Page 36 of Claimed By The Club

SIERRA

M orning sun cuts through the dusty windows of the safe house, casting stripes of light across my makeshift workspace.

After yesterday’s ambush, the MC returned battered but victorious, the aftermath buzzing through every corner of Renegade Cross territory.

A stifling tension still grips us. We unmasked Snake’s betrayal and discovered more Reapers were on our trail, but Jen—my ex-partner—remains the source of this storm.

She’s out there, funneling funds to keep the Reapers strong, seemingly untouched by the mayhem she’s helped create.

I sit at a table strewn with half-finished financial reports and leftover coffee cups, trying to focus.

My eyes ache from lack of sleep, and my heart hasn’t stopped racing since Snake was exposed.

The noise in my head is so loud it nearly drowns out Viper’s soft footfalls when he steps inside, crossing to me with measured steps.

“You should rest,” he says gently, setting a fresh cup of coffee next to me. The aroma swirls upward, tempting but not enough to calm my nerves.

“I can’t,” I murmur, rubbing my temples. “Jen’s still out there, using my money, forging alliances. If she orchestrates another surprise while we’re licking our wounds—” I can’t finish, dread tying my stomach in knots.

He exhales, leaning on the table. Dust smudges line his jeans, remnants of the desert showdown. “We’ll handle her, same as the Reapers. She won’t slip by forever.”

I manage a faint nod, though doubt flickers.

“Maybe. But it feels like every time we strike a blow, she’s already two steps ahead.

” My gaze falls to a battered laptop, evidence of the countless attempts I’ve made to trace missing funds or account leads.

“I keep searching for more financial connections, but she’s too slippery. ”

Before Viper can respond, Frost appears in the doorway, posture rigid. Ghost trails behind him, silent as a shadow. Their expressions are grim, fresh tension carving lines into Frost’s face as he lifts a phone in his hand.

“Sierra,” Frost says, voice clipped. “You got a message.”

Viper and I exchange a concerned look. I stand, crossing to Frost with my pulse drumming in my ears. The phone’s screen glows, revealing a single text message:

Meet me at the old train depot by noon. Come alone. We need to talk.

—Jen

My insides twist. “It’s nothing,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. A swirl of emotions jolts through me: anger at her brazen nerve, lingering loyalty to the woman I once called a partner, and fear that this is yet another trap.

Viper asks, “Are you sure? You look pale.”

Frost looks at me intently as if he can see through my life, and Ghost glances at my phone. I force myself to smile, and says, “It’s really not important. Just some business things.”

Frost’s about to question me but Knox calls the three men to his side. I wave at hime, smilin and he nods at me. The men leaves but before that, Viper kisses me on the cheek, and whispers, “I’ll talk to you later, baby.”

I hold my breath, my smile shaky. Do we even have a later if this is a trap? What should I do? I can’t possibly drag the club again to another danger.

An hour later, I’m driving a nondescript SUV out toward the old train depot, a relic from decades ago, now rusted and deserted. The midday sun scorches everything in sight. My hands tremble on the wheel, nerves fraying more with each mile.

As I crest a final rise, the depot looms: a sagging building with broken windows, weeds choking the tracks.

My heart hammers. I park near the cracked loading dock.

No sign of Jen yet. Heat shimmers off the metal rails.

I step out, scanning the area, sweat dripping down my temples from both the sun and raw tension.

A rumble of an engine draws my attention.

Another car pulls up, tinted windows preventing me from seeing who’s inside.

My pulse leaps, half-expecting Reaper bikers or heavily armed goons.

But only one figure emerges, petite and familiar—Jen, in a sleek black dress unsuited for this dusty backroad.

She raises a hand, like she’s greeting an old friend.

Fury and betrayal knot in my chest. This is the woman who once stood beside me building our fashion empire, now orchestrating chaos to destroy me.

“Sierra.” She smiles, but her eyes stay cold. “Glad you came.”

I set my jaw. “What do you want?”

Jen glances around. “Are you alone?”

I school my expression. “Yes,” I lie. “Just me. You asked for that.”

Her gaze flicks over my vehicle, scanning for hidden threats. “Brave.” She steps closer, heels crunching on gravel. “I want to end this, too. But we both know you owe me.”

My anger flares. “Owe you? You stole from our company, you funded the Reapers, you endangered me and my entire life.”

She exhales dismissively. “You had everything—press, brand deals, the board’s favor. I was overshadowed. So I made an alternative plan.” She shrugs, voice laced with venom. “It’s business.”

