Claimed By My Outlaw Stepbrother

Chapter 4

GAGE pov~

I sat at the head of the long oak table inside the clubhouse, my heavy boots kicked out in front of me. The air in the "Church" room was thick with the scent of stale tobacco, unwashed leather, and the bitter tang of cheap whiskey. Around the table, twenty patched members of the Iron Reapers MC sat in silence, their eyes fixed on my father. Big Raymond sat at the center, his massive hands resting flat on the wood, his face a hard mask of weathered stone.

"The Jacks are pushing the line, Vandal," my father growled, his voice deep enough to vibrate the floorboards. He pointed a thick finger directly at me. "Creed Vance called my phone an hour ago. He says your new stepfather signed over the border garage to settle a twenty-grand marker. He says you blocked his men from taking the steel."

"The paper is trash, President," I said, my voice calm, though my split knuckles tightened into fists under the table. I leaned forward, the leather of my club cut creaking against the back of the chair. "Thomas Vale doesn't own that shop. Sienna does. She built it with her own cash, and she services our steel. If we let the Jacks take that border post, Creed will have a staging ground for his meth trucks right at our gates."

A murmur went around the table. The older guys nodded, but my father’s eyes went narrow.

"Creed also said something else," Big Raymond whispered, leaning in until the shadow of his heavy brow covered his eyes. "He said you invoked Bylaw Four. He said you claimed the girl as your Old Lady in training right on the shop floor. He wants to know why the Vice President of this charter is sleeping with his stepsister to block a legal debt."

The room went entirely dead silent. Every eye turned to me, searching for a single slip in my posture. If they thought I was breaking family rules or lying to protect a civilian, the table would turn on me. They would strip my VP patch before the sun comes up.

"She isn't my blood, and she isn't my family," I growled, my gray eyes pinning every man at the table. I didn't let my face show the sudden, violent image of Sienna's skin under the shop lights, or the way her small hand had poked hard against my ribs an hour ago. she has been on my bed for a week. She’s mine. I claimed her before the parents ever signed their papers at the courthouse. I used the bylaws to freeze Creed's hands because if I cracked his skull open on the concrete, the state troopers would be crawling inside our gates by midnight."

My father stared at me for three long, agonizing seconds. He was looking for the lie. I kept my breathing steady and my jaw locked like iron, letting him believe every syllable.

Before Big Raymond could open his mouth to call for a club vote, a sharp, deafening siren tore through the clubhouse walls.

The red perimeter lights on the ceiling began to flash violently, casting a bloody glow over the oak table. The door to the Church room burst open, and Jax ran inside, his face completely pale, his chest heaving as he gripped the frame.

"Vandal!" Jax yelled, his voice cracking with panic as he looked past the President straight at me. "The security cameras on the north fence just went black! Two trucks flying Jacks' colors just blew past the outer gate they’re heading straight for the residential house!"

My heart hit my chest cavity like a falling piston.

Creed Vance hadn't waited for the table meeting. He had used the Church session to catch us away from the house, and he was going after Sienna to break the claim.

I didn't wait for my father's order. I kicked my chair backward, the wood splintering against the floorboards as I lunged for the door. I ripped the heavy iron tool-wrench from my belt, my knuckles turning white around the steel as I tore down the clubhouse hallway.

"Lock the compound!" I roared over my shoulder to Jax. "Get the prospects on the perimeter! If they touch her, we burn the high desert to the ground!"

I burst through the clubhouse doors into the dark California night, the cold wind hitting the sweat on my forehead as the sound of screaming engines began to echo from the residential driveway across the yard.

I sprinted across the gravel lot, tearing up the stairs of the residential house. I didn't give the two outlaws a single second to breathe the oxygen inside my bedroom.

I charged across the hardwood floorboards like a low-slung locomotive, my heavy leather work boots crushing the shattered glass into fine white powder. The younger outlaw with the silver blade tried to pivot toward me, swinging his arm in a desperate arc. I didn't flinch. I ducked beneath the sweep of the weapon, my broad shoulder driving straight into the man's ribs with a force that sent a sickening, hollow pop echoing off the drywall.

The air left the young outlaw's lungs in a wet gasp as he flew backward, his spine crashing into the wooden desk chair and splintering it into kindling.

"Vandal, wait…" Boxer grunted, his eyes blowing wide as he tried to bring his heavy leather strap up to block the path.

