Wolf's Claim: A Wolf Pack Motorcycle Club Book (A Breed MC Book 3)

by Anne Marsh

  I deflect the next blow and strike back. “You spend that much time watching where I put my dick?”

  “Hell no. But I’m not blind, either. She means something to you. Never seen anyone outside the club matter much.”

  He slams a fist into my jaw and I swear I see fucking stars because I’m thinking, not reacting. I might not have been her only, but I intend to be her best and her last. Fucking medieval of me, I know, but it’s the truth. I’ve never been into this whole pining-over-love shit, but Leah’s different and we’re making this work. We so fucking are. Got last night as my proof after all.

  “She’s mine,” I reply, shaking the hit off. “If anybody has a problem with that, he comes to me.”

  Gator stares at me, and fuck him. He doesn’t think I can have an old lady? He’s wrong. My next punch lands dead center in his gut. He barks out a curse. “You really want forever and all that shit with Leah?”

  He lays back on the mat with a groan. “Killing me here.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I hit the mat next to him. “I need a favor. It’s not club business, but I want you and Fang watching her when I can’t be around.”

  Gator shrugs as Fang vaults over the ropes and heads for us. “You think she’s not club business, you’re even crazier than me. She’s human. She’s not supposed to get mixed up with us.”

  He’s not wrong. Jace has made his no-humans policy plenty clear. At some point, he and I will have words about my Leah. I can feel it coming. She believes we’re just an MC, and because she grew up around bikers, she’s accepted the information blackout and secrecy. Not that she’s liked it any—but she’s accepted that’s how it has to be. Bikers have one rule. The club comes first. Never had a problem with that until now, but now I want to make room for Leah. Fuck. Already done it, just don’t know how to break it to Jace and my brothers.

  “T.D. keeps sniffing around her,” I say. “I don’t know if the dumb shit would actually tell her about the wolves, but it’s a chance we don’t need to take. He doesn’t get close to her again.”

  Gator curses. “Better tell Jace. Don’t leave him in the dark on this one, you feel me? He needs to know we’ve got a potential exposure on our hands.”

  Fang drops two water bottles onto us. Guess that’s his version of full-service because he grins like the maniac he is. “You think you can hide who you are from your girl forever?”

  “Not like he goes furry when he’s fucking her, but it’s a problem. I agree with you there.” Gator sits up, wincing. “Either I’m getting too old for this shit or you need to hit less hard, my brother.”

  “Leah doesn’t have to know about the wolves,” I argue. “She’s happier that way, so why mess with a good thing?”

  Fang laughs. “Not like I’m Dr. Phil, but you really think that’s a good idea? You want me to watch her place when you’re not around, I’m good with that, but sometime she’s bound to notice that your ass isn’t exactly fucking normal.”

  “This from you.” I punch him in the leg and get to my feet. Thank fuck I heal fast because Gator’s a mean fighter.

  “Not like I want to try this relationship shit.” Fang shrugs and flips me the bird. “Fuck, fight, and fly the hell away. That’s the way I roll.”

  Someday, some woman’s gonna hand my boy his ass—and his heart. Kinda hope I’m around to see it because that show will be spectacular.

  “Our boy’s got a point,” Gator says dryly. “You like beating the shit out of things and she doesn’t. How much do the two of you really have in common?”

  “The couple that plays together stays together.” Fang deadpans.

  “We’re staying together,” I promise him. “No way I lose her now.”

  I bring Leah with me to our MC meeting at the end of the week. All of the old ladies and girlfriends have been invited because afterward we’re planning to barbecue. Then we’ll ride, because that’s what Saturdays are made for. The girls are already outside, firing up the smoker. We take our meat seriously down here in the south, and they’ll get shit started on the grill while the club members take care of business inside.

