Page 22 of Claimed By The Club

SIERRA

I step into the small converted office at the back of the clubhouse and can’t hide a flicker of surprise at how well everything’s coming together.

When I first arrived, this cramped space was a disaster—stacks of old receipts, empty soda cans, a sagging shelf on the brink of collapse.

Now it resembles a functional operations center, complete with a decent computer, color-coded folders, and a whiteboard listing our current financial goals.

Knox stands to the side, tapping numbers into a spreadsheet.

His wiry frame and perpetually busy hands remind me that he might be more comfortable tinkering with finances than making small talk, but we’ve found a tentative groove these last few weeks.

He doesn’t volunteer conversation, but he respects the results I’m producing. I count that as progress.

“Revenue’s up again,” he announces in a calm monotone. “Five percent over last week. That new drink special at Bluelight is pulling in bigger crowds on Saturday nights.”

A rush of pride warms me. “Good. We’ll keep the promotion going. And if we tie it to a local band night, we might bump those numbers even more.”

He glances at me from behind his glasses. “That’s logical,” he admits. “I’ll run the numbers.”

I take the chair next to him, leaning forward. “We should also plan a small event around the new merch. Maybe a limited-edition run that matches our logo, something collectors will want.”

He nods, scribbling the suggestion into a notebook.

We slip into a short exchange about cost-to-profit ratios and projected inventory.

I notice how his stance toward me has changed in subtle ways: there’s no more eye-rolling or doubt in his tone.

A month ago, he regarded me as an interloper. Now he asks for my input.

Footsteps approach the doorway, breaking our focus. Axel stands in the entrance, arms folded over his broad chest. The club’s Road Captain rarely looks rattled, but there’s a mild curiosity in his gaze.

“You busy?” he asks, flicking a glance at Knox.

Knox steps aside, letting me respond first. “We’re almost done,” I say, pushing my chair back. “Everything okay?”

Axel shrugs. “Just got back from a ride with a few guys. Word around town is folks are appreciating the MC doing community outreach—like the fundraiser table at Bluelight. They’re warming up to us more than usual.”

My eyebrows lift. “That’s great. The more positive the reputation, the easier it’ll be to expand our legit operations.”

He nods, shifting on his feet. “I’d never have considered half of these ideas if you hadn’t brought them up. Some members still watch you sideways, but they see the money rolling in, so grudging acceptance might be the best you’ll get. For now.”

I give a wry smile. “I’ll take it.”

Knox snaps his notebook shut. “That’s all for now, Sierra. Keep an eye on the promotion’s progress. I’ll do the number crunching.” He ducks past Axel, disappearing down the hall.

Axel lingers a moment, then smiles faintly. “Don’t work too hard. I hear Viper’s looking for you.”

I glance up, heart fluttering at the mention of that name. “Oh?”

“Yeah, something about a ride.” Axel’s grin widens. “He’s out front.”

With a quick thank-you, I exit, weaving through the lounge. Various members nod or give half-smiles, no longer ignoring me as they did in the beginning. The hostility has dialed back now that they realize I’m not some flighty city girl.

I reach the front entrance, where the desert heat presses in. Viper leans against his matte-black bike, arms crossed over a toned chest. Sunglasses perch on his nose, making it hard to read his expression, but his easy smile suggests he’s in a playful mood.

“Hey, Ms. Excel Spreadsheet,” he calls, tipping his shades down. “Got a moment to step away from the financial empire you’re building?”

I laugh softly. “I think so. What’s on your mind?”

He pats the motorcycle seat behind him. “Thought we could take a ride. The moon’s gonna be full tonight, and there’s a spot just outside town where the view’s killer.”

My stomach does a little flip. The tension that’s been swirling around me—between Frost, Ghost, and now Viper—makes me cautious, but I also crave a break from meeting agendas and watch rotations. A ride under the moon feels like the perfect escape.

“Let me grab a jacket,” I say, heading to the safe house.

I hurry through the sparse living area, snatch my lightweight denim jacket from a hook, and return to find Viper waiting.

The sight of him stirs an inexplicable warmth in my chest. He’s the youngest of the three men I’ve grown close to, the one who exudes a laid-back charm that sneaks under my defenses.

He hands me a spare helmet, then climbs onto his Harley.

I slip on the jacket, secure the helmet, and settle in behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. My heart thuds as the engine roars to life.

