Page 32 of Claimed By The Club

FROST

I stand in the heart of the clubhouse, arms tight across my chest, scanning every face with a combination of frustration and wariness.

The air crackles with tension, as though a single spark might ignite a full-blown explosion.

We’re at a breaking point. Every conversation carries undertones of suspicion, and one sideways look could set off an argument nobody can afford.

I used to think my biggest headache as Renegade Cross President would be negotiating deals or fending off local heat, but the constant fear of betrayal has proven far worse.

This is the last place I would like to be in, especially remembering Viper and Sierra’s ‘show’ last time.

I can’t help but get hard whenever I think of her in that position.

I spread my legs, willing my dick to calm down and focus on the task at hand.

I look at everyone, committing every face to my memory.

Today’s church meeting ran twice as long as usual.

Voices rose, accusations flew. Half our members want to storm into Iron Reaper territory guns blazing; the rest want to clamp down on security until we root out the traitor.

I see reason on both sides, but I can’t broadcast that indecision.

They need me to guide them when everything feels like it’s teetering.

I try to maintain a confident stance, but inside, a knot of anxiety burns. We’re running out of time.

A few patched members huddle by the pool table, muttering about false leads we chased last week.

Axel leans against the wall, fiddling with a half-smoked cigarette he can’t seem to light.

Viper sits on a lopsided stool by the makeshift bar, half-focused on cleaning his favorite gun.

Ghost lurks near the corridor, silent as always, presence almost invisible but never truly unseen.

I can feel the tension radiating from him; he’s coiled, ready to strike at the slightest threat.

Amid all that, Sierra stands off to one side, quietly observing.

She’s trying to stay small, as if the swirl of distrust among the club might focus on her if she draws attention.

But we all know she’s right in the center of this war.

The Reapers want her, the traitor might be feeding them everything, and I’m charged with protecting her while also running this place. My mind spins with too many tasks.

I clear my throat, stepping forward. “Everybody.” My voice carries in the hush.

“We need to settle on a plan. The Reapers have grown bolder, smashing up our property and threatening to escalate. Knox confirms the money trails lead back to Sierra’s ex-partner, which means they have funds and leverage. We can’t let them keep the upper hand.”

A wave of murmured assent ripples through the men. One of the veterans, Iron, nods grimly. “We can’t stay idle, but we got no clue who inside’s feeding them intel.”

A sharp pang cuts across my chest. I place a palm on the worn tabletop in front of me, trying to look composed. “I’ve weighed every angle. It’s time we stop reacting and force them to show their hand.”

Axel blows a stream of cigarette smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Meaning what?”

I draw in a steadying breath. “A final confrontation. We give the Reapers a target—something big enough to draw them out—and we watch closely to see who tips them off. We set a lure, monitor communications, and see which of our people is the mole. Then we crush the Reapers before they can regroup.”

The room falls silent. A mixture of eagerness and apprehension charges the air. Ghost unfolds his arms, eyes narrowing. “We’re using ourselves as bait?”

“Not the entire club,” I clarify. “We stage a scenario—maybe a staged transport or a rumored deal, something that sounds plausible enough for them to bite.”

Sierra steps forward, gaze locked on me. “And if the traitor catches wind, they’ll pass it on to the Reapers?”

“Exactly,” I say, forcing a calm tone. “We watch the Reapers’ movements. The second they mobilize, we intercept. Meanwhile, we keep Sierra locked down. They won’t risk losing a prime bargaining chip, so if the rumor is big enough, they’ll scramble for it.”

She winces. “I hate feeling like a prize they want to seize.”

I step closer, quieter now. “I know. But this might be our only shot. We can’t keep waiting for them to strike.

” I let my gaze flick around the room, locking on each member.

“This stays within a tight circle. The fewer who know details, the better. Once we find out who’s leaking information, we deal with them. Fast.”

Viper nods, lips pressed thin. Ghost, arms crossed again, gives a single, firm nod.

Axel grinds his cigarette against a nearby ashtray, tension visible.

A handful of other men exchange looks, but nobody argues.

We’re at the threshold, forced into a corner.

Our best chance is to bring the Reapers to us, on our terms.

“All right,” I say, raising my voice. “Get your gear in order. We’ll plan specifics in the next hour, then move out. Stay sharp—any slip could blow this. Meeting dismissed.”

