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CHAPTER 32 – The Edge of My Territory
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2026-02-06 00:01:00Jarek
The phone rang once.
“Santos,” came the voice.
“Talk,” I said.
“I’ve got movement—black SUV, tinted windows, parked a couple houses down like they’re trying to pretend they belong here. But that shiny ride? Beacon that screams suburb money in a neighborhood with rusted-out swings and broken porch lights.”
I straightened from my desk. “How many?”
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Claimed By The Biker King CHAPTER 36 – The Softest Place to Fall
SableTen minutes later, we were curled up on opposite ends of the wide couch in the clubhouse 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.I dunked one of the sticky-sour monstrosities into my mouth and caught him staring.“Don’t judge me,” I warned, crunching defiantly.Jarek tilted his head. “Too late. I’ve already made funeral arrangements for your tastebuds.”I shot him a look. “You’re just scared to try it.”“I’m scared for humanity if that ever becomes a real craving trend.”He tossed a throw blanket across my lap without comment, set
Claimed By The Biker King CHAPTER 35 – The Warmth Between Things
SableThe garage was quiet again.Paint lids snapped shut. Brushes soaking in jars. Flyers stacked clean in a box marked Clubhouse Drop. I’d already scrubbed the worst of the glitter off my arms, tied up the trash bags, and swept a mountain of cardboard into the corner.Everything was prepped.Everything was ready.I was just finishing up—rearranging boxes to dry evenly near the heater—when the door creaked open behind me.Heavy boots. A familiar silhouette.Jarek leaned against the frame, arms crossed. “You always clean like it’s a full-contact sport?”I glanced over my shoulder. “Only when I’m trying to avoid thinking too hard.”His gaze flicked to the donation boxes lined up like soldiers. Then to the flyers. Then to me.He didn’t say anything at first.Just walked closer, slow and deliberate, until he was standing right in front of the nearest box—the one with the red base, black trim, and a teddy bear wearing a skull bandana.His head tilted. He read the sign. Then picked up one
Claimed By The Biker King CHAPTER 34 – Bigger Than the Patch
SableProspect work was supposed to be grunt shit.Patch tires, clean tools, organize garage stock, haul your weight and keep your mouth shut.So when the three of us got told to organize a fundraiser before the end of the year—on top of everything else—it felt like a setup.Except Nixx and Smitty jumped at it like dogs fighting over a bone.“A pool tournament,” Smitty declared. “New Year’s Eve. We’ll turn the bar into a full-on bracket showdown. Booze, bets, music. Boom. Profit.”“And tits,” Nixx added. “Because nothing makes people open their wallets like cleavage and cue balls.”I didn’t argue. Didn’t even flinch.Let them have their brofest.Because while they were busy dreaming up testosterone-fueled chaos, I already had my own shit rolling.Something better. Smarter. Bigger.See, the instruction was to “organize a fundraiser.” Period. Not what it had to raise funds for. And while they’re throwing together a party that’ll line the club’s coffers, I’m thinking longer game. Bigger
Claimed By The Biker King CHAPTER 33 – Boundaries and Breaths
SableThe door shut behind him with a soft finality. No bang. No stomp. Just the click of a man choosing to leave a decision in someone else’s hands.I stood there, fingers ghosting over the edge of my robe where his eyes had flickered—fast and respectful. And yet…That look had landed like a match on dry timber.I turned toward the mirror. My skin was still flushed from the shower, damp hair clinging to my shoulders. The robe gaped at the collar, and I tugged it tighter even though I’d already seen the damage done.Because I’d seen it in him too.In the pause. The restraint. The way his jaw clenched when he looked away—like maybe he wasn’t proud of the part of himself that wanted to keep looking.He didn’t take.He could’ve.He didn’t.And that… rattled me more than I wanted to admit.I sat down at the edge of the bed, the quilt soft beneath me, the mattress still carrying my heat. I stared at the floorboards like they might offer answers. But all they offered was silence.I used to
Claimed By The Biker King CHAPTER 32 – The Edge of My Territory
JarekThe phone rang once.“Santos,” came the voice.“Talk,” I said.“I’ve got movement—black SUV, tinted windows, parked a couple houses down like they’re trying to pretend they belong here. But that shiny ride? Beacon that screams suburb money in a neighborhood with rusted-out swings and broken porch lights.”I straightened from my desk. “How many?”“Two. One’s leaning on the railing like he owns the place, the other’s pacing like his boots are trying to start a fight with the sidewalk. I scoped them through the binocs—cut sleeves, heavy tread, something tucked under their jackets that sure as hell looks like leather and ego.”My grip tightened. “What club?”“Couldn’t see the patch, but I’d bet your left hand it’s Jones. The build fits. Scar on the neck. Always scan
Claimed By The Biker King CHAPTER 31 – Where She Hid
LukeThe neighborhood looked like it had given up a long time ago.Boarded windows. Chain-link fences sagging under their own rust. Streetlights flickering like they were tired of trying to stay lit. Trash in the gutters. A dog barking somewhere in the distance, feral and territorial.This was where she ran.Not into the woods.Not to some quiet, hidden refuge.To a house that barely remembered being a home.I parked two houses down and cut the engine. Brian Moss slid out of the passenger seat without a word, eyes already sweeping the street like he expected movement in every shadow.“Place feels wrong,” he muttered.“Everything feels wrong when you’re late,” I said.We approached on foot. The house was small. One story. Peeling paint. The porch railing sagged like it might give up if you leaned on it too hard. One of the windows was boarded up with mismatched planks. The front door had been kicked in at least once before—new splintered wood grafted onto old damage.John Arden’s old p
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