There’s something exhilarating about pressing this close to him, the vibration of the bike rumbling through every cell.

We pull out of the compound, dust trailing behind us.

The sky shifts from pale gold to deep orange as dusk settles.

The wind whips at my hair where it peeks out from under the helmet, carrying away the day’s stress.

I cling to Viper, letting the ride free my mind of spreadsheets and rival gang threats.

He navigates a winding road outside Clearwater Springs, passing a few scattered buildings and endless stretches of desert brush.

Eventually, he slows near a turnoff bordered by rocky hills.

We pass a rusted sign half-covered in graffiti, then ascend a gentle slope.

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky with a wash of indigo and pink.

Soon, the full moon emerges, silver and bright against the darkening heavens.

We come to a stop on a flat overlook, the desert sprawled out below. I slide off, removing my helmet to shake out my hair. Viper kills the engine, pushes down the kickstand, and stretches.

“Wow,” I breathe, surveying the scene. The moon’s light illuminates the distant sand, casting shifting shadows. I can see the faint glow of Clearwater Springs’ lights miles away.

He tucks his helmet under one arm, turning to me with an easy grin. “Told you it’s a good view.”

I can’t stop a smile from curving my lips. “It’s perfect.”

He sets the helmets aside, and we find a large rock to sit on, face to face with the wide-open sky. The air is cooler here, a gentle breeze rustling my jacket sleeves. My pulse hasn’t quite settled from the ride, a rush of adrenaline still lingering.

Viper watches me, green eyes glinting in the moonlight. “You’ve been working nonstop. Figured you deserved a night off.”

My shoulders sink, tension easing. “Thanks. I needed this. Life’s been… intense.”

He nods, gaze drifting to the horizon. “I get it. The Reapers stirring up trouble, your old life left behind, now you’re juggling club finances… that’s a lot.”

A quiet settles. I tilt my head. “What about you? I hardly know anything about where you come from.”

He exhales, leaning back with hands braced on the rock. “Long story short, I’m the youngest of three kids. Dad walked out when I was a baby. Mom tried her best, but we were broke. I got into bikes as a teenager—some older guys showed me the ropes. The MC gave me structure I never had.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my left ear. “So you’ve been with Renegade Cross a while?”

“Six years, give or take. Patched in at twenty-two, worked my way up. Frost recognized I’m good at managing security and morale, so I became Sergeant-at-Arms.” He smiles, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “The club’s my family now.”

That resonates with me. I swing one leg, foot brushing dust. “I never thought I’d stumble a place among bikers, but I can see the sense of belonging you all share.”

He studies me, expression shifting to something softer. “You fit in better than you think. Sure, some members are suspicious, but that’s just how it goes. You’re proving yourself every day.”

A surge of gratitude floods me. “It helps that I have people like you on my side.”

His grin turns playful. “Glad you noticed.” Then he grows serious again. “Frost and Ghost… they do their best. Each has their own burdens. Frost keeps the club’s big picture in mind. Ghost shoulders the dirty work, plus his own demons. They both mean well.”

I swallow, heart pulsing at the mention of them. “I know. They’ve both saved me more than once. And—” I hesitate, the memory of clandestine moments with Frost and that stolen kiss with Ghost twisting my stomach. “It’s complicated.”

He nods knowingly. “It can be. Feelings run hot under this roof. We watch each other’s backs, day in and day out. Closeness happens.”

My mouth turns dry. “Yeah. Closeness.”

He lifts a brow, then shifts closer, the moonlight catching the hint of gold in his hair. “What about you? Ever think you could stay here, even after the Reapers are dealt with?”

That question carries more weight than I expect. “I… I haven’t dared let my mind go that far. My life’s upside down. I do want to rebuild my fashion brand, or some version of it, but maybe I don’t have to run back to the city. I’ve grown to like it here, despite the drama.”

His smile brightens, relief and curiosity mingling. “That’s good to hear.”

A hush stretches, thick with anticipation.

We’re alone under the moon, miles from the clubhouse.

The tension crackling between us becomes impossible to ignore.

I sense the same electricity I’ve felt with Frost and Ghost, that magnetic pull that defies logic.

My heart thrums, uncertain if I should lean into this or run.

Viper reaches out, tucking a wandering lock of hair behind my ear. The gentle touch stirs a flutter in my chest. “Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs. “I’m not here to pressure you.”