Chapter 20 Claimed #2
Whiskey flowed. Music blared. At some point, a cake appeared—three tiers, black and purple frosting, a tiny motorcycle on top that Axel swore he hadn't commissioned.
Maria's daughters dragged me onto the dance floor for something that might have been a waltz if waltzes involved jumping and spinning until you were dizzy.
I floated through it in a haze of joy.
Hawk found me first, near the edge of the dance floor, watching the chaos with something like contentment.
"Kai." He clapped a hand on my shoulder—firm, fatherly. "Got a minute?"
"Of course."
He guided me toward a quieter corner, away from the music and laughter. For a moment, he just studied my face, those dark eyes seeing more than I was comfortable with.
"I've known Axel for fifteen years," he said finally. "Watched him rise through the ranks. Watched him close himself off, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the soldier he once was." He paused. "I thought that was who he'd always be. Thought the man underneath was gone for good."
"He was never gone. Just... buried."
"I know that now." Hawk's expression softened. "Because of you. You brought him back, Kai. The man he was supposed to be before his father got hold of him—you found that man and gave him permission to exist."
My throat tightened. "I just saw him. That's all."
"That's everything." He squeezed my shoulder.
"Maria and I have been together twenty years.
Raised two daughters in this life. It's not easy—the danger, the secrets, the nights you don't know if he's coming home.
But it's worth it. Every sacrifice, every scare.
" His eyes held mine. "You're good for him.
And he's good for you. That's rare. Protect it. "
"I will."
"I know." A rare smile crossed his weathered face. "Welcome to the family, son. For real this time."
He walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing there with a lump in my throat and a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with whiskey.
Irish and Declan found me next, a two-man hurricane of energy and affection.
"There he is!" Irish threw an arm around my shoulders, sloshing whiskey dangerously close to my new cut. "The man of the hour! How does it feel, being officially claimed?"
"Terrifying. Wonderful. Both."
"That's how it's supposed to feel." Declan appeared on my other side, steadier than his partner but just as warm. "The terror fades. The wonderful stays."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Seven years of it." Declan claimed. Irish grinned, pulling his partner closer with his free arm so we formed an awkward three-person huddle. "Best decision I ever made, letting this Irish bastard claim me."
"I'm the Irish bastard," Irish clarified.
"And yet I'm the one with the accent. Life's full of mysteries." Declan winked at me. "Don't let him fool you—he cried like a baby at our ceremony."
"I had allergies."
"In November. Indoors."
"Severe allergies."
I laughed, and it felt good—easy, natural. These men had accepted me without question, folded me into their family like I'd always belonged.
"Can I ask you something?" The words came out of me before I could stop them.
"Anything," Irish said.
"How do you make it work? Long-term, I mean. With the club, the danger, everything."
The two of them exchanged a look—one of those silent conversations that couples develop over years together. "Communication," Declan said. "Brutal, uncomfortable honesty. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."
"And flexibility," Irish added, something shifting in his expression.
"Being open to... evolution. People change.
Relationships change. What works at year one might not work at year seven.
" He glanced at Declan, something unspoken passing between them.
"The trick is changing together instead of apart. "
There was weight underneath those words. Layers I couldn't quite parse. But Declan's hand found Irish's, squeezed tight, and whatever complexity lived in their relationship, it was clear they'd figured out how to hold it.
"Thank you," I said. "For the advice. And for—everything. Making me feel welcome."
"You made yourself welcome," Irish said. "We just had the good sense to notice."
Blade caught me at the bar, refilling my whiskey with a bottle he'd apparently claimed as personal property.
"Congratulations, hermano." He clinked his glass against mine. "You did good."
"Thanks. Couldn't have done it without—" I gestured vaguely at the room. "All of you."
"Sure you could've. You're tougher than you think." He took a long drink, something contemplative in his expression. "I've been watching you, you know. Since that first night. Trying to figure out what makes a guy like you tick."
"And? What's the verdict?"
"You're a contradiction." He smiled, but there was depth underneath it. "Soft enough to heal. Hard enough to kill. Most people are one or the other. You're both." He shrugged. "It's rare. Axel's lucky to have found you."
"I'm the lucky one."
