Todos los capítulos de Claimed By The Biker King: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

JarekThe door clicked shut behind me, but I didn’t move. Just stood there in the hallway like a man walking away from a war zone—unsure if the ringing in his ears meant he won or if he was bleeding out somewhere he couldn’t see.She told me everything.And I couldn’t stop hearing it.Luke fucking Jones.The junkie coward who latched onto her after her brother died. Who used his patch and his last name like weapons—claiming Sable in public, beating her in private. Making her run his drugs, making her lie for him, making her smaller.Then fucking around with other girls like she was just a pawn he couldn’t even bother hiding.He never married her. But he sure as hell tried to own her.My knuckles cracked as I walked the compound’s back hall, boots heavy against tile. It was early—shift change for the guys on night patrol—but even the hardasses on rotation knew better than to stop me right now. One look at my face and they stepped aside.She wasn’t his.Not legally. Not spiritually. Not

SableMarcus didn’t wait until noon or ease us in with a tour.He walked in right after breakfast, looked at the three of us standing near the back lot—me, Nixx, and Smitty—and pointed to the picnic table under the awning.“Sit your asses down.”We obeyed, though the tension was thick enough to cut with a blade. Nixx stretched out like he owned the place. Smitty leaned back with his arms crossed, smirking. I stayed quiet, eyes sharp.Marcus dropped a thick manila envelope on the table. “Today is November seventh. You’ve got until New Year’s Eve to make this work.”“Make what work?” Smitty asked, brow raised.Marcus tapped the envelope. “Your fundraiser.”Nixx groaned. “You gotta be shitting me. We’re not here to sell cookies.”“You’re here to prove you’re worth more than free labor,” Marcus snapped. “And the club wants more than muscle this time. You want in? You show me you can plan, execute, and deliver. That means coordinating an event that raises money and earns goodwill. From idea

SableThat man was infuriating.Who the fuck did he think he was?Like just because every other woman dropped to her knees and slobbered all over him, I would too? Please. He could go bark up a different tree. One with lower standards and no self-respect.I wasn’t some broken little groupie desperate to be noticed. I didn’t want his scraps. I didn’t want his attention. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to compete with the next willing mouth just to stay on his radar.Let him make that call.Let him chase Tori or Tanya or Tiffany or whoever-the-fuck was willing to suck him dry for another chance at a warm bed and bragging rights. I didn’t care.…Except I did.Not because I wanted him.Because I hated the game. I hated that he knew exactly how to get under my skin and twist. That he could make me feel something—heat, rage, ache—and then walk away like he hadn’t lit the whole damn matchbook.Fine, I told myself, storming into the kitchen and yanking open the fridge. If he wanted me gone, if

LukeThe ride out wasn’t about the bar.It wasn’t about Hannah.It wasn’t even about Sable.It was about optics.An hour on the road gives a man time to think. Gives him time to rehearse what he’s going to say. How he’s going to say it. How much pride he’s willing to swallow before it turns into poison.Thirty grand.Half paid. Half expected.Now Gino’s calling like we’re amateurs.Like I don’t run this territory with a steady hand.That’s what this was about.Respect.Brian rode quiet beside me. He always did when he knew I was thinking too hard. The man had a way of letting silence do the heavy lifting.We didn’t rev engines when we hit the next town.Didn’t peacock. Didn’t posture. You don’t need noise when your patch speaks loud enough.The Black Daggers’ compound came into view, and I felt it immediately — that territorial hum. The kind that says you’re being watched before you see the eyes.Bikes lined up like soldiers. Men leaning against brick. Smoke in the air.We rolled in sl

JarekThe door clicked shut behind me, and I stood there in the hallway like a man who’d just survived a gunfight without realizing he’d been hit. One hand still rested on the frame, the warmth of her voice echoing in my bones, even though her body was now behind that door.She told me everything.And I couldn’t stop hearing it.Luke Jones. That smug piece of shit. That coward who took her like a business transaction and couldn’t even finish what he started. Couldn’t fuck her. Couldn’t love her. Couldn’t even hold her without lying to himself.But he still got to call her wife.The word made my jaw crack as I walked the long stretch back toward my room. The compound was still quiet this early—just the thump of boots from a few night-shift patches changing out with morning rotation.No one dared stop me. My mood was written all over my goddamn face. And under all of it, one truth burned hot.She was free. No mark. No ring. No bond. Not anymore. And not just legally.That bastard never