Page 35 of Claimed By The Club

He raises a rifle he stashed behind the seat.

My heart slams at the realization we might be forced to shoot from this vantage point, risking friendly fire.

But the chaos below intensifies. The Reapers regroup near the van, bullets pinging off metal.

One of our men is pinned behind a rock, pinned down by a hail of gunfire.

Desperate, I scan for Frost. Through the haze, I catch a glimpse of him near the van’s passenger door, exchanging shots with a tall Reaper. Relief washes over me, followed by fresh fear. He’s alive, but for how long if they’re pinned?

Then I spot it, movement on the left side, behind a boulder. A figure in Renegade Cross colors, creeping with a pistol aimed at Frost. My breath snags. Could it be the traitor? Everything moves too fast. They’re about to line up a shot.

Viper curses, also noticing the threat. “The turncoat?”

We can’t see who it is clearly, but they’re definitely pointing a weapon at Frost’s back.

My heart hitches. I can’t let him die like this.

Without thinking, I scramble forward, picking up a stray sniper scope Viper left in the truck bed.

With unsteady hands, I direct it at the hidden figure. My worst fear is confirmed: it’s Lance.

Lance, or who we call Snake, aims. My fingers shake on the scope. “He’s going to shoot Frost.”

Viper steadies his rifle, aiming down. But the angle is lousy, Lance partially hidden. A wave of helplessness crushes me. I watch as Lance adjusts his aim, about to pull the trigger.

In a frantic burst, Frost spins, noticing movement in the corner of his eye. Shots ring out, impossible to track who fired first. My vision wavers. The figure collapses, Lance or maybe Frost’s bullet. The chaos intensifies, Reapers panicking as more MC riders flank them from the right.

Viper lowers his rifle, exhaling shakily. “We gotta go down. The Reapers are breaking.”

I nod, heart pounding. Carefully, we pick our way down the slope, guns drawn but pointed low.

My ears ring with the echoes of gunfire.

By the time we reach the highway, many Reapers have dropped their weapons.

Some lie injured, moaning in the dust. Axel and Ghost converge on a cluster of them, forcing them to surrender.

I spot Frost near the van, kneeling over a figure sprawled on the ground.

My breath stops. I rush forward, ignoring Viper’s shout to be careful.

Dust stings my eyes as I skid to a stop beside them.

Lance’s body is half-turned, a single bullet hole in his chest. Blood seeps onto the sand. He’s gone, eyes vacant.

Frost’s face is grim, sweat and dust smeared across his cheeks. “He was aiming at me,” he says, voice hollow. “I had no choice.”

My stomach churns. A traitor, a ife ended. All for what—money, power, or fear? I lay a trembling hand on Frost’s shoulder. He’s breathing hard, shock in his eyes. He saved himself, but the cost is heavy. Another betrayal from someone we didn’t suspect.

Across the road, the MC closes in on the remaining Reapers, confiscating guns and binding wrists. Ghost stalks among them, scanning for hidden threats. Viper comes up behind me, resting a hand on my back. “You two okay?”

I swallow. “Yeah, I think so.” Then I look at Frost, his expression ravaged by guilt and anger. “You’re not hurt?”

He shakes his head numbly, rising to his feet. “Lance nearly got me. I saw movement just in time.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “This has to end.”

My throat tightens. We’ve always known the Reapers wanted me, but seeing the lengths they’ll go to—turning our own prospects with bribes or threats—shakes me.

Frost forces a steady breath, meeting my eyes. “I told you to stay behind.”

I muster a wobbly smile. “You can thank Viper for driving me here. But we stayed out of direct line.” My gaze flicks over him, relief mixing with lingering fear. “I’m glad we did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known if you were?—”

He cuts me off by pulling me into a fierce embrace, ignoring the stares of a few nearby members. I cling to him, fresh tears burning at the corners of my eyes. The desperation in his hold speaks of the near-loss we both felt.

Viper steps closer, protective yet respecting the moment. Ghost, too, approaches with purposeful steps, scanning the battered scene. The Reapers lie subdued, moaning or glaring with defiance.

Frost releases me reluctantly, turning to the rest of the members. “Collect any intel these Reapers have—phones, patches, anything. Load them up. We’ll question them back at the clubhouse.”

Axel acknowledges, leading a handful of men to gather the wounded or disarmed Reapers. Ghost checks each captive for hidden weapons, methodical and coldly efficient. Viper stands near me, exhaling tension.

I glance around at the dust-laden carnage. Another chunk of the Reapers’ power has been shattered. But at what cost? Two of our own prospects turned traitor. Countless bullets fired. More blood spilled on both sides. Lance’s final bullet aimed at Frost. The reality of MC life never felt sharper.

