Born To Ride, Claimed By Alphas

Chapter 3-Shattered Reflections

SOLON

The heavy steel doors of the Special Beast Officers Headquarters groaned open, letting out a rush of trapped, freezing air. The tension in the corridor was thick enough to cut with a blade. This place was neutral ground—a law-enforced dead zone where no clan’s power meant s**t once the cuffs came on.

In the main hall, armed officers were moving fast, logging evidence and booking rogue shapeshifters. Outside, the impound lot was jammed with seized street rigs, including high-powered bikes running without papers.

Two officers escorted me down a quiet hallway and led me into a dimly lit interrogation room. I took a seat in the middle, staring back at a senior officer who was already leaning against the metal table, flipping open a thick file.

"Alpha Solon Hartlock," he muttered, his voice dangerously low. "Care to explain the war zone left behind after last night's race? Black Fang and Red Claw turned the entire venue into a bloodbath."

He slammed a stack of crime scene photos onto the table.

"Hospital beds filled on both sides. Including yours," he added, his eyes tracking the fresh cuts and dark bruising on my skin.

"We also hauled in over ten illegal bikes right off the track. Do you know anything about this?"

"Just a small misunderstanding between clubs," I grunted, keeping my voice deadpan.

I didn't mention that a Red Claw rider had tried to take my head off mid-race. My gut was telling me Zephyr Grey was behind it all. The bastard skipping the race altogether made way too much sense, especially after he was seen sharing a room with Everest.

"And those bikes? Not my problem. I don't run background checks on every nameless rider who shows up at the pit."

Lies. Truth was, barely any of his words were registering. My body was anchored to that cold chair, but my mind was still back at the party.

Every time the image replayed, Everest exposed, trembling in the middle of that room between those two men, a raw anger tore through my chest. I wanted to tear the place down. I wanted blood.

And I knew those two bastards. My fiercest rivals inside and outside the circuit. Using Everest wasn't just lust; it was a cheap shot to shatter my focus and pull my eyes off the real target. What pissed me off most was how badly it worked.

I couldn't deny it to myself anymore. Everest was my mate. I felt the pull of the bond every damn time she was near. But my heart? It was built like a fortress. I was terrified of tethering my life to someone else, so I hid behind the excuse of duty to keep her safe while keeping her at arm's length.

So why did seeing another man touch her rip through my chest like a poison dagger? A cold, paralyzing agony I'd never felt in my entire life.

It took hours of legal maneuvering, post-bail paperwork, and heavy damage fees before they finally cut me loose for lack of hard evidence. I didn't bother going back to the party. I couldn't care less where Lyra or the others were. I headed straight back to the shop alone.

The moment I stepped inside, my chest felt like it was caving in. I stripped down, walked into the shower, and turned the cold water on full blast. The icy stream lashed at my skin, trying to cool down the boiling anger in my blood.

When I shut off the tap and wiped my face, I caught my breath and looked up at the mirror.

My reflection blurred. In its place was Everest's face—her eyes flooded with tears, her trembling lips begging me for mercy.

"f**k!"

A wave of absolute hatred—for her, for them, and for my own pathetic weakness, took over. I drove my knuckles straight into the glass.

The mirror shattered into spiderwebs. Blood dripped down my bruised knuckles, mixing with the water on the concrete floor. I didn't feel a damn thing. The pain tearing through my chest was a hundred times worse.

I walked back out to the garage bay. Sleep was a joke. I stood in front of the center floor where my pride and joy rested—a beast-class racer I'd been custom-modding for months.

I stared at the bike for a long moment, but all I could think about was her.

Everest sitting on the edge of the workbench while I worked. She used to complain about the smell of oil on my clothes, but she still stayed there, keeping me company.

Sometimes, she'd hand me a drink without saying a word and just watch me work.

I clenched my jaw.

I didn't want to remember any of it. So I picked up my tools and forced myself to focus on the bike.

This was the machine for the upcoming showdown. Not some petty annual clan match. I had business to finish, and nobody was getting in my way.

I threw myself into the build.

I spent the next few hours working on the bike, making adjustments wherever I thought it needed more power and control. I fine-tuned the engine, checked the brakes and suspension, and replaced a few worn parts with custom ones I'd been saving for the right moment.

Sweat poured down my bare, greased-up torso. My hands were stained with motor oil and dried blood. I was completely consumed by the work when a sharp chime echoed off the workbench.

I dropped the wrench and snatched the phone. An unlisted number flickered on the display. I didn't need a contact name. I knew those numbers by heart.

Minutes later, I rolled The Crimson Talon out of the bay—a fully customized Beast-class monster draped in matte black with metallic red accents that looked like fresh blood. I had hand-built every single piece of this bike to make it the fastest, meanest thing on two wheels.

Then the workshop gate slid open, and my world ground to a halt.

Everest was standing right outside.

She was shivering violently, her eyes raw and swollen, her breathing ragged. But what made my blood go completely cold was the jacket wrapped around her shivering frame.

A heavy leather jacket bearing the bold crimson fox claw emblem on the sleeve—the official colors of the Red Claw Bikers Club.

