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Chapter Six: Lucien POV

Author: Lovelypert
last update publish date: 2026-05-04 01:49:23

Damon breaks in under four minutes.

I want to be precise about that, not because the time is impressive, but because it tells me something. A man who breaks in four minutes was already looking for permission to break. He was not a true believer. He was a man who made a bad financial decision and has been waiting, with increasing terror, for the consequences.

That I can work with.

He tells me: thirty two men, eastern perimeter emphasis, the northwest road left open as a funnel. He tells me t
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  • Biker's Temptation:Claimed by the Ruthless Mafia King   Chapter Fourteen: Lucien POV

    I have not said Marcus Decker’s name out loud in four years.That is not accident. It is erasure, deliberate, disciplined because names are power, and I stopped giving him mine the night I pulled a bullet from my shoulder in a ditch outside Varenholm and understood exactly who had put it there.Faye watches me with quiet focus, the kind she uses when she has identified something important and allows it space to surface.“He ran this territory before you,” she says.“He built it,” I reply. “From nothing, same as I did or so I believed. I came up under him. Fifteen years old, no family worth naming. He was the first to see usefulness instead of discard.”I pause.“I gave him twelve years. Built half of what he had. I thought it was loyalty.”“You thought it was partnership,” she says.“Partnership is transaction,” I answer. “Loyalty is belief. I believed in the wrong man.”The memory tightens in my chest. “When I began building my own network inside his structure, he chose efficiency. A

  • Biker's Temptation:Claimed by the Ruthless Mafia King   Chapter Thirteen: Faye POV

    My mother is sitting in a chair in what looks like a hotel room, clean, anonymous, the kind of room that exists specifically to be unidentifiable. She is dressed neatly, as she always is. Her hands are folded in her lap. She is looking at the camera with the expression I know better than any other expression in the world, the one she has been wearing my entire life, in every room my father owned her in.Composed. Controlled. Giving nothing away.She is not visibly harmed. That is the first thing I check. The second thing I check is her left hand and there, pressed between two folded fingers, barely visible: three taps. A signal. Our signal, developed when I was twelve years old and she was teaching me, in the quiet domestic language of women in dangerous houses, how to say I am alive and I am thinking without anyone else knowing a message had been sent.She is alive. She is thinking.She sent me the drive. She found me through Reves own surveillance network, turned it back on itself,

  • Biker's Temptation:Claimed by the Ruthless Mafia King   Chapter Twelve: Lucien POV

    I stare at the photo for three seconds. That is the full amount of time I allow myself before I am out of the car, phone to my ear, already moving toward the safehouse door with the cold, operational focus that has kept me alive for fifteen years.Reth picks up on the first ring. "I see it," he says, before I can speak. He is already at the safehouse, he came ahead, which is why he is alive right now. "Compound went hot eight minutes after you left. They were waiting for you to clear the gates.""Casualties?"A pause that costs me more than I show. "Two confirmed. Orvin and the night communications officer." A beat. "The others got out. Sera pulled everyone through the north access."Orvin.... the same Orvin who opened the maintenance door for Reves men last night. He stayed. I don't know if that was loyalty or guilt or the specific paralysis of a young man who made one bad decision and couldn't find a way back from it, but he stayed, and now he is dead, and I file that in the place w

  • Biker's Temptation:Claimed by the Ruthless Mafia King   Chapter Eleven: Faye POV

    The photo is of us in this car on this road and it was taken from somewhere ahead of us which means whoever sent it is not behind us.They are waiting."How far to the safehouse?" I ask. My voice is level. I am proud of that."Fourteen miles." Lucien has already killed the headlights. We are moving on moonlight and instinct down a road that has gone very dark and very quiet, and his hands on the wheel are the same as they always are steady, unhurried, giving nothing away to anyone watching."They know the direction but not the specific location," I say, thinking out loud, working the problem. "If they had the exact address they wouldn't have sent a warning. The photo is pressure. They want us to stop moving.""Which means we keep moving," he says."Which means we keep moving," I agree.I look at the phone again. Unknown number. The message came through the burner, the Maya Cole phone, which means whoever sent it has access to a number I created in a gas station three hundred miles fro

  • Biker's Temptation:Claimed by the Ruthless Mafia King   Chapter Ten: Lucien POV

    The interior alarm means one thing: breach. Not over the wall, through a door. Someone opened something from the inside. I am moving before the alarm finishes its first cycle, already running the probability in my head, which door, which access point, who is on duty, where the vulnerability is. Faye is beside me, not behind me, keeping pace with the kind of instinct that doesn't ask for permission. Under other circumstances I would deal with this. Right now I need everyone moving. "East maintenance door," Reth says, appearing from the corridor. "Level access." Level access means a key card. Which means this is not a perimeter breach, it is a sanctioned entry through a door that should not have been sanctioned tonight. "Who has level access besides the inner circle?" I ask, moving. Reth's jaw tightens. "It was issued last month. I cleared it." A pause. "Orvin." Orvin. Twenty two years old, joined eighteen months ago, clean record, sponsored by someone I trusted. I run the threa

  • Biker's Temptation:Claimed by the Ruthless Mafia King   Chapter Nine: Faye POV

    Two weeks pass like this. Two weeks of maps and analysis and the particular life of a compound that runs on discipline and purpose and the specific gravity of a man who has organized everything around him without appearing to exert effort. I learn the rhythms. I learn the names. I learn which of his people are curious about me and which are indifferent and which a small, watchful minority are something between suspicious and territorial in a way I can't fully categorize. I learn that Lucien Varga sleeps four hours a night, drinks his coffee black and strong at five in the morning, reads everything himself rather than relying on summaries, and has never once in the two weeks I have been here raised his voice. The not raising his voice is the part I find most unsettling. I have grown up around men who use volume as authority. My father's house was full of that kind of power, the kind that announces itself constantly, that requires constant maintenance and performance. Lucien's auth

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