press my finger to my lips, urging silence.

Axel strides by, carrying a toolbox. He doesn’t notice us, or else he’s good at pretending. Once he’s gone, Sierra and I exchange a heavy look. Her shoulders sag, tension returning to her posture.

She forces a half-smile. “Guess we should get back. Frost will need a debrief, and you should probably see to those knuckles. I’ll check on him.”

I nod, stepping away. The distance between us feels colder than it did a moment ago. “Yeah,” I whisper. “See you inside.”

She slips around the corner, hair swinging, leaving me standing in the narrow corridor, grappling with an ache in my chest. I clamp down on my emotions, remembering that I’m not free to act on them.

My priority is to guard the club, handle the Reapers, and ensure Sierra stays out of their clutches.

This dangerous entanglement is the last thing any of us needs.

But part of me can’t forget the sensation of her lips, the softness in her gaze, and how it made me feel more alive than I have in a long time.

At last, I pull myself together and walk back into the yard.

Viper is talking with Knox near a few parked bikes, while Frost checks a phone call, scowl etched on his face.

The men we fought earlier must be regrouping somewhere, furious at their defeat.

This fight is far from over. Despite the churn in my stomach, I school my features into an impassive mask.

No one suspects how deeply Sierra’s presence affects me. That’s for the best.

Frost catches my eye, beckoning me over. “We need to secure the perimeter,” he says, voice gruff. “And I want a guard on Sierra. The Reapers might retaliate.”

I nod, heart twisting at the mention of her name. “I’ll handle it,” I say quietly, ignoring the flicker of curiosity in his gaze. If he notices my tension, he doesn’t show it.

We disperse, each man heading to his assigned post. My steps lead me toward the safe house, where I’ll coordinate watch shifts and ensure no one slips through.

But as I go, I can’t stop thinking about how violently my life has shifted in just a few weeks.

Sierra’s arrival set everything in motion—she’s become a catalyst for change, an unexpected link binding me to her in ways I never saw coming.

Deep down, a voice whispers that this lifestyle might be too dangerous for her.

Another part argues that she’s braver than we give her credit for.

Either way, it’s my responsibility to make sure she doesn’t become another casualty in an endless turf war.

I clench my fists, ignoring the sting in my bruised knuckles.

My will hardens. I’ll protect her, no matter the cost.

When I reach the safe house, I pause at the threshold, scanning the area.

The late morning sun glares down, highlighting every dusty inch of the yard.

Sierra’s inside, probably finalizing some business plan or anxiously waiting for news.

My chest constricts at the thought of her pacing behind those thin walls, already so entrenched in our world that leaving might not be an option.

I wish I could offer a safe exit, but it’s not mine to give.

Taking a steadying breath, I plan out the guard rotations, determined to keep watch until the Reapers retreat or the threat is neutralized.

This half-victory at Old Creek Road won’t end the conflict, but it might buy us time.

Time to gather resources, strengthen defenses, and figure out how to shield Sierra from harm.

Yet as I stand there, the memory of her lips returns, a silent reminder that I’m guarding more than just a club asset. I’m guarding a woman who’s become essential to me. It’s not a mission I ever asked for, but it’s one I refuse to fail.