The men disperse, some heading outside to double-check ammo or bikes, others gathering in small knots to talk in hushed tones.

I remain by the table, my mind racing through every detail.

The club’s morale is shot to pieces, but if we can rally them behind this decisive plan, maybe we’ll emerge intact.

Sierra drifts closer, eyes searching my face. “You sure about this?” she asks softly.

I hesitate, aware of the weight behind her question. “We don’t have another option. We’re out of time.”

She lowers her gaze. “What about me? Where do I stay while you carry out this plan?”

“Right here, guarded,” I say firmly. “I want Viper watching you. Ghost will help coordinate once we’re in motion.”

Her lips part, concern evident. “You’re going too, right?”

“Absolutely,” I reply, voice tinged with an edge I can’t hide. The idea of leading half the club into a potential ambush rattles me, but it’s my job. “Someone has to keep the Reapers focused on the false target.”

Sierra’s hands twist in front of her. “Be careful.”

The tenderness in her voice cuts through my hardened shell. I want to reassure her, to promise I’ll come back unscathed, but in our world, there are no guarantees. Instead, I gently cradle her elbows and meet her eyes. “I’ll do everything I can.”

She nods, tension in every line of her posture. Then she turns to leave, probably heading toward the safe house or the office, but hesitates. “Frost?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I know you’re juggling so much—leading the club, protecting me—but… if something goes wrong, I don’t want you blaming yourself.” Her voice quivers with raw honesty. “I’m in this with you.”

Emotion threatens to break my composure.

I give a brief nod, afraid that if I speak, my voice will betray me.

She reads that in my silence, offering a small, tremulous smile before drifting away.

That gesture hits me harder than any bullet.

She’s entrusted us with her life, and we’re on the brink of war. Failure isn’t an option.

As soon as she’s gone, I step outside, needing fresh air. The late afternoon sun scorches the lot, reflecting off a row of polished bikes. Ghost stands nearby, arms folded as he surveys the fence line. I approach, appreciating his steady presence.

He offers a grunt of acknowledgment. “All set?”

I let out a tense breath. “As much as we can be. Gather a small detail. We’ll finalize route plans for the fake transport. Keep the circle small—Axel, maybe two or three more. We can’t risk the traitor finding out all the details prematurely.”

He nods. “I’ll pick them carefully.” Then his gaze shifts. “How’s Sierra holding up?”

“Scared,” I admit, voice tight, “but determined.”

“Viper’s with her?”

“He will be.” I glance toward the safe house. “She’s safer in his company.”

He hums, not quite a sound of approval or disapproval, just acknowledgment.

Tension remains between us over how we share her time, her trust, her affection.

But we’ve put that aside for now. The threat to her life trumps personal jealousies.

He turns to the fence again, scanning for any suspicious movement.

I follow his line of sight, relieved to see no sign of Reaper scouts lurking.

“Let’s get this done,” I say quietly, then walk off to finalize the plan.

Evening shadows stretch across the compound by the time we gather the select few for a briefing.

Axel, Ghost, a couple of seasoned members named Rook and Marshall.

I explain the route—an empty stretch of highway that seldom sees traffic at night—where we’ll stage a bogus shipment, rumored to be crucial to our club’s finances.

The Reapers, if they catch wind of it, should pounce, thinking they’ll strike a crippling blow.

Rook spits onto the dirt, nodding. “It’s risky as hell, boss.”

I meet his gaze. “Agreed. But it’s our chance to draw them out on our terms. We’ll have vantage points along the approach, hidden watchers. We’ll see who shows up and how they coordinate. If we spot anyone from our side relaying the details, we’ve found our mole.”

Axel’s brow furrows, but he keeps any doubts to himself.

Ghost remains silent, occasionally giving a curt nod.

It’s enough. They trust me, even if they’re uneasy.

We disperse to collect gear. The plan goes down tomorrow night.

We want the rumor to spread quickly, so we’ll start leaking hints.

If the traitor’s embedded deep, they’ll pass it along soon.

I rub a hand over my face, exhaustion setting in. One more day of waiting, one more night of restless worry. My chest constricts at the thought of Sierra enduring more anxiety. But if the Reapers come, we’ll ambush them with every resource we have. We either end this or go down fighting.