Claimed By The Rival Biker Boss

Amelia POV:

I was halfway home when my phone buzzed. A text from Brenda.

"You think you can cut us off and walk away? You're wrong. You want a war? You've got one."

I stared at the screen for a moment. I had already expected this. Brenda was the kind of woman who lashed out when she was cornered.

Humiliation didn't make Brenda smarter. It made her reckless. And reckless people made mistakes.

The next morning, I checked the club's internal system. Someone with Brenda's access level had made a late-night withdrawal request from the war chest—fifty thousand. The request had been flagged but not yet processed.

I saved the record. Evidence like that, I wasn't about to let slip.

Back in my room, I was already searching my phone for information on "Wreck" when an anonymous text lit up the screen, stark white against the black: "Bring the hardcopy ledgers to the old shipping lock-up on Highway 9. Settle the account."

That clumsy phrasing. Brenda again. She was panicking. She had just lost her money, her insurance, her dignity—and now she was trying to improvise a trap with borrowed muscle.

But she had one thing right. The original hardcopy ledgers—the detailed, undeniable proof of every dollar Douglas had stolen over the years—were hidden in a floor safe only I could open. And it happened to be at the old shipping lock-up.

I parked my bike a block away and walked toward the rusted side door of the warehouse. I pulled a heavy wrench from the inside pocket of my jacket, gripped it tight, and kicked the jammed door open. It flew open with a groan of tortured metal.

I walked toward the far corner, to the heavy tarp I knew concealed the floor safe.

Kneeling, my fingers found the familiar dial. I spun it quickly—left, right, left. The heavy thud of steel-toed boots on the metal catwalk above me sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through my veins. The hairs on my arms stood on end.

I spun around, raising the wrench, my body tensed to strike. I expected to see Douglas or one of his attack-dog prospects.

But the figure that stepped out of the shadows was wrong. He was too big, too broad. The leather cut he wore was black, not the Vipers' brown, and the patch on the back wasn't a snake. It was a terrifyingly familiar emblem of a grim reaper holding a scythe.

Ardell "Wreck" Cameron, President of the Reapers of Retribution, stepped into the dim light. His eyes, a shade of blue so pale they looked like chips of ice, locked onto me. They held a universe of raw hatred, and something else beneath it—something darker, a buried hunger that made my blood run cold.

He descended the metal stairs slowly, each step a deliberate, echoing threat. His sheer size seemed to suck the oxygen from the room, and he moved with the lethal grace of a predator. He didn't stop until he had me backed against the cold steel of the safe.

I refused to show fear. I lifted my chin. "What's the matter, Wreck? The President of the Reapers running errands for Brenda Wilkinson now?"

"She said I'd find you here," he said. "She wanted a war. I wanted a debt. It was a simple trade."

"Brenda doesn't have the authority to trade anything," I said. "She's a woman who just lost her money, her house, and her dignity. She's using you."

"I know," Wreck said, his voice flat. "But a lead is a lead."

He halted a foot away, his massive chest almost brushing my jacket. The heat radiating from him was a stark contrast to the cold air. "Brenda promised me the location of Marcus Valdez's daughter," he growled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through my bones. "It's time to settle my father's blood debt."

My grip on the wrench tightened.

I let out a short, sharp laugh. "And you believed her? Trusting a Viper's mother is the quickest way to get a Reaper killed. This is a Vipers' trap, and you walked right into it."

His hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist. "You haven't changed, Amelia," he whispered, his face so close I could see the faint scar that cut through his left eyebrow. "Still fighting wars you can't win."

My heart hammered against my ribs, But my voice remained dead-calm."MC code. An Old Lady, wronged by her man and stripped mid-claim, has standing for immunity until her grievance is settled. Even a Reaper respects the rules."

His ice-blue eyes narrowed, processing it. He hadn't known Douglas had actually gone through with it. The public stripping of a patch was a serious declaration. He slowly released my wrist and took a half-step back. "Club law says I can't touch you while you're settling an internal betrayal."

It was the opening I needed. "Betrayal?" I said, my voice dripping with scorn. "Douglas didn't just betray me. He stole from his own club's war chest. A crime your code despises above all others."

A dark, dangerous smile curved Wreck's lips. He finally understood the magnitude of the chaos I was about to unleash. He was here for revenge on my family, but he'd stumbled into a civil war he could watch for free.

He stepped fully away from the safe, a silent gesture of passage. "The debt for your father's betrayal is only postponed, Amelia. Not erased."

I didn't waste a second. I spun the dial again, opened the heavy safe door, and pulled out the thick, leather-bound ledgers. I shoved them into my backpack.

As I zipped the bag, Wreck spoke again, his tone casual. "You should know, Brenda already moved the 'stolen' cash. She's planning to have it 'found' in your possession at the party. To frame you."

I froze, then nodded slowly.

I pushed the heavy door open and stepped out into the foggy night. The cold air hit my sweat-dampened neck. I mounted my bike, securing the backpack tight against my spine.

Wreck stood in the doorway, lighting a cigarette. The cherry glowed red in the darkness as he watched me kickstart the engine. I revved it hard, looking him dead in the eye one last time before dropping the clutch.

The bike tore down the gravel road, leaving him in a cloud of dust. As I rode into the wind, I realized Brenda's frame-up was the perfect weapon. I wasn't going to disarm her bomb. I was just going to change the target.