Page 30 of Claimed By The Club

SIERRA

M y stomach feels like lead as I stare at the sheet of paper in my hands, an official document listing financial transfers from the accounts Jen once helped manage.

The final line reveals a direct link between her and the Iron Reapers, showing payments and suspicious deposits that no legitimate business would ever touch.

A heavy hush grips the makeshift office as Knox sets aside the last of his printouts.

I just found out today when the results came back on the club’s investigation about Jen. They’re helping me locate her, and stumbled upon this.

“She’s been funneling funds to them for months,” Knox says, voice thick with frustration. “We had guesses, but now it’s laid out in black and white.”

I swallow hard, throat raw from the shock. “This… means Jen’s been in bed with them from the start?” My head throbs, and an old sense of betrayal flares. I’d wanted to believe that maybe she was coerced or made a bad choice under pressure, but these documents confirm a far more deliberate plan.

Knox nods, eyes flitting over the papers. “Seems so. She’s using shell companies to hide the flow, but she’s clearly bankrolling them in some way—maybe partial weapons deals, maybe expansions. We don’t know the extent yet.”

I sink into a battered chair, the overhead light buzzing faintly.

The entire clubhouse feels stifled. My chest constricts as I picture Jen forging alliances with the same rivals who threaten me daily.

The betrayal hits deeper than my old fury over embezzled funds.

This is life or death, especially for me and the MC that’s protected me.

Frost stands nearby, arms folded. His expression is grim, but his focus remains on Knox’s data.

Viper leans against the doorframe, tension evident in his posture.

Ghost shadows the back of the room, silent as always.

The weight of this discovery fills the cramped space, a stark reminder that we’re in the crosshairs.

And it’s partly my ex-partner pulling the trigger.

“How do we use this?” I finally ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

Knox glances at Frost. “If we can trace these accounts further, we might corner Jen or the Reapers into a deal. But we need more time. Right now, the bigger issue is that they have plenty of resources—and possibly inside help.”

My pulse jumps at that last line. The traitor.

We still don’t know who’s feeding the Reapers information about me.

Suspicion’s been swirling for days, yet we’re no closer to an answer.

My eyes drift to the floor, a wave of fear creeping over me.

If they’re well-funded by Jen, then these threats against me aren’t idle.

And if the traitor’s working with them, I’m even more vulnerable.

Frost clears his throat. “Knox, keep digging. Everyone else, double-check security. We have a meeting in two hours to plan our next move.”

A few curt nods follow. Knox starts gathering the documents, handing me a couple to review for potential financial leads.

The men file out, leaving me and Viper behind.

He lingers, arms still crossed, gaze fixed on me.

As soon as the others depart, the tension in the room changes, shifting from strategy to personal concern.

“You holding up?” Viper asks quietly, stepping closer.

I force a nod, eyes stinging. “Just feels like the ground keeps collapsing under me. Jen was my friend, my business partner. Now she’s linked to the group that wants me dead.” My voice trembles despite my attempts at composure.

He reaches out, squeezing my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know it’s brutal.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thanks,” I whisper.

His hold lingers for a moment, a silent offer of comfort. My chest feels so heavy, but I find solace in the warmth of his touch. Before I can speak again, Frost steps back into the doorway, addressing Viper.

“You’re assigned to Sierra tonight,” Frost says, voice firm. “Make sure she’s not alone.”

My gaze snaps to Frost, searching for any sign of frustration or jealousy.

But his expression remains calm and focused—an odd contrast to the earlier spark of something when he caught me and Viper in a heated moment.

He doesn’t elaborate, simply nods once, then walks off, leaving me and Viper alone again.

A faint blush creeps over my cheeks as I recall the last time we were assigned together.

We’d ended up crossing lines, though we never regretted it.

Now, after all this devastation, a part of me still craves that sense of safety and comfort I find in him.

Yet a mixture of emotions roils in my gut, because I’m also tangled up with Frost and Ghost. The lines get blurrier each day.

Viper offers a gentle smile. “Come on. You need some air.”

We exit the stuffy office. The hallway outside remains fairly quiet—most members focus on patching security holes or prepping for the next clash with the Reapers.

My tension eases a fraction as we move through the clubhouse.

