Claimed by the Biker king

The Man Who Took The Gavel

Beck Callahan never raised his voice. The man didn’t need to.

That was the first thing the Iron Saints learned about him.

At first glance he looked like a man who had everything under control. The kind of man who listened more than he spoke. Who never gave away more than he had to. It made people comfortable in the beginning. Made them think he was easy to read.

That illusion didn’t last.

The second someone mistook his silence for weakness is when it all went wrong.

The club hadn’t taken kindly to Beck showing up and taking the gavel like it was his birth right. Not because he couldn’t lead. They saw quickly enough that he could. But because he wasn’t one of them. He hadn’t grown up in this town. He hadn’t earned his place in their dirt and blood the way they had.

Beck Callahan was an outsider. A decision handed down by old man John like it was law.

Follow him or get the f**k out. The famous last words of old man John.

No one left. Not because they agreed but because they had nowhere else to go. And their new president? He didn’t ask for loyalty. He took it.

There had been one night, early on, when a few guys got brave. Too much whisky. Too much resentment which had been building. They figured if they pushed too hard, Beck would either break or walk.

He did neither.

Didn’t argue, didn’t explain, most definitely didn’t try to win them over. He simply showed them what would happen if someone stepped out of line. Took on the guys as if it was nothing. Beat them to a bloody pulp with his two f*****g fists. It was over as quickly as it started.

Beck Callahan didn’t negotiate, he enforced.

After that night, no one questioned him. They watched him. They measured their words around him. When he walked into a room it went quiet without him asking for it.

So when Killian made his way over to Beck’s office, he felt it.

Not fear.

He didn’t scare easily, but something close to it. Respect edged with caution because Beck was the kind of man who didn’t need a reason to remind you where you stood.

And he had stepped out of line. Had given an order without running it up the chain first. He didn’t clear it with the VP. Didn’t clear it with Beck. He just went with his gut because of her.

Dahlia.

His jaw tightened as he reached the hallway, slowing down when the office door opened and Deke stepped out. Deke paused the second he saw him. That was all Killian needed to know that Deke had already read the situation.

“You know better.” His voice low but firm.

He usually did but not when it came to her.

“It’s Dahlia.”

Deke exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw like he was already tired of this conversation. “She moved on.”

“She’s back.”

Deke stilled, the shift in his expression was small, but it was there.

Realization.

Then concern…

“She in trouble?” he asked.

Killian held his gaze for a second, “f****d up her life in the city,” Killian explained.

That was enough.

Deke nodded once, glancing over his shoulder at the closed office door before looking back at him.

“He’s in a good mood,” he said quietly. “Don’t waste that. Be straight. No bullshit.”

Killian gave a short nod.

Deke stepped aside, muttering under his breath as he walked past him, something about that girl bringing nothing but trouble.

Maybe she did. Didn’t change a damn thing.

Killian knocked once and didn’t wait long before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The shift was immediate.

The air felt heavier here. Quieter.

Beck stood by the window, one hand resting against the frame, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. The window was cracked open, letting in just enough air to carry the smoke out, though most of it lingered.

He didn’t turn right away. Didn’t acknowledge Killian’s presence immediately. And somehow… that made it worse.

When he finally did look at him, it was slow. Deliberate. Like nothing about this man happened by accident.

Beck was tall. Broad. Built in a way that made space feel smaller around him. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way he stood. The way he looked at you. Like he was already three steps ahead, already decided how things were going to go.

“Thorne.” His voice was low. Even. Controlled.

Killian stepped forward, keeping his posture steady even as something in his chest tightened under that gaze. Deke’s words echoed in his head.

Be straight. No bullshit.

“My ex is back in town,” Killian said, getting right to it. “Big pop star. Grew up here.”

Beck didn’t interrupt. Didn’t react. He just watched.

“She’s not in a good place,” Killian continued. “So I told the prospects to keep eyes on her. Stay low. Make sure she’s good until she leaves again.”

Silence followed.

Heavy.

Beck took a slow drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving Killian’s face.

“You didn’t think to run that s**t by me first?”

The question wasn’t loud. But it landed like it was.

Killian let out a low, humorless breath, shaking his head once. “I don’t think at all when it comes to her.”

That earned him a pause.

Something flickered in Beck’s eyes. Interest. Not approval. Not disapproval.

Just… recognition.

Like he understood exactly what that meant. Beck stepped closer, closing the distance just enough to remind Killian whose space this was.

“Make sure no s**t touches the club,” he said.

A demand that was simple. Clear. Final.

The underlying message not ignored. If he f****d this up Beck would make sure he knew not to do it again.

Killian held his gaze, processing it, “I will.”

Beck didn’t respond. He turned back to the window, bringing the cigarette to his lips again like the conversation had already ended. And just like that…

Killian knew he was dismissed. He stepped back, turning without another word, closing the door behind him as he left the office. The second it shut, the tension in his chest finally loosened.

Just enough to breathe. Beck hadn’t stopped him. That was what mattered.

But as Killian walked down the hallway, one thought settled in deeper than the rest. Beck Callahan didn’t involve himself in things that didn’t interest him.

So the fact that he hadn’t shut this down… didn’t mean he didn’t care.

It meant he was watching.