Claimed By My Ex's Biker Brother

Chapter 3

Major's POV

“Another condition?” I stared at my father across the desk, my jaw tightening.

He had a talent for making every conversation feel like a negotiation I had already lost.

“You know what I need,” I said.

For years, I had refused to ask him for anything. Not because I didn't need help, but because I hated owing him.

Now the club needed money.

After the attack months ago, rebuilding had drained more resources than we'd expected. Our businesses were recovering, but the club still had responsibilities. We supported apprentices, helped several families connected to the club, and kept money flowing into legitimate businesses around our territory.

I needed the money, and my father knew it.

“You want me to enter the competition,” I said.

“That is the only way to prove to me that the club you built is worthy of my attention.” he gestured and downed the wine in his glass.

I sighed deeply. “I've been leading this club for years.”

“Then winning shouldn't be difficult.”

My fingers curled against the armrest. There was always a catch with him.

“You know the rules. You need an ol’ lady to enter.”

My jaw clenched. That was the part I hated.

An ol’ lady.

I'd had enough of relationships. My last one had taught me exactly how little loyalty meant to some people.

I stood. “So that's your condition?”

He didn't answer.

I pushed my chair back. “Fine.”

His eyebrows rose. “Fine?”

“I'll find someone,” I said and walked out before he could say anything else.

~~~

Tonight irritated me.

“Prez!”

I ignored the greeting and headed toward the bar.

Aron followed behind me. “You're going to do it?”

“Apparently,” I muttered and grabbed the stool there.

He sat opposite me. “And the woman?”

I narrowed my eyes and said, “I'll find one.”

He laughed. “Where?”

I looked at him. “That is the problem.” I steupsed and raised my hand to the bartender. “Vodka.”

The bartender placed the bottle in front of me soon.

“We still need the money. The businesses are recovering, but the new workshop needs equipment. The apprenticeship program needs funding too.”

“I know, Aron,” I grunted.

He nodded.

The money wasn't for me; that was what made the situation worse.

If I wanted it for myself, I could walk away. But the club had people depending on us. We had families to support, young men learning trades, businesses trying to stay alive.

And after the attack from the breakaway club, every dollar mattered.

I picked up the bottle, then a loud crash came from outside.

I lowered it.

Another shout followed.

Aron looked toward the door. “What now?”

I stood. “I'll find out.”

The noise grew louder as I stepped outside.

Several prospects had already gathered near the parking area.

Then I saw the reason—a woman was beating the hell out of a man.

I stopped for a moment and simply watched.

Aron appeared beside me. “Should we stop them?”

Before I answered, I heard a woman nearby whisper, “He was harassing her friend.” Another woman shook her head. “He's done that before.”

I looked back at the fight. The woman didn't need rescuing. Rather, the man.

There was something unexpectedly impressive about watching her stand her ground.

When she finally turned, her eyes swept across the crowd.

My brows drew together. ‘Alden's girlfriend? The mechanic?’

I'd seen her several times, actually.

She worked not far from our usual routes, and I'd passed her workshop often enough to recognise her face.

I had never spoken to her. She was usually too busy working to notice anyone around her.

“What is she doing here?” Aron asked.

I didn't answer but watched her turn toward her friend.

Then the man she'd just beaten moved again.

He came at her from behind.

My body tensed.

She spun before I could move and her fist connected with his face.

The crowd erupted.

I almost smiled.

Damn! She was fast.

The man staggered backwards and crashed into one of the motorcycles parked nearby.

My smile disappeared. “That,” I said quietly, “is mine.”

Aron looked at me. “Your bike?”

I walked toward it.

The prospects were already helping the man off the motorcycle while another member lifted the bike.

I crouched beside it. The side panel was scratched, nothing much. But still, it was my bike.

I stood and looked toward the woman. She was already speaking to one of the prospects. “I can repair it.” I heard her say and raised an eyebrow.

She looked around. “Who's the owner?”

One of the prospects pointed toward me, and she followed the direction until her eyes met mine.

Her expression changed slightly. Probably because of the resemblance between Alden and me.

She looked at me for another second before walking closer.

“Is that your bike?” She asked, pointing behind her.

I nodded, my palms in my trouser pockets. “Yes.”

She glanced toward the motorcycle. “I can repair it.”

“You damaged it.” I snapped and started walking closer to the bike.

Her eyebrows lifted. “He damaged it. He was harassing my friend, and I couldn't keep calm.”

I looked at her, but she didn't lower her eyes.

Most people did, especially when they realised who they were speaking to. “What kind of damage?” I asked.

“Nothing serious,” she replied. “But the side panel needs work, and I should check the alignment.”

I chuckled. “You can tell that from there?”

She gave me a look. “I'm a mechanic.”

“I know.”

Something flickered across her face. “You know me?”

“I've seen you around,” I answered and bit my bottom lip softly.

She nodded slowly, then she looked back at the motorcycle. “I can take it to my workshop and fix everything.”

“No! You'll repair it here.” I said, insisting.

She frowned. “Why?”

“I have other motorcycles that need work.”

She looked past me toward the clubhouse. “How many?”

“So many.” I was taking a look at my bike to find the fault she mentioned.

“And you want me to work on them?”

“Yes.”

She studied me.

I couldn't tell whether she was suspicious or simply trying to decide whether I was worth the trouble.

“What would I get paid?” The question caught me off guard. Most people would have started negotiating after agreeing, but she went straight to money.

I almost smiled. “Depends on the work.”

“And I don't work for free.”

“I didn't ask you to.”

Her expression softened slightly. “Good.” She turned toward the damaged motorcycle. “I'll need my tools.”

“I'll have someone bring them,” I said, tapping the gas tank.

“I don't need your men carrying my tools.”

Her words made me snort. “Then tell me what you need.”

She hesitated before saying, “Fine.”

I nodded toward Aron. “Get two prospects to help her bring whatever she needs.”

Aron looked between us. “Everything?”

“Everything,” I responded, looking at the lady.

He walked away.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

For some reason, I noticed. Then she caught herself and looked away.

“Fine. I'll repair the bike.” She said and gasped for air.

“And the others.” I pushed further, and she gave me a stern look, then answered, “If the pay is fair.”

“It will be,” I said, and she nodded.

“Then we have a deal.” She started walking toward the damaged motorcycle.

I watched her for a moment. She was different from the women I'd known. Not because she was a mechanic or because she could fight. It was the way she carried herself.

Most women who approached me wanted something. Either attention, money, status or protection.

She had walked into my clubhouse, damaged my motorcycle, challenged my authority, and then offered to fix what she'd damaged.

I almost laughed.