Claimed By My Outlaw Stepbrother

Chapter 11

GAGE pov~

I didn’t let go of her waist. My hand stayed clamped flat against her hip, my thumb pressing right through her denim shorts until I could feel her rapid, shallow breathing start to steady.

Her chest was heaving under that grey work tank top, and she was still glaring up at me like she wanted to use that bloody knife on my throat.

"Get on the bike, Sienna," I said, my voice dropping into a low, quiet gravel. "We don’t have time for a debate. If the northern cargo gate is already sitting open, my father is sitting duck inside that clubhouse."

Sienna looked at the heavy iron tire tool Leo had left on the workbench, then back at me. She let out a sharp, frustrated breath and finally stepped out of my grip.

"Fine," she muttered, stuffing the empty tactical knife into a tool drawer and slamming it shut. "But if you scratch my flatbed truck while I’m gone, I’m billing your club for the paint."

"Just move," I growled, kicking the chopper’s starter line.

The engine exploded with a loud, predatory thud that shook the entire tin roof of the garage.

Sienna climbed onto the black leather seat behind me, her arms wrapping tight around my rigid torso as I twisted the throttle and tore out of the gravel driveway, leaving a thick cloud of white dust behind us.

The three-mile ride back to the compound was pure torture. The cold morning wind hit the sweat on my forehead, but I couldn't feel it. All I could feel was the tight, suffocating pressure of Sienna’s chest pressed flat against my back.

Every time I hit a bump on the highway and the bike jolted, her hands gripped my stomach harder, sending a frustrating wave of heat straight down my spine.

We were supposed to be acting like cold step-siblings, but right now, with her thighs locked around the back of my seat, the lie felt completely transparent.

I blew straight past the compound’s main gates at eighty miles an hour, skidding to a halt right in front of the clubhouse Chapel.

"Stay by the bikes," I ordered Sienna as I kicked the kickstand down. "If you see a single denim cut near the fence, you scream."

"I don't scream, Vandal," she fired back, sliding off the leather and crossing her arms, her blue eyes flashing like flint in the bright sun. "I throw things. Go fix your family."

I didn't waste another second. I sprinted up the wooden stairs, my heavy leather cut creaking as I threw the front doors open and marched down the dark hallway.

The air inside the Chapel room was still thick with stale tobacco smoke, but the loud chatter from twenty minutes ago had completely vanished.

My father, Big Raymond, was standing by the gun locker, checking the chamber of his heavy sidearm. Jax was by the desk, his hands flying across the security monitor screens with a pale, panicked face.

"The north gate camera feed just went black, President," Jax said, his voice cracking as he looked up and saw me bolt through the frame.

"Gage, the primary electronic deadbolts on the cargo line were completely overridden from the main terminal. It wasn't a bypass from the outside. Someone used a master key card from the residential house."

"It's Thomas," I growled, stopping right at the edge of the heavy oak table. My gray eyes pinned my father to the spot.

"The Jacks took him from the border garage an hour ago. Creed Vance left a knife in the truck bumper with a note.

They have our entire clean shipping ledger, and they're demanding the north cargo line be cleared by noon or they drop the papers on the state trooper's desk."

Big Raymond froze, his massive hands tightening around the grip of his weapon until his knuckles went completely white.

A dark, terrifying expression crossed his weathered face, making the scars along his jaw line look twice as deep.

"The ledger?" Raymond whispered, his voice deep enough to make the floorboards vibrate. He turned his head slowly, looking straight at me.

"Your new stepfather just handed a federal prison sentence to every patched member of this charter, Vandal. If that paper hits the state line, this club is dead weight."

"We can intercept them at the salt flats before they hit the highway," I said, my jaw locking like iron as the real tactical panic hit my brain.

"Creed is going to use the noon shift change to move the ledger. If we lock down the perimeter roads now…."

"No," Raymond cut me off, his voice dead cold. He walked over, his heavy boots crunching on the floor as he stood inches from my face.

"We don't chase them on the open road. If the Jacks have that ledger, they hold the leash. You tell your stepsister that her father just signed his own grave. We're going to war."

"We aren't leaving Thomas to die, President," I growled, stepping straight into his space, my chest nearly touching his leather cut.

"And we aren't letting that ledger hit the troopers. If the feds lock us up, the Jacks win anyway."

Raymond didn't blink. He just raised his gun, pointing it at the floor boards between us.

"You're the Vice President of this charter, Vandal. Your loyalty is to the patch, not to a civilian gambler or his daughter."

"My loyalty is to keeping this club alive," I hissed back, my jaw locking like iron.

"I'll handle the salt flats bypass with Jax. If we aren't back by noon, you can burn the whole desert down."

I didn't wait for his answer. I turned on my heel and marched out of the Chapel, my boots pounding down the dark hallway until I burst into the hot California sun.

Sienna was still standing by the chopper, her arms crossed and her blue eyes burning holes into the clubhouse doors.

The moment she saw my face, her posture went totally rigid.

"What did he say?" she demanded, stepping into my path.

"Your dad is out of time, Sienna," I whispered, grabbing her waist. "Get on the bike."