Page 25 of Claimed By The Club
In the hush, we lose ourselves in the rhythm of shared kisses and urgent caresses, the cot squeaking under our shifting weight. It feels more deliberate than the last time we kissed—like we’re both aware of the boundaries and choosing to ignore them. Passion thrums in every beat of my heart.
I kiss down her neck, savoring each soft moan. My thoughts blur with the sheer intensity of closeness. She props herself on an elbow, hair spilling around her face, and I see uncertainty flicker in her eyes. “We really shouldn’t,” she murmurs.
“We don’t have to,” I murmur back, brushing my knuckles across her cheek. “But I want to, Sierra.”
She locks gazes with me, a tremble in her exhale. “Me too.”
That’s enough. My lips claim hers again, the pent-up longing fueling every movement.
Her nails dig into my shoulders as we lose track of anything beyond this moment.
Clothes shift, kisses deepen, a rush of heat envelops us.
We fall into each other in a flurry of urgent touches, letting the tension slip away with each gasp of pleasure.
Partway through, the door handle rattles. Time screeches to a halt. We freeze, hearts pounding. The lock is engaged, but we both stare in that direction, breath hitched. The handle jigs again, then we hear a terse voice from the other side.
“Viper? You in there?”
It’s Ghost—Luke. My pulse rockets. Sierra’s eyes widen, cheeks flushed. She mouths, “Oh God.”
I blink, fumbling for words. “Yeah, man, hold on,” I call, voice rough. “Give me a sec.”
A brief pause. “We gotta talk. It’s urgent.”
Sierra tries to scramble off, but the cot’s small.
We nearly tumble. I yank my shirt down, cursing under my breath.
“All right, all right,” I mutter, swinging my feet to the floor.
I shoot Sierra an apologetic look, then shuffle to the door, flipping the lock.
Ghost stands in the hallway, arms crossed.
His gaze flicks from my rumpled clothes to Sierra, who’s still on the cot straightening her shirt.
A flash of something—surprise, maybe jealousy—crosses his features.
But then it settles into a guarded calm.
He exhales, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “We got a leak,” he says, voice soft but urgent. “A real one, feeding the Reapers intel about Sierra. Possibly passing them details on her location and the club’s operations.”
Sierra gasps, face going pale. “Are you serious?”
Ghost nods, glancing between us. “Lance overheard phone calls referencing Sierra by name, plus some coded references to events we’ve planned. This is big.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “So it’s not just speculation anymore. They’re actively funneling info.”
“Seems that way.” Ghost’s gaze drops to the messy cot for half a second, but he shakes it off. “We’re not sure who. Could be a patched member or a prospect.”
Sierra stands, anxiety flaring in her eyes. “What does that mean for me?”
Ghost’s expression softens. “It means we lock down security even tighter. Until we weed out the traitor, you shouldn’t be alone.”
She glances at me, then back to him, a swirl of emotions etched on her face. I can still feel the lingering heat from our interrupted moment. Now we’re plunged into crisis mode. My chest feels tight.
“All right,” I say. “We keep her close, rotate watchers. No one gets near without approval from at least two of us.”
Ghost meets my eyes and, for a heartbeat, the tension from catching us in a half-dressed moment lingers. Then, with a flicker of resigned acceptance, he nods. “Agreed. We should talk to Frost next. Figure out how to isolate the traitor.”
Sierra crosses her arms, shoulders trembling slightly. “This is insane. Any clue who it might be?”
Ghost shakes his head. “No. But we’ll find out.”
A tense silence settles. We’re all keenly aware of the complicated situation: Sierra’s at risk, someone is sabotaging us, and we just got caught in a moment that might intensify everything.
Ghost glances again at the unmade cot, his cheeks flushing faintly, and I see the flicker of conflict.
He’s the quiet type, but I know him well enough to sense he’s not outraged or disgusted—more like torn.
He exhales. “Look, I’ll let you both… handle yourselves. But we need to deal with this leak ASAP.” His gaze settles on Sierra. “If it’s any comfort, I’ll personally ensure you’re safe. And Viper will too.” He hesitates, jaw tensing. “We all will.”
Sierra nods, stepping closer to him. “Thank you.”
For a moment, the three of us stand there in a silent triangle, tension coiling in the stale air.
It’s more than just the threat overshadowing us.
It’s the unspoken reality of what Ghost just walked in on: me with Sierra, a woman he clearly has feelings for too, judging by that day he saved her at Dolly’s, and the stolen kiss I suspected they shared.
None of us knows exactly how to navigate this, but there’s no immediate hostility or jealousy darkening his expression.
I clear my throat. “We’ll talk about… all of this later.”
Ghost nods curtly, turning for the door. “I’ll call Frost. Be ready to meet in the main lounge in ten minutes.”
He steps out, leaving Sierra and me alone in the echo of the moment we just lost. She turns to me, face flooded with worry. “A traitor? This means they can track me, or find out my schedule.”
I move toward her, placing a steady hand on her arm. “We won’t let them near you. That’s a promise.”
Her shoulders sag. “This is too much.”
I guide her to the cot, letting her sit. I kneel, taking her hands in mine. “We’ve faced worse. The key is staying united. If you trust me, trust us, we’ll handle it.”
She blinks back tears of frustration. Then, jaw set, she nods. “Okay. I’m in this. I just… hate feeling helpless.”
I stand, pulling her gently to her feet. “You’re far from helpless. The club needs your brains to keep afloat financially. You’re doing more than you realize.”
A faint smile graces her lips, though fear lingers in her eyes. “All right. Let’s face them.”
I help her smooth her hair, both of us trying to look less disheveled.
The flush of our interrupted passion remains, a promise of what might have been if reality hadn’t knocked on the door.
With a final shared look, we exit the room, stepping into the corridor where the noise of the clubhouse envelops us.
We head toward the main lounge, side by side.
As we pass the chipped walls and rows of old photos, I can’t help recalling Ghost’s expression when he walked in.
He’s never been the jealous type, but that scenario would rattle anyone.
Then there’s Frost—who might also have strong opinions about how these lines blur among us.
Yet part of me hopes they can see that Sierra’s presence has changed our dynamic in a way that might be okay if we’re all honest.
Stepping into the lounge, we find Ghost waiting with Frost by the pool table.
A few other members hover, curious about what’s up.
The moment we approach, Frost’s gaze flicks to Sierra, then to me.
Something akin to suspicion sparks in his eyes, but he focuses on the matter at hand.
He’s the President, after all, and the club’s safety trumps personal drama.
“Everyone’s here?” Frost asks, voice tight.
I glance around. Ghost nods, arms folded.
Sierra stands near me, crossing her own arms. We’re about to address the possibility of a traitor—a crisis that could tear us apart from the inside.
My chest tightens, adrenaline humming. This is a turning point.
If we fail, the Reapers gain an unstoppable advantage.
If we succeed, we might finally drive them out of our territory and secure Sierra’s place among us.
“Let’s do this,” I say quietly, stepping forward to brief the gathered members.
All the while, Sierra stays within my peripheral vision, the memory of her touch still electric on my skin, overshadowed by the threat we face but not forgotten.
Because when this dust settles, we still have that unresolved moment, that undeniable spark, and the knowledge that Ghost has seen how far I’m willing to go.
In the back of my mind, I recall the words I told Sierra: We share. The club is built on loyalty, forging unique bonds that outsiders might never understand. Now, more than ever, we need that unity to withstand whatever the Reapers and our unknown traitor throw at us next.