"What the hell are you doing here?" My voice dropped low and deadly.

"Solon... please, just hear me out," Everest sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself as she stepped forward. "Please believe me! I didn't want any of it! Someone spiked my drink—"

"I saw everything I needed to see, Everest," I cut her off, my eyes locked on that damn emblem.

"Don't bother making up stories. You ended up naked in my rival's bed, and now you're wearing his colors. What's the play? Showing off that you finally broke me?"

"No! That's not true!" She crumpled into herself, tears running down her cheeks.

"Solon, think about our year together! It's me, Everest! The girl who stayed by your side through everything. Solon, I love you..."

The words hit like a heavy sledgehammer. It was the exact confession I'd waited forever to hear, delivered in the worst possible way. Instead of softening, I locked my heart behind iron bars, forcing a cold glare to hide the sharp stab in my chest.

"Love?" A bitter, dark smirk pulled at my lips.

"Don't ruin that word with your mouth. You were a nameless stray when I found you, Everest. I gave you a name and a roof over your head out of obligation. But in the end, you showed your real colors, just another cheap girl ready to jump into bed with anyone who hands her a drink."

Everest froze solid. I watched the words hit her like a blade through the gut.

Slowly, her trembling hand opened. Lying in her palm was the shattered Hartlock family pendant—the silver chain I'd crushed under my boot earlier. She stared at it for a second before letting it drop onto the cold pavement between us.

"You gave me this," she whispered, her voice cracking into nothing. "Take it back. Because starting today, I don't owe you a damn thing."

Before I could answer, a deep exhaust roar vibrated from across the street.

Sitting atop a massive red beast of a bike was Zephyr Grey, Alpha of the Fox Clan and president of Red Claw. He was leaning back with his arms crossed, watching us with a cold, mocking sneer.

Our eyes met across the dark pavement. In an instant, an amber fire flared in both our eyes. A silent, lethal declaration of war between two Alphas.

Without another word, I pulled my helmet down and threw my leg over The Crimson Talon. I slammed the starter, the engine let out a deafening, throaty roar that ripped through the quiet street. I pinned the throttle and tore off into the night, leaving a cloud of smoke and a shattered girl in my rear-view mirror.

*****

The Crimson Talon sliced through the pitch-black mountain highway like a streak of fresh blood. The icy wind lashed against my body as the tires dug into the wet pavement. This pass was a death trap, steep drops, sharp turns, and sheer cliffs that punished even the smallest mistake.

Behind me, a bright headlight was glued to my tail, cutting through the fog.

"Still a sharp rider on the asphalt, aren't you, Hartlock?" a voice taunted directly inside my head through the Beast mind-link. Heavy, arrogant, and mocking.

"Thought you'd be crawling on all fours without your woman around."

I slammed the bike deep into a sharp hairpin turn, my knee puck scraping the asphalt before I snapped the throttle wide open.

"Keep your mouth shut," I snarled back through the link.

As the road opened into a straight strip, the party flashed back into my head—Everest trapped in that room, Cadiz's bare skin, and that damn Red Claw jacket.

A wave of pure, unadulterated fury hijacked my system. My blood hit a boil, my hands grip-locked the handlebars, and I pinned the speed past human limits. The engine roared through the canyon, leaving the headlight behind until it was swallowed by the dark.

A few miles up, I slammed the brakes at the edge of the cliff—the agreed finish line.

I killed the engine and waited. Seconds later, the chasing bike slid onto the gravel, coming to a halt right beside mine. He pulled off his helmet, wiping sweat off his brow with a faint smirk.

Famille Colt. My childhood friend, the Vice President of the Black Fang Bikers Club, and the Beta I trusted more than anyone. He was the one guy I could always count on to have my back whenever the world went to hell.

"The custom race parts you wanted are ready," he said, kicking down his stand.

"It was a nightmare sourcing them, stuff like this doesn't just sit on market shelves anymore. But before I hand them over..."

His smirk vanished, replaced by a deadly serious stare.

"Are you really sure about this, Solon? Once you jump into this fight, there's no backing out alive. Unless you're ready to put bodies in the dirt."

I reached into my leather jacket, pulled out a heavy silver chain, and stared back at him with dead eyes.

"So be it," I said, my voice dropping to ice. "I have a debt to settle first.”

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair before leaning against his bike.

“The custom race parts you asked for are in the transport bay at the secondary hideout. But before you lose yourself rebuilding The Crimson Talon, you’ve got a bigger problem to deal with.”

“Spill it,” I grunted, shoving the silver chain deep into my pocket.

“Word about the crash and what happened at the track last night already got out. It reached your old man,” Famille warned, his expression turning serious. “The Council called an emergency meeting at the Main Estate. They’re waiting for you. Right now.”

I stared at him for a moment.

“What the hell are they meeting about?”

Famille hesitated. That alone was enough to make the tension in my chest tighten.

“They’re not just talking about the crash, Solon.”

His voice dropped.

“They found something at the scene.”

My jaw clenched.

“What?”

Famille looked straight into my eyes.

“Something that could prove the whole thing wasn’t an accident.”