Slowly, the adrenaline ebbs, leaving my limbs heavy. Frost notices my stagger and hooks an arm around my middle, guiding me away from Lance’s body. “You shouldn’t see this,” he murmurs.

I nod numbly, eyes burning from dust and unshed tears.

The men busily load the subdued Reapers into a couple of trucks.

Bruiser’s nowhere to be seen—maybe he fled or got shot earlier.

I can’t keep track, my mind too full of relief that Frost is alive and sorrow that we can’t seem to stop these betrayals.

Viper helps me onto the tailgate of a battered pickup, offering a canteen.

I drink, the water soothing my raw throat.

Frost stands a few paces away, conferring with Ghost. I watch them, heart squeezed by conflicting emotions—gratitude they’re safe, fury at the Reapers, heartbreak for the betrayal that keeps haunting us.

Eventually, Frost motions for the group to gather. “Load up. We’re heading back before the law shows. We can’t be here if local deputies roll in.”

The men rush to secure bikes, guns, prisoners. Ghost climbs onto his bike, eyes flicking to me with that quiet care I’ve come to rely on. Viper readies the truck, while Frost stands by me, expression torn between relief and exasperation.

He murmurs low, “You disobeyed me.”

I meet his gaze, voice wavering. “I had to know you and Ghost were safe.”

His eyes soften, and he nods, unable to fully scold me. Then he helps me into the passenger seat of the same truck. Viper takes the driver’s side. We roll out, following the convoy of bikes, dust swirling behind our retreat.

Silence fills the cab. I stare out the window, replaying the moment Lance aimed at Frost. The bullet that ended his betrayal.

My ex-partner, Jen, still looms beyond the horizon, pulling strings we can’t fully see.

Another wave of worry steals my breath. Even though we claimed a victory, it feels tainted by the cost.

We arrive at the compound as the sun rises higher, painting the yard in stark light. The men unload Reaper prisoners, hustling them indoors for questioning. Frost heads off to bark orders, posture rigid with responsibility. Ghost disappears into the clubhouse with Axel.

That leaves me and Viper standing by the truck, dust caking our clothes and skin. I’m sore all over, nerves frazzled from the near-miss with Lance. Viper rests a tentative hand on my shoulder. “You all right?”

I manage a nod. “Relieved. Horrified. Everything at once.”

His mouth curves into a sad smile. “Same.”

A beat of shared understanding passes. We came dangerously close to losing Frost, and the club once again discovered a hidden enemy in its midst. But we survived. The Reapers took a hit.

Yet Jen remains out there, presumably funneling resources and collecting debts. And each new betrayal chips away at what innocence I have left. I swallow a lump of sorrow. The ambush succeeded, but it feels like a pyrrhic victory.

Viper squeezes my shoulder gently. “We’ll debrief, figure out the next move. For now, maybe try to rest. You look wrecked.”

I release a shuddering breath. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He nods, guiding me toward the safe house. Around us, the compound buzzes with tense energy: members hauling in captives, prospects disposing of spent shells, everyone bracing for whatever might come next. My feet drag, exhaustion hitting me in waves, but my mind refuses to settle.

As we near the doorway, I glance over my shoulder, spotting Frost watching from across the yard.

Our eyes meet. For a heartbeat, the chaos and dust fade, leaving only the raw intensity of that near-loss.

I can’t read everything in his gaze—relief, anger, gratitude, maybe heartbreak.

Then someone calls his name, and he turns away.

Inside, the safe house feels marginally cooler, though it can’t erase the images seared into my mind. Viper lingers at the threshold, hesitation clear. “I gotta help lock down the perimeter,” he mutters, sounding torn.

I offer a reassuring nod, ignoring the quiver in my limbs. “Go. I’ll be okay.”

He studies me a moment, then presses a brief, comforting kiss to my temple. The gesture is sweet, fleeting—an anchor in the storm. After he goes, the silence closes in. I sink onto the worn couch, head in my hands, replaying the events.

We unmasked Lance as a traitor. We likely wounded the Reapers’ operation. But Jen still lurks behind the scenes, and the traitor’s betrayal proves the rot runs deeper than we guessed. The weight of it all suffocates me. I yearn for normalcy, but this life doesn’t grant easy answers.

Eventually, I lift my head, wiping sweat and dust from my cheeks. I remind myself that we made progress, that Frost is alive, that Viper and Ghost stand strong. We’re battered but breathing, and I remain in the place where I somehow found a home.

That has to be enough, at least for now. Because the final confrontation with Jen still waits on the horizon, and deep in my heart, I sense that’ll be the true tipping point.