"You're both lucky. That's how it works when it's right." Something wistful flickered across his face—there and gone. "Someday maybe I'll find someone who looks at me the way he looks at you."
"You will." I said it with certainty I didn't quite have the right to feel. "Someone who sees both sides of you. The soft and the hard."
"From your lips to God's ears." He raised his glass. "To finding our people."
"To finding our people."
We drank. Blade stared into his whiskey for a moment, something unspoken weighing on him.
"There was someone once," he said quietly.
"Years ago. Before I patched in." He didn't look at me.
"He was a cop, if you can believe it. Undercover in a rival gang.
We kept running into each other—wrong place, wrong time, every time.
" A bitter laugh. "Fell hard. Both of us.
But he chose the badge, and I chose the cut, and that was that. "
"Do you ever hear from him?"
"No. Last I heard, he'd transferred somewhere back east. Probably married with kids by now." Blade shrugged, but the casualness was forced. "Ancient history."
"Doesn't sound ancient."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Some people leave marks, you know? Even when they're gone. Especially when they're gone."
I thought about Tyler's eight months of silence. About the marks we carry from people we've lost—or let go. "Maybe ancient history has a way of catching up," I said. "Stranger things have happened."
"Yeah." Blade's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe."
Ghost found me near the dessert table, two hours into the party, and pressed a beer into my hand. "Congratulations," he said, almost shy. "I'm really happy for you."
"Thanks, Ghost." The name still felt new, but it suited him. "How's the shoulder?"
"Better every day." He rotated it carefully, wincing only slightly. "Doc says I'll be back to full strength in a few weeks."
"Good. We need you."
"Yeah?" He brightened. "I mean—yeah. Of course. Whatever the club needs."
I studied his face—the lingering bruises, the new confidence underneath. He'd grown so much in such a short time. We all had.
"Jake... Ghost." I corrected myself. "Can I give you some advice?"
"Sure."
"Whatever you're figuring out about yourself—whoever you're becoming—don't rush it.
And don't let anyone make you feel like you have to have all the answers right now.
" I thought about my own journey, about all the years I'd spent alone before finding this.
"The people who matter will wait. The ones who won't aren't worth it anyway. "
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to someone who's been there." I clinked my beer against his. "You've got time. And you've got family now. Whatever you figure out, we've got your back."
His smile was wobbly but real. "Thanks, Kai. That means... a lot."
He disappeared back into the crowd, and I watched him go, hoping I'd given him something useful. Hoping he'd find his way faster than I had.
"That was kind."
I turned. Tyler had appeared at my elbow, a glass of whiskey in hand, his eyes following Ghost through the crowd.
"He reminds me of us," I said. "Lost kid finding a family."
"He'll be okay." Tyler took a sip of his drink. "They all will, now that Chen's gone."
"Speaking of which—did you call Sarah?"
"This morning." Something complicated crossed his face. "She wasn't surprised. Said she'd seen it coming since I broke cover. Offered to write me a recommendation if I ever want back in."
"Do you?"
"No." The word was immediate, certain. "I'm done with that life. Whatever comes next, it's not that."
"Any idea what comes next?"
"Maybe." His eyes drifted across the room, landed on something—someone—and lingered. I followed his gaze.
Tank. Standing alone near the wall, nursing a beer, watching the crowd with that stoic expression he always wore. But when he caught Tyler looking, something shifted. The mask slipped, just for a second. Something raw and uncertain flickered underneath.
Tyler looked away first. But he was smiling.
"Interesting," I said.
"Shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face said plenty." He drained his whiskey, set the glass down. "I'm going to go... mingle."
"Mingle. Sure."
"I hate you."
"You love me. I'm your brother."
He flipped me off without looking back and headed toward Tank's corner of the room. I watched them meet—the careful distance, the awkward first words, then Tank shifting to make room and Tyler settling beside him like he belonged there.
Maybe he did. Maybe they both just needed time to figure that out.
"Matchmaking at your own claiming ceremony?" Axel's arms wrapped around me from behind, his chin hooking over my shoulder. "Bold."
"I'm not matchmaking. I'm observing."
"Observing with intent."
"Maybe." I leaned back into his warmth. "They'd be good together."
"Maybe. Tank's got walls."
"So did you."