I didn't let him finish the sentence. I swung my heavy iron tool-wrench with every ounce of raw, uninhibited rage boiling in my gut. The solid steel hit the meat of Boxer's forearm with a dull, heavy crack, snapping the bone like a dry twig. Boxer shrieked, dropping the strap as his knees buckled onto the dark sheets of the bed.

Before the man could fall completely, I grabbed the caked denim collar of his vest with my left hand and slammed his skull down onto the heavy wooden nightstand.

The wood cracked. Boxer went limp, sliding off the mattress onto the concrete-hard pine floorboards, completely unconscious.

My chest heaved violently, the scent of hot sweat, copper blood, and stale tobacco crowding out the small room. My split knuckles were raw and stinging, but the madness in my brain didn't slow down. I spun on my heel, my iron wrench raised, my gray eyes scanning the dark corners of the room until they locked onto the far wall.

Sienna Vale was still standing there.

She was pinned against the cold drywall, the heavy iron desk lamp gripped tight in her calloused hands, her breathing fast and shallow under her grey work tank top. My blue eyes her blue eyes were wide, dark, and furious. She was slick with sweat from the heat and the struggle, a fresh line of blood dripping down her bare ankle from a small glass scratch. She looked completely wild, entirely unbroken, and so beautiful it made my teeth ache.

"You're bleeding," I growled, my voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register as I dropped the iron wrench onto the floor with a heavy metallic clink.

I strode across the mattress, stepping over Boxer’s unmoving body until I stood directly in her personal space. The clean, soapy scent of her skin broke through the heavy stench of the Jacks' road grime, driving my senses completely wild. I reached out, my large, tattooed hands wrapping around her waist with the exact same possessive yank I’d used down at the garage.

I pulled her spine flush against my chest cavity, checking her arms, her neck, and her shoulders for a single mark from their hands.

"Get your hands off me, Vandal," Sienna hissed, her voice steady as iron even though her heart was thumping like a wild engine against my ribs. She shoved against my chest with the palms of her hands, refusing to back down or show a single ounce of weakness. "I had them handled. I didn't need you to kick my door off its hinges."

"They were going to drag you to the high desert line, Sienna," I whispered, my mouth dropping low until my lips almost grazed the shell of her ear, my hot breath making her skin go tight. "Creed Vance doesn't play by the rules of the table.

If I hadn't blown past that outer gate, you'd be sitting on the back of a Jack's chopper right now. You are my claimed Old Lady under this roof. You stay in my shadow until I say the road is clear."

"It's a fake claim, Gage," she spat back, her eyes flashing like flint as her chin tilted up to match my gaze. "The outlaws are gone. Your brother is at the gate. You can let go of my waist now."

I didn't let go. My thumb pressed deeper into the soft flesh of her hip, branding her right through her denim shorts, letting her feel the absolute, terrifying strength of my grip. My gray eyes pinned her to the spot, my pupils blown so dark they almost swallowed the gray.

"It isn't fake to the twenty patched Reapers sitting in the clubhouse across the yard," I growled, my jaw locking into a hard line of stone. "My father is counting the books right now. If a single prospect walks up these stairs and sees you sleeping in a separate corner, the lie dies instantly. And the second that lie dies, my father strips my VP patch, and Creed Vance takes your machine shop for good."

Before she could answer, heavy, frantic footsteps pounded up the stairs behind us.

Jax ran into the bedroom frame, his face completely pale and his chest heaving as he gripped the broken door molding. He looked at Boxer unconscious on the floor, then at the younger outlaw groaning in the splintered wood of the chair, and finally at my hands clamped hard around Sienna’s waist.

"Vandal, the President is coming up the driveway with the senior patches," Jax breathed, his voice cracking with urgency. "The perimeter alarms alerted the whole compound. They want to know if the Jacks breached the residential house. If Big Raymond walks through that door and sees you two fighting instead of playing the part, we are all dead weight."

A slow, dangerous twitch hit the corner of my mouth. I looked down at Sienna, our faces inches apart, the heat between our bodies turning into an addictive, suffocating sin.

"You heard my brother, sis," I whispered, my voice dark and starved. "Get into the bed. Now."

Sienna stared at me for one long, breathless second, her fingers digging hard into the fabric of my cotton shirt as she realized the family canvas was about to burn completely down.