Viper keeps a steady hand on my elbow, guiding me out the side door into the dusty yard.

The late-afternoon sun scorches everything in sight, but at least it’s wide open, no cramped walls closing in.

“How about we go to the safe house?” Viper suggests, nodding toward the small structure on the boundary of the compound. “Some privacy might help, and I can watch the perimeter.”

I nod. “All right.”

We make our way across the yard, dust rising beneath our shoes.

A couple of prospects eye us, but none comment.

Tensions have made everyone wary of small talk.

Once inside the safe house, Viper checks the windows and locks, ensuring everything’s secure.

I hover near the worn sofa, setting the documents aside on the rickety coffee table.

My heart’s still pounding with a mix of dread and anger at Jen’s betrayal.

Viper finishes his sweep, then turns to me. “All clear,” he says softly, voice echoing in the quiet room.

My composure cracks. I try to keep the tears at bay, but the sight of him standing there, unwavering, tips me over the edge. “I can’t believe Jen would do this,” I whisper, arms folding tight against my chest. “It’s… too much.”

He steps in, wrapping me in a protective embrace. I cling to him, letting the tears spill. Hot shame and grief mingle in my chest. We stand there for a minute, me pressed to his leather cut, him stroking my back in soothing circles.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs into my hair. “You don’t have to be strong every second.”

I draw a ragged breath, trying to steady my voice. “I feel like I’m using up everyone’s patience. The guys, the club… I’m supposed to help, but I’m a mess.”

He cradles my chin, lifting my face so our eyes meet. “You’re not a mess. You’re dealing with betrayal and danger from all sides. Anyone would be overwhelmed.” He searches my expression, then presses a feather-soft kiss to my forehead. “Let me be here for you.”

My heart twists at the sincerity in his tone. I nod, tears still tracking down my cheeks. He brushes them away with gentle fingers. The hush between us hums with unspoken connection. I lean against him, letting his warmth anchor me. Time stretches as he simply holds me, no rush, no demands.

I sniff, pulling back enough to look at him. “Thank you,” I say, voice unsteady. “You keep saving me, you know?”

His mouth quirks in a half-smile, though sadness lingers in his eyes. “I’m not complaining.”

A sudden wave of longing hits me—part need for comfort, part attraction that’s been simmering between us from the start. My hands drift up to grip the collar of his cut, pulling him closer. His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t resist.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, brow furrowing. “We don’t have to?—”

I shake my head, desperation creeping into my voice. “I just… I need to feel something good right now. Something that isn’t dread or guilt.”

Without waiting, I press my lips to his, my breath shaky from emotion.

He stiffens momentarily, then relents, returning the kiss with careful intensity.

Our arms wind around each other, the day’s tension translating into a fervent need to connect.

The taste of his mouth banishes the bitterness lurking in my throat.

In a few rough, impatient steps, he backs me toward the sofa, his mouth never leaving mine.

Our kiss is all teeth and tongue, desperate, like we’re trying to carve ourselves into each other.

The second my knees hit the cushions, he grips my hips and yanks me down onto his lap, my thighs spreading wide around him.

The thick ridge of his cock presses against me, already hard, already straining against his jeans.

I whimper into his mouth, grinding down just to feel him, just to hear the broken groan it wrings from his throat.

The overhead light flickers, casting jagged shadows over us, but I don’t give a fuck. My pulse hammers in my wrists, my throat, between my legs. His heartbeat thunders under my palms where I’ve fisted his shirt, and I can feel it—how badly he wants this. How badly I do.

He tears his mouth from mine, breath ragged. “If you want me to stop?—”

I don’t let him finish. “Don’t.” My hands are already dragging his shirt up, nails scraping over the hot, tight muscle of his stomach. “Please, Viper. Fuck—please.”

That’s all it takes.

His control snaps.

One second, we’re clinging to each other like we’re drowning.

The next, his hands are everywhere—yanking my top over my head, shoving my bra down until my tits spill into his palms. His mouth crashes into mine again, hungry, devouring, and then he’s biting down my throat, sucking bruises into my skin like he wants to mark me forever.

I arch into him, gasping, my fingers twisting in his hair as his teeth graze my nipple.