Page 8 of Claimed By The Club

GHOST

I stand behind the chain-link fence, arms crossed, watching dust swirl across the stretch of land in front of our clubhouse.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows on the packed earth.

Sweat gathers under my collar, but I don’t budge.

This is my usual spot—close enough to keep an eye on who comes and goes, far enough to maintain the quiet I crave.

Ever since Sierra stepped into our orbit, I’ve been on edge.

She’s inside right now, probably settling her belongings in the small safe house we offered on the east side of the compound.

Frost gave her the green light, but I’m not so quick to trust. I’ve seen too many outsiders spin lies, worm their way in, and tear us apart.

The Iron Reapers have a special knack for infiltration.

If Sierra’s connected to them, or worse, if she’s feeding them intel, we could be sitting on a ticking bomb.

A heavy footstep crunches behind me. Viper approaches, his sandy-blond hair gathered in its usual knot. His green eyes track my gaze, then shift to my face. “You gonna stand guard like a statue all day, Ghost?” he asks, leaning on the fence next to me.

I shrug. “Keeping watch.”

He snorts, then glances at the horizon, where a pair of crows circle. “You’re more tense than normal, which is saying something. She’s not the enemy.”

“She could be a magnet for trouble,” I counter, scanning the road. “We’ve had run-ins with the Reapers before. Last time, it cost us.”

Viper’s jaw tightens for a moment. We both remember that night vividly—a bar fight turned bloody because we underestimated the Reapers’ desperation. I got a bullet graze on my side, and one of our prospects ended up in the hospital. We survived, but the lesson stuck.

“Relax, man,” Viper says, nudging my shoulder. “We’ll handle whatever comes our way. Besides, Sierra seems honest.”

“People who seem honest often have the best cover,” I reply, my voice low. “But you do you. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

Viper doesn’t argue. He knows I don’t budge once I set my mind on something. Instead, he checks his phone, probably texting Dolly or verifying a supply run. After a moment, he claps my back and strolls off to the clubhouse.

The sun sinks lower, painting the sky in streaks of gold and orange. I debate standing here until darkness falls but decide to prowl around the safe house instead. If Sierra’s up to anything suspicious, I’d rather catch it early.

When I head around the perimeter, the air smells of desert sage and warm metal.

A few bikes sit parked in the side lot, glinting under the last rays of light.

A battered old truck, used mainly for hauling, leans near the fence.

I pass a short row of scraggly bushes, following the chain link until I reach a modest structure with a porch light flickering. The safe house.

I pause at the edge of the yard. Sierra’s inside, probably unpacking clothes or going over the business plans she promised to share.

I try to ignore the flash of curiosity about her.

She’s not like the other women who breeze in and out of MC life, chasing excitement.

Her posture is poised, her words carefully chosen.

She’s obviously grappling with something heavy, but I can’t rule out manipulation.

A faint noise catches my attention. Footsteps, more than one person, creeping along the far side of the safe house.

I step back, pressing myself against the rough wooden siding of a half-broken shed.

The shape of two men materializes near the short fence line.

They’re dressed in scruffy jeans and jackets.

They’re not wearing any obvious gang colors, but their stance sets alarm bells ringing in my head.

One of them beckons the other closer, whispering.

I curse silently, pulling out my phone. No signal behind this shed. Typical. I slip it back into my pocket, adjust my stance, and inch forward to catch what they’re saying.

“Sure she’s here?” the taller figure mutters.

“Yeah,” the other one rasps. “My cousin said she’s staying with some bikers. We just gotta confirm.”

My muscles tense. They’re searching for Sierra. Could be local thugs, or maybe they’re connected to the Reapers. Either way, no one trespasses here without facing consequences.

I slip around the corner of the shed, approaching silently from behind.

I’ve had enough tactical training to move like a wraith when needed.

The first man is about my height, broad-shouldered, with a shaved head.

His friend is shorter, hunched, wearing a faded cap.

They think they’re being sneaky, but I’m nearly on top of them before they notice.

“Who are you looking for?” I ask, voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet.

Both men jerk around, startled. The shorter one’s hand dives into his jacket. I step forward, gripping his wrist before he can draw a weapon. He snarls, tries to yank free, but I squeeze until he freezes.

