Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Claiming Words
Zane
Candy's pregnancy lie would have been funny if I wasn't obsessed with an angel who commits healthcare fraud with magnetic signs.
It's Sunday afternoon at the clubhouse, and I'm trying to focus on inventory sheets while my mind replays last night's texts. She let another man kiss her. She didn't kiss back. She's mine whether she admits it or not.
"Z!" Ghost's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Got a minute?"
Before I can answer, Candy appears in the doorway like a discount soap opera villain, complete with tears that look about as real as her tits.
"I need to talk to you," she announces loudly enough for the entire club to hear. "About our baby."
The room goes silent. Every Iron Talon in the building turns to stare.
Our baby?
After Ghost shut her down last week, Candy's apparently moved to her backup plan—me. Like I'm dumb enough to fall for the same trick she tried on my President.
"Candy," I say carefully, standing up. "We need to—"
"You can't ignore this!" Her voice rises to performance levels. "I'm pregnant with your child!"
Joker starts laughing immediately, the sound bouncing off the walls. "Can't get pregnant from rejection, sweetheart!"
"We've never touched," I state clearly, for the benefit of our audience. "Never. Not once."
"That night—" she starts.
"What night? Name it. Date, time, location. Because I can account for every night, and none of them include you."
Ghost stands up, his expression unreadable. "Candy. Outside. Now."
She deflates like punctured silicone, the tears stopping as quickly as they started. "He's lying—"
"Outside. Now."
She storms out, and Ghost follows, but not before giving me a look that says we'll be discussing this later.
The thing about fake pregnancy claims in MC culture—they're not just about the woman.
They're about respect, territory, honor.
Candy just tried to claim me, and that kind of lie has consequences.
My phone buzzes.
Angel: Miguel knows something. Family dinner was an interrogation.
He hurt you?
Angel: Not physically. Just... he knows I'm hiding something.
Angel: Someone.
You're mine. Eventually he'll know that too.
Angel: I'm not yours.
You are. You just don't know it yet.
Angel: Pretty sure I'd notice being yours.
You will. Soon.
Joker drops into the chair across from me. "That was fucking entertaining. Candy trying to baby-trap you? Ghost's gonna lose his shit."
"Not my problem."
"Everything's everyone's problem here, brother." He lights a cigarette, studying me. "Speaking of problems, you find that Ghost Clinic yet? Ghost wants it under protection before another club claims it."
My blood chills. "Still looking into it."
"Well, look faster. He found the van."
"What?"
"White van, says 'Santos Electric' on the side."
"That's just magnetic signs," Joker adds, blowing smoke. "Saw her switching them once in a parking lot. 'Mobile Mercy Unit' painted underneath. Smart as fuck—nobody questions an electrician's van parked anywhere. Hiding in plain sight."
Santos Electric. Magnetic covers. My mind races. My angel mentioned the van, mentioned helping people, mentioned discretion. The dots are connecting like a constellation I don't want to see.
"You okay?" Joker asks. "You look like you're having a stroke."
"Fine. Just thinking."
He leaves, and I immediately text Dylan.
How's everything?
Dylan: Update on the Jessica situation
***
Dylan: Chemical pregnancy. Those three tests were right, but... you know. Body handled it. She's okay. We're okay. But fuck, that was scary.
Christ. The kid's dealing with real loss disguised as relief. That's the worst kind—the grief you're not supposed to feel for something that barely existed.
You need to talk?
Dylan: Nah. Just... we're being more careful now. Like, Fort Knox careful.
Good. Learn from close calls.
Dylan: Speaking of, how's your mystery woman?
Complicated.
Dylan: Isn't everything with you?
Kid's got a point.
I go back to the inventory sheets, but Ghost returns before I can focus.
"Candy's been handled," he says simply. That could mean anything from exile to worse. "But we got bigger issues. The Ghost Clinic."
"Joker mentioned the van."
"I want it under our protection. Today. That nurse is doing God's work, and other clubs have been sniffing around. Can't let them claim her."
Her. The angel nurse. My Angel who just texted me about Miguel's suspicions. My Angel whose brother is definitely in an MC—the way she talks about him, the surveillance, the protection. Just please, God, not the MC I'm thinking.
"I'll handle it," I say.
"Today, Z. Find that van, follow it to whoever runs it, make them an offer they can't refuse."
I nod, already knowing what I'll find. Already knowing that Santos Electric van with its magnetic lies belongs to an angel with tired eyes and skilled hands who saves lives while I destroy them.
My phone buzzes.
Angel: Can't stop thinking about last night.
The kiss?
Angel: No. Your texts. Being claimed by words.
Wait until I claim you with more than words.
Angel: Promises, promises.
I always keep my promises.
Angel: That sounds like a threat.
It's a guarantee.
Ghost clears his throat. "You good?"
"Yeah. Just handling something."
"Handle the van first. Your dick can wait."
If only he knew. If only he knew that the van and my dick are converging on the same target. That his Ghost Clinic angel is my Angel, and she's connected to someone who'd start a war over her.
I stand up, grab my jacket. "I'll find the van."
"Good. And Z? When you find the nurse, be nice. We need her cooperative, not scared."
Nice. I can do nice. I've been doing nice through texts for weeks, claiming her with words and voice notes, making her come with just seventeen seconds of audio.
But now I have to find her van, approach her as Iron Talons, make her an offer of protection she can't refuse, all while knowing her brother would skin me alive for texting her, let alone claiming her.
I head for my bike, already knowing where to start looking. Hospitals. She mentioned working today. And if Santos Electric is the cover, then the Mobile Mercy Unit is underneath, like everything about us—lies covering truth covering more lies.
My phone buzzes one more time.
Angel: Be safe today.
Worried about me?
Angel: Always.
Good. Means you care. Means you're already mine.
Angel: Still not yours, Diablo.
We'll see about that, Angel.
I start my bike, the rumble echoing through the garage.
Time to find a van with identity issues.
Time to find an angel who commits fraud to commit healthcare.
Time to discover if my worst suspicions are right—that the woman I'm claiming is the same one my club wants to protect and her brother's club would kill me for touching.
The thought should stop me.
Instead, I drive faster.
Because some things are worth burning for, and my angel's already got me in flames.
My VP found your van. The one with the fake electric company signs. You the Ghost Clinic angel?
I send it before I can think better, before I can strategize the right approach.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Then nothing.
Radio silence.
She knows I know. And now everything changes.