Claimed By My Outlaw Stepbrother

Chapter 12

SIENNA pov~

The wind cut through my messy hair like a blunt blade as Gage pushed his chopper to eighty-five miles an hour down the service road. I didn't care about the speed.

My fingers were locked around his thick torso, digging right into the coarse leather of his club cut. The physical warmth coming off his back felt like a furnace against my chest, but my insides were completely numb.

Your dad is out of time.

The words Gage had growled at me outside the clubhouse were still ringing in my ears, louder than the predatory roar of his custom engine.

Big Raymond had basically signed a death warrant for my father to protect his club’s shipping lines. Outlaws didn't call the police, and they didn't negotiate. They just cleared the board.

Gage skidded the bike to a hard, dusty stop right behind the rear edge of the compound house. He killed the engine, the sudden silence of the high desert hitting my ears with a heavy, ringing thud.

"Get off, Sienna," Gage muttered, not looking back at me as he kicked the kickstand down. His jaw was set into a hard line of stone, and his gray eyes were locked onto the narrow hallway door of the residential quarters.

"Go straight upstairs to my bedroom and lock the deadbolt. I have to find Jax and check the ammunition locker before the noon shift change."

I slid off the black leather seat, my heavy work boots hitting the gravel with an angry crunch. I didn't run for the house.

Instead, I stepped right into his space, grabbing the thick collar of his vest to force him to look at me.

"I am not hiding in your bedroom while my father is sitting in the back of a Jack’s truck, Vandal," I hissed, my voice steady and sharp as a fresh blade.

My blue eyes flashed like flint right into his. "He’s an i***t, and he’s a coward, but he’s still my family. If your father thinks the Reapers can just abandon him to save their own skin, he’s wrong. I have the secondary master key, remember? I can open that gate myself."

Gage’s gray eyes went completely dark, his pupils blowing wide as his large hand shot out, wrapping tightly around my wrist.

He didn't hurt me, but his grip was a firm, unyielding cuff that pinned my hand right against his chest. I could feel the violent, frantic thumping of his heart against my palms.

"You aren't touching that gate, stepsister," Gage growled, his voice dropping into a low, raspy register that made my pulse jump.

"My father has three senior patches watching the perimeter right now. If they see you near the terminal with that iron, they will drop you before you even clear the deadbolts.

You play the part of the submissive stepsister downstairs, or you get us both buried."

"I am not submissive to anyone, Gage," I fired back, my chin tilting up to match his gaze, our faces so close I could taste the tobacco and heat on his breath.

"Especially not a biker who thinks he owns my shop coordinates."

A slow, frustrated twitch hit the corner of Gage's mouth. The terrifying Vice President armor dropped for a split second, revealing that dark, starved hunger that turned the air between us completely tight.

"You're a real pain in my ass," he whispered, his fingers tightening on my wrist just enough to let me feel his absolute strength.

"Go to the room, Sienna. I’m going to find your dad. Not for the club, and not for Raymond. For you. Now lock the door."

He released my wrist, turned on his heel, and strode toward the compound garage, his heavy leather cut creaking with every massive step.

I stood in the gravel for a breathless second, my chest heaving under my grey work tank top. I hated his dominance, but the raw friction of his touch was still burning against my skin like a highly addictive drug.

I turned around and marched into the back parlor of the house, my boots clicking loudly against the dark floorboards.

The house was suffocatingly quiet. The heavy velvet curtains were pulled tight, blocking out the morning sun, making the living room look like a tomb.

I expected to find my stepmother Vera crying or panicking, but when I walked past the kitchen archway, she was sitting calmly at the wooden island.

She had a cold glass of whiskey resting untouched between her fingers. She didn't look like a worried wife today.

She looked like the woman who had survived twenty years of outlaw bloodlines, handling the club's discreet cases the messes that had to disappear into the dirt before the federal police ever smelled the smoke.

"He took the key card, didn't he?" Vera asked, her sharp eyes moving over my grease-stained clothes, pausing on the slight scratch along my bare ankle. Her voice was dead level.

"He did," I said, stopping by the counter. "The Jacks have him, Vera. They have the shipping ledger too. Raymond just declared war in the Chapel."

Vera let out a short, humorless laugh, taking a slow sip of her drink. "Raymond always declares war. It's the only language he knows. But Gage... Gage didn't agree with him, did he?"

"No," I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the slight tremor in my hands. "He told the President he was going to intercept them at the salt flats bypass before noon."

Vera stood up, her silver jewelry clinking loudly against her wrists as she stepped closer to me. Her hard eyes searched my face, looking for the truth, before a faint smile crossed her face.

"You look at my son the same way I looked at Raymond before he put his patch on my shoulders, Sienna. Don't act like this is just about your garage anymore. You're wrapped up in his shadow now."

"I'm wrapped up in surviving," I hissed back, refusing to drop my gaze.

"Then go upstairs and stay behind his deadbolt," Vera said, her voice dropping into a practical, chilly whisper.

"The senior patches are loading their weapons in the yard. If you're walking around the perimeter while the bullets start flying, you're a distraction Gage can't afford right now."

I didn't answer her. I turned on my heel and headed straight up the stairs, my heavy work boots pounding against the pine steps until I reached the master bedroom.

I slammed the heavy oak door shut and slid the metal deadbolt into place with a loud click.

The room still smelled like him asphalt, cheap tobacco, and fresh soap. I walked over to the mattress, reached under the dark sheets, and pulled out the heavy, cold iron master key my dad had stolen.

My fingers trembled slightly as I stared at the Reapers' skeletal insignia stamped into the metal.

Downstairs, the distant, low rumble of ten custom motorcycle engines suddenly erupted in the driveway, shaking the glass windows of the bedroom frame. Gage and Jax were moving.

The noon shift change was approaching, the internal club rat was still hiding in our shadow, and my father was running out of time.

I walked to the window blinds, peeling them back slightly to watch the cloud of white dust rise over the compound gates as the outlaws tore out onto the highway.

The tension inside my chest was wound as tight as a spring. I was trapped inside his four walls, using his name as a shield, but the line between pure survival and absolute surrender was completely burning to the ground.