Page 28 of Claimed By The Club
GHOST
T he moon’s glow seeps through the clubhouse windows, casting faint stripes of light across the hall floor.
We’re well past midnight, but an uneasy energy grips me too tightly for rest. Each time I shut my eyes, images of suspicious faces and whispered rumors dance in my head.
The talk of a traitor has everyone on edge, and Sierra most of all.
I slip through the quiet corridors, doing one last sweep before trying to catch a few hours of sleep.
At the far end of the hallway, a soft glow spills from the makeshift office.
My pulse quickens. We’ve all warned Sierra to pace herself, but she’s been pushing hard—managing finances, smoothing tensions among the members, pushing expansions for Bluelight.
When the rest of us crash from the day’s stress, she stays awake, her determination refusing to let exhaustion win.
The office door stands ajar, allowing a narrow slice of light to escape. I nudge it open and find her hunched over a scuffed desk, shuffling papers and tapping at a battered laptop. She looks up at the faint creak of the hinges.
“Ghost,” she says softly, voice raspy from lack of sleep. “Is everything okay?”
I step inside, closing the door behind me. “I could ask you the same thing. It’s late.”
She exhales, shoulders slumping. “I couldn’t sleep. Might as well get work done.”
I study her face, noticing the shadows beneath her eyes. “You should rest. Pushing yourself too hard isn’t helping anyone.”
She lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Yeah, well… it’s hard to turn my brain off. Rumors, traitor suspicions, Reapers around every corner. I feel like I’m caught in a web I can’t untangle.”
Pressure builds behind my ribs at the raw vulnerability in her voice. She’s been carrying too much weight alone, despite me, Frost, and Viper trying to shield her. I cross the small space and settle on the corner of the desk, arms crossed loosely over my chest. “You’re not alone. You’ve got us.”
Her gaze drifts, lingering on a pile of receipts. “That’s what scares me,” she murmurs. “I see the tension in church meetings, the gossip from groupies. I worry I’m tearing the club apart. And the traitor… what if all this is my fault?”
A flare of protectiveness surges inside me. “Don’t say that. The Reapers and their allies have it out for us regardless. You’re a catalyst, sure, but you didn’t cause the betrayal.”
She takes a shaky breath, nodding. Silence stretches. The overhead lamp buzzes softly. I glance around the cramped office—walls lined with half-empty shelves, dusty corners lit by flickering fluorescents. Everything about this place feels temporary, like the peace we have might break at any second.
“Sierra,” I say quietly, voice thick with concern, “I’d rather fight for you than let you go.”
She blinks, startled. “You would?”
I inhale, forcing myself to speak feelings I’ve kept buried. “I’ve lost people. I won’t lose you too. If we have to lock down the compound, chase the Reapers across the desert, or flush out this traitor by any means necessary—I’ll do it. I’d rather go down swinging than watch you walk away.”
A faint tremor moves through her shoulders as she sets the papers aside. Her eyes glisten with emotion she’s struggling to contain. “I don’t want to run anymore,” she confesses. “But I feel so guilty. You, Frost, Viper… you put yourselves at risk for me.”
I reach out, hesitating before resting my palm against her cheek. The softness of her skin jolts me. “It’s not a burden,” I say, voice gentler than usual. “We care about you. We do this because we want to.”
She leans into my touch, eyes drifting shut for a moment. Then she looks up, curiosity shining behind her weariness. “Ghost, can you tell me something about yourself? You’re always so silent, so guarded.”
The question hits me, unexpected and raw. I seldom talk about my past, even with the guys. But the vulnerability in her gaze tugs at my resolve. My hand drops to my thigh, and I glance at the dingy floor, gathering the courage to share.
“I grew up in a small town. Parents argued constantly. When I was fifteen, I ran away, convinced the world had nothing good left for me. Ended up on the streets, did some stupid stuff, fell in with a rough crowd.” My jaw tenses, memories stirring like restless ghosts.
“Eventually, I landed in a juvenile program. That’s where I learned to fight—to defend myself.
Got into military. After that, I drifted until I met Renegade Cross. ”
She remains quiet, absorbing every word. “They became your family?”
I nod, swallowing thickly. “Yeah. Frost and Viper saw me at my worst. Pulled me in, gave me a reason to stick around. The club turned me from a stray kid with a penchant for violence into something… stable, I guess.”
