All Chapters of Claimed by My Husband and His Bestfriends : Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

“Everyone is going bonkers over your video, Mr Lotto.” Clara, the journalist who had famously interviewed Myla and Hayden months ago, said with a soft laugh. “It’s been less than 48 hours since it dropped, and I have become the nation’s touch point for the truth.” “Thank you for airing that video on such short notice,” Jared said, his deep voice carrying in the quiet room. “I know you have a very busy schedule, Clara, and I appreciate you actually reaching out when you saw my email.”She leaned back in her high-backed chair, shaking her head. “Thank me?” she countered, her eyes wide on the video call. “No, sir. Thank you for trusting me to be the one to break this to the world.”She pointed toward the camera with the pen in her hand. “Do you have any idea how many journalists dream about getting something like this? A military cover-up? A high-level government conspiracy? A survivor willing to go on record?” She waved her hand excitedly. “Oh my.” Jared stared at the laptop screen, h

Brandon froze, realizing his captor wasn’t joking.“W… work for?” he stammered, raising his hands in the air to show surrender. “What do you mean? I’m just… I work at this hospital, man.” Jared kept his head down, using the bill of his ballcap as a shield. Coupled with the face mask, his face was practically unrecognizable. “See man,” Brandon continued, his eyes darting around for a witness or anything he could quickly grab and use for defense. “If it’s money you want, I don’t have much, but I have $200 in the car.” He slowly started lowering his hands. “If you let me…"“I told you,” Jared hissed, his voice frighteningly calm as he eased the tension on the blade before dragging it down a little, giving him a shallow cut. “No sudden movements.” Brandon winced when more ribbons of dark crimson bled down the side of his neck, staining the blue collar of his orderly uniform.“Fuck, fuck, calm down,” he pleaded quickly, his voice low and slow like speaking to a spooked animal. As a tra

Troy chuckled. “You really think surrendering yourself is going to make all of this disappear?” Troy hissed, his voice devoid of any warmth.Jared’s expression hardened.“No.” He replied, casting a glance at Brandon, who was glaring at him with pure hatred, before looking back down at the phone screen. “I think it gives you what you’ve wanted from the beginning. Me.”A heavy, suffocating silence stretched over the line. For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the refrigerator somewhere in the kitchen and the soft purring of the cat curled against Jared’s lap.Then the cat finally seemed to grow bored with Jared’s lack of attention. It stretched lazily, climbed down from his lap, and disappeared through the curtained doorway again.Jared barely noticed, his entire focus on the phone.“I have more pressing issues to deal with first, Sergeant.” Troy finally replied, his voice completely indifferent to Jared's offer. "I'll let you know when I’m ready.”Jared’

“Shit, another one?” Beck muttered under his breath, a flash of apprehension washing over his face as he read the news blog talking about the official found dead on his phone.His jaw tightened as he stared at the screen. “Can’t wait for them to get that fucking Voss next, though,” he hissed as he lowered his phone.He pressed his fingers into his eyelids with a tired sigh before dropping his phone, looking back down at the laptop balanced precariously on his lap. He cringed as he rested his fingers on the keyboard. They were trembling faintly with an erratic rhythm he couldn’t seem to turn off, the nail beds raw from being bitten to the quick.Shaking off the discomfort, he continued his task. He froze, quickly lowering the brightness of his laptop screen, and he held his breath when footsteps suddenly echoed through the hallway outside the broom closet he was currently hiding in, hoping it wasn't Myla looking for him again. He was already in trouble with her for refusing to take

Jared pressed his back against the truck as he calculated his next move, his breathing slow despite the adrenaline pounding through his veins.He knew better than to make a blind dash across open ground. Against an elevated marksman, even an inexperienced one, running wildly was just an easy way to get a bullet in the back. He needed to locate the precise firing position before thinking about making an offensive move.He peered up at the windows of the car in front of him, using their reflections to survey the elevated structures behind him.There were too many possible positions: rooftops, windows, a mall, fire escapes…He paused on the multi-story parking garage and narrowed his eyes. That was the most likely position.It was high enough for a clean angle, close enough to maintain accuracy, and most importantly, it gave the shooter multiple escape routes.But he still needed confirmation.Slowly, he pulled off his jacket, making sure to make no sudden movement, then raised it just