Claimed by the Ruthless Biker
My skin was bronzed from the sun of the lighthouse, my eyes were hard and certain, and my stomach—now a beautiful, rounded curve beneath the silk—held the future of a dynasty.
My dress was a masterpiece of defiance. It was ivory lace, delicate and vintage, but the back was open, revealing the small, elegant tattoo of a thorned rose I’d gotten over my shoulder—a mark of the Thorne blood and the Montague heart. Over the lace, I wore a custom-made white leather vest, the Steel Phantoms patch embroidered in silver thread.
"You look like a goddess, Doc," Marta whispered, stepping behind me to fasten the final pearl button on my collar. Her eyes were damp, a rare sight for a woman who had seen as