“Wrong territory,” I say, glaring at the taller man. “Explain yourselves.”

“None of your business, pal,” the tall one sneers, but there’s fear in his eyes. He’s not sure how many more of us might be lurking.

“It becomes my business when you’re snooping around my property.” I twist the short guy’s arm just enough to make him whimper, then shove him back into the taller man. “You have three seconds to talk.”

The shorter man rubs his wrist. “We just want to have a word with this chick, Sierra. She owes a lot of money. Figured we could persuade her to pay up.”

My pulse pounds, but I keep my features cold. “She’s under Renegade Cross protection now. That means you walk away.”

The tall man’s nostrils flare. “We’ll leave, but our boss wants her found. This doesn’t end here.”

I step closer, letting menace creep into my voice. “If you come back without an invite, you won’t be walking out.”

Both men shuffle backwards, muttering curses.

They slip around the fence, disappearing into the thickening dusk.

My gaze lingers on the spot where they vanished.

I’d bet everything those creeps report to bigger fish.

Possibly the Iron Reapers, maybe another group.

Doesn’t matter. They know Sierra’s here, which means we’re all targets now.

Grimacing, I pivot toward the safe house. A light glows through the window, and I catch a glimpse of Sierra’s silhouette. She appears to be pacing, phone at her ear. I stomp up the steps to knock on the door. My knuckles rap once, firm.

Her voice cuts off inside. Then the door opens a crack, the chain still latched. She sees me and relaxes, but that guarded expression remains. Her phone is clutched in one hand, nails digging into the case. “Ghost?”

I tilt my head at the chain. “Let me in.”

She hesitates, then closes the door briefly to undo the latch. When she opens it fully, I step inside, scanning the small living room. Boxes line the walls, and a folded set of clothes rests on the couch. The place smells faintly of air freshener and coffee.

Sierra sets her phone aside. “Is something wrong?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Two men were prowling around outside, looking for you. I made them leave.”

Her face pales, eyes wide. “They were here?”

I nod, crossing my arms. “Yeah. Claimed you owe them money. Said they’d be back.”

She closes her eyes, exhaling shakily. “Great. So much for hiding.”

A surge of protective anger courses through me. “Next time, they’ll meet the rest of our crew. We don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

She steps back, collapsing onto the couch. “They must be local muscle working for the Reapers or some affiliated group. I’ve been ignoring phone calls, but I guess they decided to track me down in person.”

I rub a hand over the base of my skull. “We’re dealing with it. But if they have your location, there’s a good chance bigger threats are on the way.”

Her gaze meets mine, determination overriding the fear.

“I can’t run forever. If the MC is still willing to protect me, I promise I’ll make it worthwhile.

I was on the phone with one of my old industry contacts, trying to line up a possible investment.

If it pans out, I’ll repay the debt faster. That should take heat off all of us.”

I study her expression. There’s real resolve in her eyes. She doesn’t seem like a liar, though I can’t be sure. “You better hope it comes through.”

She nods. “I do. I’m not here to drag you guys into more danger. I want a solution that helps everyone.”

Despite my mistrust, I find myself believing her sincerity. My arms stay folded, a protective reflex, but my stance relaxes a fraction. “Keep your phone on. If you get any more threatening calls or texts, let me know immediately.”

Her lips press together, forming a tight line. “I will.”

A heavy pause fills the room. The single overhead light casts shadows across her face, accentuating the fatigue in her features. She looks worn down, yet not broken. A flicker of admiration stirs inside me, though I shove it aside. Keeping emotional distance is a lesson I learned the hard way.

“How did you scare them off?” she asks, voice subdued.

“I gave them a choice between leaving on their own or being carried out.”

Her mouth quivers in what might be a faint smile. “That does sound persuasive.”

I shift my weight. “Yeah, well, sometimes fear is the only language people like that understand.”

She studies me for a moment. “Thank you. I know you didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s my job.” The words come out clipped, but I see the relief in her expression. I can’t deny there’s a certain satisfaction in knowing I kept her safe—at least for tonight.

I glance at the boxes stacked by the wall. “You need help unloading anything else?”

She shakes her head. “I’m mostly done. Just have to figure out where to store my clothes.”