All Chapters of Claimed By The Biker King: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

SableMarcus kept his word.He followed.That was it.No hovering over my shoulder, no stepping in to talk for me, no acting like I was about to crumble the second someone raised their voice. He rode a bike length behind me through town, engine rumbling steady and low, like a quiet warning to anyone who might get the wrong idea.Close enough to step in if something went wrong.Far enough away that this was still mine.I appreciated that more than I expected.Downtown was waking up slowly when we rolled in. Shop lights flicked on behind dusty windows. Someone down the block dragged a sandwich board onto the sidewalk. The smell of coffee drifted from the café on Main Street, mixing with the sharp bite of cold air.I pulled into a parking spot in front of the tattoo shop first.Iron Anchor Ink had been around longer than the Black Daggers. The owner, Rico, used to patch up half the club’s tattoos when the old guard was still running things.If the tattoo shop was on board, half the town w

SableWalking into the clubhouse that evening felt strangely similar to walking into a job interview.Not the kind where someone sits across from you with a clipboard and asks about your weaknesses. This was the kind where the whole room watched to see if you belonged before you even opened your mouth.The place was alive with the usual evening noise when I stepped through the doors. A pool game clacked somewhere to the left. Someone laughed too loudly near the bar. The jukebox hummed low under the conversation like background static.Normal.Routine.But to me it felt like standing on the edge of something important.Marcus had been clear earlier.They won’t say no.He said it like it was a law of physics.Still, knowing something in theory and walking up to ask for it were two very different things.I paused near the bar long enough to take a breath and remind myself that this wasn’t about me asking for a favor.This was part of the process.Prospects came up with the idea.The broth

SableTen minutes later, we were curled up on opposite ends of the wide couch in his private upstairs lounge. The lighting was low, just a couple warm lamps flickering against the wood-paneled walls and a small electric fireplace kicking off heat in the corner. The smell of motor oil still clung faintly to the air—underneath the popcorn, of course.Hannah had brought two bowls of popcorn, each absurdly full. One was golden, classic, with a glisten of real butter. The other was a chaotic mess—dark chocolate drizzled over the top and pickles chopped so fine they blended into the curls of corn.She had also dropped a six-pack of beer on the coffee table with a grin before disappearing downstairs.“Thought you two might need provisions,” she’d said.I hadn’t even argued.Jarek popped the cap off one bottle with the edge of the table like it was muscle memory and slid it across the wood toward me. The glass clinked softly as it stopped near my knee.I dunked one of the sticky-sour monstros

SableThe garage smelled like motor oil, rubber, and cold morning air drifting in through the open bay doors. Sunlight slanted across the concrete floor in bright stripes, catching on tools scattered across the long metal workbench.I was standing beside Hannah’s truck trying to tape the last donation box closed when she walked in carrying another stack of flyers under her arm.The boxes had taken longer to make than I expected. Cardboard, tape, printed labels explaining the toy run, and clear plastic windows so people could see the donations inside. They looked simple, but there had been a lot of trial and error before I figured out how to make them sturdy enough that people wouldn’t accidentally destroy them just trying to drop a toy inside.Now there were eight of them sitting in a neat row in the back of Hannah’s truck.Along with a stack of flyers and a handful of zip ties for hanging them up around town.“Alright,” Hannah said, dropping the flyers onto the tailgate. “That should

SableThe knock on my door came just as I finished pulling my boots off.I had barely made it back to my room after the town run when the day finally caught up with me. My shoulders ached from I don’t know what— stress I guess. And the faint bruise forming on my arm from Luke’s grip had started to throb in that dull, annoying way bruises do when they know they’re about to turn ugly.I crossed the room and pulled the door open.Jarek stood on the other side.One hand rested casually in the pocket of his jeans, the other holding a small black gift bag with red tissue paper sticking out of the top.I blinked at it.“What’s that?”His mouth tilted slightly.“A gift.”I leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, eyeing the bag like it might explode.“You’re giving me a gift?”“You gave me one,” he said calmly. “Figured I’d return the favor.”Suspicion curled through me. “I didn’t give you a gift.” “Oh but you did.”Slowly, I took the bag from his hand and reached inside.The lace was soft