Tremors shake my arms as I clench my fists. “That’s not business, that’s betrayal. Look around. People are hurt. Members are dead.”

Her eyes gleam with something I can only call greed. “You caused your own trouble running to that biker gang. If you’d stuck with me from the start, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

I glare. “You wouldn’t have forced me into hiding if you hadn’t stolen everything.”

She opens her mouth to retort, but footsteps crunch behind me. My stomach lurches—did one of the men break cover? I spin, finding Knox—our own club treasurer—stepping out from behind a rusted shipping container. My heart plummets. Why is he here?

Jen’s grin widens. “Knox. Right on time.”

My mouth goes dry. “Knox, what are you doing?”

He lifts a gun, aimed with shaking hands, though his gaze holds a hardened edge. “Sorry, Sierra. I hoped to avoid this, but you were bound to find out eventually.”

I stare, stunned. “You’re working with Jen?”

His lips press together. “I took some money from the accounts. Nothing huge at first, but after Snake got caught, I worried you’d dig deeper. Then Jen offered a bigger cut if I helped her get into your finances. She can’t access everything alone.”

Nausea churns in my gut. We cleared one traitor only to find another? “Knox, how could you do this? The club’s your family.”

He grits his teeth. “I need real money. The MC’s going legit, no big scores. I knew you’d discover my skimming soon enough. Jen promised me a bigger payday. We get your brand accounts, siphon them. Everybody wins, except you. And the rest of the club.”

Jen cocks a brow. “He’s right. You think you can vanish into the desert with your new biker friends, ignoring the empire you built? Not happening.”

A tremor of fear sizzles through me. “So what now? You kill me for control of accounts?”

Knox’s grip tightens on the pistol. “We’d prefer you cooperate. Hand over the info. Otherwise…” He doesn’t finish, but the threat hangs in the sweltering air.

I swallow, scanning for an opening. The men are out there, probably waiting for my signal. But if Knox or Jen get spooked, they’ll shoot first. My phone sits in my pocket, useless if I can’t reach it. Desperation flares. “I never expected this from you,” I say, voice shaking.

Knox’s eyes flash. “I did what I had to do.”

Jen tuts. “Let’s skip the guilt trip. Give us the passwords, Sierra. Then we let you walk away. Or… not.”

My heart thunders. “I can’t just hand everything over. I have partial locks in place in my accoutns. Even I can’t access it, most of my money has been frozen when Jen ran away with it. The club has some data, too—” I’m stalling, praying the men are ready.

Jen smirks. “We’ll find ways around your locks, or you’ll die. It’s that simple.”

Knox steps forward, gun aimed at my head. My vision blurs. So this is how it ends? Goose bumps prickle my arms, despite the heat. Then a sound behind them—footsteps light and quick. Marian emerges, phone raised. She must’ve followed Knox unseen.

“Put the gun down,” Marian commands, eyes flashing. She’s capturing this on video, probably streaming to the MC. My chest lifts with hope.

Knox curses, pivoting the weapon toward her. “Back off, Marian. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Jen shifts sideways, rummaging in her handbag. My pulse spikes. She’s likely got a weapon. Marian glances at me, expression fierce. “I suspected something off about you, Knox. Saw you slip out.” She waves the phone. “We’re live, you bastard. Everyone at the clubhouse sees this.”

Knox’s face pales, but he doesn’t drop the gun. “You don’t scare me. We’ll be gone before they show.”

Jen levels a small pistol from her handbag. “Enough talk. Give me that phone.”

Marian refuses, tension coiling in her stance. “Sierra, move,” she hisses, voice urgent. But before I can obey, Jen fires a shot. The bullet grazes Marian’s side, a sharp cry escaping her lips as she drops to a knee, clutching her torso.

“No!” I scream, adrenaline roaring through me.

I lunge to catch Marian before she hits the ground.

Blood seeps through her fingers. Jen swings the gun back at me, but the phone in Marian’s hand remains angled upward—still transmitting.

My world narrows: Marian in pain, Jen and Knox armed, everything spinning.

A wave of fierce anger overtakes my fear.

I see the faint glint of a fallen handgun near Marian’s foot.

She must’ve brought it but lost her grip.

I scoop it up, palms slick with sweat. I hold it unsteadily, aiming at Jen, tears blurring my vision.

“Stop!” My voice wobbles, but I refuse to let them kill Marian or me without a fight.

Jen’s eyes widen a fraction, mockery curling her lips. “You barely know how to shoot.”