Chapter 1 Mia #2
A quick, side-long glance cuts my ramble short. "Quiet."
"I'm just explaining—"
"I know."
"You know what?"
"That you didn't do it."
I blink. "How do you know?"
"I ran a background check on you three weeks ago when you applied. I hacked your server."
My jaw drops. "You hacked my server? That's illegal!"
"So is framing an employee for embezzlement," he replies, turning the truck off the main road onto a rutted gravel track. A massive iron gate topped with razor wire looms ahead. "Welcome to the Clubhouse," he announces.
The gate rolls open automatically, tires crunching loudly on the frozen gravel. Heavy timber, reinforced windows, and mounted security cameras dominate the main building. Several smaller outbuildings flank a massive garage and a low barracks structure.
Elias parks in front of the main doors. "Stay close to me."
"I don't think I have a choice," I mutter.
We walk inside. The cavernous main room houses a long bar, scattered pool tables, and cracked leather couches. A massive stone fireplace roars with a blaze large enough to roast a whole pig.
A group of men gather around a heavy oak table, all wearing the same leather cut that Elias wears. Broken Halos.
A tall, blond man stands up, radiating a commanding authority.
"Elias," the blond man says. "You brought a stray."
"Feds had her at the county line," Elias answers. His flat, report-style tone betrays no emotion. "Attempted arrest. I intervened."
"Intervened how?" a leaner biker with a cruel smile asks, resting a hand near the shotgun propped against his leg.
"Broke a wrist," Elias says simply. "They were blocking the road."
The dark-haired man—Logan, the President, judging by the patches on his cut—sighs heavily. "Great. More heat. Just what we need with the Costa situation escalating." His sharp brown eyes lock onto me. "You must be the auditor Elias vetted."
"Mia Carlson," I say, forcing my spine completely straight. "And I didn't ask for the intervention. Or the arrest."
"The IRS claims she cooked books in Seattle," Elias adds.
Logan rubs his jaw. "If the Feds want her, having her here puts a target on our back. A bigger one than we already have."
"I can leave," I say quickly. "I didn't mean to bring trouble."
"You can't leave," Elias says.
The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
Logan looks directly at Elias. "Brother?"
"She has the skills we need," Elias insists. "The books are a mess. We have a leak. Someone is funneling money out, and I can't find the source because I'm too close to it. I need fresh eyes. Her eyes."
"And the Feds?" Logan asks.
"We give her sanctuary," Elias counters. "Seventy-two hours. She audits the books. Finds the mole. In exchange, we provide legal protection and clean up the mess in Seattle."
"We're not lawyers, Elias," the man with the shotgun points out. "How do we clean up a federal fraud charge?"
"Daniel," Elias answers.
The name hangs heavy in the air.
Logan grimaces. "The Tracker is deep under. I haven't heard from him in weeks. We don't even know if he's functional."
"He'll answer for this," Elias says with absolute certainty.
"You want to bet the club's safety on a gamble?" Logan challenges.
"I bet it on the numbers." Turning to face me, the giant demands, "Can you find our leak in seventy-two hours?"
My gaze sweeps the group of dangerous men, weighing them against the federal agents waiting on the highway. An empty bank account and a ruined reputation leave me zero options.
"Give me coffee and access to the raw data," I say, keeping my voice utterly steady. "And I’ll find every penny."
Logan studies me, his black eyes assessing my worth. "Alright. Seventy-two hours. But she stays in the Vault. No one in, no one out until it's done. If there's a mole, we can't risk her talking to anyone."
"Agreed," Elias says.
"I'll take first watch," the leaner biker offers, pushing off the table. "Make sure she doesn't run."
Elias steps in front of me.
He places his body between me and the rest of the room, cutting me off from the world entirely. His broad shoulders block out the overhead lights.
His gray eyes darken as they drop to mine, swirling with raw, possessive intensity.
"No," the massive biker growls, the deep vibration traveling through the floorboards straight into my chest.
"No?" Logan raises an eyebrow.
His massive, scarred hand hooks around the nape of my neck, thick fingers digging into my hair with a bruising, territorial weight.
He doesn't just hold me; he marks me. His thumb presses hard against the jumping pulse in my throat, pinning my head back so I’m forced to look up into those cold, storm-gray eyes.
I can smell leather, cold air, and the heavy, male musk of his skin.
"She's in my custody," Elias growls. The sound is feral, vibrating from his chest directly into my palms where they’re pressed against the cold leather of his cut. "She goes into the Vault. She stays under my guard. I’m the only one who touches her."
"Elias," Logan warns. "You've been up for three days straight. You need sleep."
"I don't need sleep," Elias says, his intense gaze never leaving mine. "I need the numbers to balance."
His thumb drags slowly across my skin, an intentional, heavy stroke that sends a violent spike of heat straight to my clit.
I feel a sudden, treacherous heaviness between my legs, my core turning hot and heavy under the weight of his stare.
Standing in his shadow, dwarfed by his massive build while the club watches his blatant claim, my knees go weak. I’m not just a consultant; I’m his.
"She’s mine to break," Elias rumbles, his gray eyes darkening until they’re almost black. "And God help the man who tries to take her before I’ve had my fill."
Logan sighs, though a smirk tugs at the edge of his lips. "Alright, Treasurer. Take her to the Vault. Clock starts now."
Elias steers me past the main bar, guiding me down a long corridor toward a heavy steel door at the end of the hall. He punches a code into the keypad.
"Move," he commands as the locks disengage with a mechanical clunk.
My knees shake, and my racing pulse thunders in my ears. I’d just sold my soul to a beautiful, terrifying devil. We descend into the bunker, the temperature dropping as we head underground.
The heavy steel Vault entrance clangs shut behind us, the deadbolts dropping into place, leaving me completely consumed by the heavy heat of his hand on my neck and the absolute finality of the word mine.