She lifts a trembling hand, brushing my shoulder. “You’re more than just muscle, you know. You’ve saved me more times than I can count.”
My chest tightens. “I’m trying to save you again—keeping watch for the traitor, making sure the Reapers don’t blindside us.” My hand finds hers. “But if you think you’re dividing us, you’re wrong. This club had cracks long before you arrived. You might actually help us come together in a new way.”
Her eyes mist. “Thank you,” she whispers, voice catching. “I just… I appreciate you trusting me enough to tell me that.”
A flush of warmth spreads through me. I realize how close we are—her knees almost touching mine, the air filled with her subtle perfume. The pounding of my heart feels too loud in the hush. She meets my gaze, and something electric charges the space between us.
She exhales, voice unsteady. “Ghost…”
“Sierra,” I return, just as softly.
It takes only a small tilt of my head to press my lips against hers, the connection gentle yet charged.
She releases a quiet sound that vibrates through my chest. We linger in that tender moment, mouths exploring in tentative, growing passion.
My hand slides to her waist, pulling her closer until her body leans against mine, an anchor against the swirling chaos outside this room.
She breaks the kiss, cheeks flushed. “We shouldn’t do this here,” she murmurs, though her tone suggests she’s not pulling away.
I glance at the door. It’s closed, not locked. The hallway might be empty, but we can’t be sure. Still, the need coursing through me overrides caution. “Lock it,” I say quietly, and she nods, stepping over to twist the lock with trembling fingers.
Returning, she studies me with uncertainty warring in her eyes. “I… I don’t want to cause more gossip.”
I stand from the desk corner and guide her backward until her hips bump the edge. “Let them talk.” My hands settle on her waist, fingers pressing into the soft material of her shirt. “I’d rather have this moment than let fear keep us apart.”
She exhales, relief mingling with desire.
Our second kiss is more insistent, tension unraveling as we share breath.
Every ounce of worry about the traitor or the Reapers falls away, replaced by the warmth of her lips, her body, her presence.
My hands roam up, sliding beneath her top to graze her spine.
She sighs, arching toward me, letting me deepen the kiss.
Her hands tangle in my hair, nails grazing my scalp. My heart pounds faster, a rush of adrenaline flooding me like a storm. I realize I’ve been wanting this—an unguarded closeness with her—for longer than I admitted to myself. When she murmurs my real name, Luke, a raw ache expands in my chest.
We fumble around the cluttered desk, lips locked in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongues sliding together like we’re starving for it.
My hands grip her hips, dragging her closer as she arches into me, her tits pressed against my chest. Papers scatter to the floor, forgotten—nothing matters but the slick heat of her mouth and the way her fingers dig into my shoulders, claiming me.
She shifts, perching on the desk, legs spreading to cradle me between her thighs.
I can already feel the damp heat of her pussy through her clothes, and my cock throbs, aching to be inside her.
Our breathing is ragged, desperate, the air between us thick with need.
The distant hum of the air conditioner does nothing to cool the fire burning under my skin.
“Ghost—Luke, I need you,” she whispers, her voice almost begging. I kiss her, unable to stop myself.
Her fingers find the hem of my shirt, tugging it up with a rough urgency.
I break the kiss just long enough to yank it over my head and toss it aside.
The overhead light glows against the ink on my torso, the scars she’s traced before with reverence— but tonight, there’s no softness in her touch.
Her nails scrape down my chest, making me hiss, and then her palm cups the hard bulge in my jeans, squeezing just enough to make my knees weak.
“Fuck,” I groan, crashing my mouth back onto hers, biting her lower lip. She whimpers, her hips rocking up against my hand as I slide it between her legs, rubbing the rough denim over her clit. She’s already wet—soaked—and the scent of her arousal hits me like a punch to the gut.
“I need you,” she gasps, fingers fumbling with my belt. “Now.”
I don’t make her ask twice. I shove her back onto the desk, knocking a stack of files to the floor, and yank her jeans down her thighs.
Her pussy glistens, bare and perfect, and I drag my thumb through her folds, spreading her open.
She bucks against my hand, a filthy moan tearing from her throat as I circle her clit, slow and teasing.
“You’re dripping for me,” I growl, leaning down to lick a hot stripe up her slit.
She tastes fucking divine—sweet and salty, all mine.
Her thighs clamp around my head as I bury my face between them, sucking her clit into my mouth while my fingers plunge inside her, curling just right to make her scream.