  The girls give Leah the once-over when she pops off the back of my bike. She looks good, which she should—she spent an hour emptying out her closet and debating fashion choices with me. Like I fucking know what’s barbecue-appropriate and what’s not? Finally went with what I liked. It’s hotter than fuck today, and she’s not gonna melt in a dress, right? The fabric’s real light, some kind of floaty shit, and flowers are cheerful. Not sure how realistic the big yellow and blue blossoms are, but she’s got a bow between her tits and the straps bare most of her shoulders. That’s a win-win situation right there, and as soon as I get her alone, I’ll show her just how much she wins.

  She hands me the ginormous salad bowl she’s been clutching while she shimmies out of the jeans and leather jacket I insisted she put on before we rode. Oui, not much of a fucking fashion statement, but there are way too many opportunities for her to get hurt on the road. Loose gravel, shit that blows up off the road, an accident forcing me to lay the bike down? Nope. I’m not taking the chance. So she’s wrapped up better than a hockey goalie facing down a hostile puck.

  The jeans hit the dirt and she toes them off, hanging onto my shoulders as she works her boot out of the cuff. Her dress rides up the back of her thighs as I stand there like the Statue of Fucking Liberty, bowl balanced in one hand, the rest of me focused on Leah. Keelie Sue’s laughing at us, but Fang’s eyes are just about popping out of his head. Can’t decide if I want to rub his face in what’s mine or just kill the bastard and put him out of my misery.

  She sheds my jacket with another shake of her shoulders and tits and then crouches down to scoop the lot up. Fuck. That puts her face on a level with my dick. I need a safe topic. Fast.

  “What’s in the salad?”

  She straightens slowly, biting her lip like she’s trying not to giggle. “You want the recipe?”

  As if. “Just want to eat it,” I admit slowly.

  Her grin gets wider. “Is that a euphemism?”

  Oui. Guess she didn’t miss the bulge in my pants.

  “You put bacon in this?” She’s loaded the bowl with a shit-ton of corkscrew noodles in some kind of dressing, along with enough vegetables to start a salad bar. Meat, however, seems to be missing. I’m gonna have to strong-arm my brothers into eating this and then complimenting her. Bacon, however, would be a start in the right direction.

  “I don’t kill and eat other living creatures,” she says primly. Probably thinks that makes her a saint or a better person, when it really makes her an anomaly. Wolves love raw meat. When Little Red Riding Hood tells her “granny” what big teeth the old lady has and the wolf springs out of bed, announcing “all the better to eat you with?” He’s not kidding.

  Don’t think she wants to hear my views on vegetarianism—or its polar opposite, so I pop her salad bowl onto the picnic table. Tried to talk her out of bringing that kind of crap with her—I drive a bike, not a delivery service—but she was adamant. Apparently, good girls don’t arrive empty-handed at a barbecue. Mission accomplished, I turn to go inside.

  “Hey.” Her fingers loop through my belt and tug.

  “Oui?” I stop fast and she bumps into my ass. Fang high-fives me from the door, as if I’d planned it. If it’s my lucky day, Jace will let me kill that stupid wolf.

  “You’re not sticking around to introduce me?”

  “I’ve gotta go,” I remind her. “Got church inside.”

  “Church?”

  “Mandatory club meeting,” I explain. “Not sure why most clubs call it that, but when a name sticks, it sticks.”

  The look on her face can best be described as disappointed—and full of trepidation. The guys are waiting inside to kick off our club meeting, and I need to get my ass in there now.

  Fuck.

  It’s not like it will take that long, right? I inventory the yard and spit out names rapid fire. We’
re already the center of attention, because I’ve never brought a girl to the clubhouse before. “Keelie Sue.” I point to the cute little brunette beaming at us like she’s the welcome wagon. Keelie Sue’s good people, and she’ll look out for my girl. “She’s Jace’s old lady.”

  Keelie Sue bounces up and pulls Leah into a hug. Looking slightly startled, Leah goes with it, the two girls exchanging pleasantries. Right next to Keelie Sue, as always, is Ware’s mate.

  “Marlee.” She’s pocket-sized pretty, all curly hair and big brown eyes. Not hard to see how Ware took one look and got sucked in. Of course, it probably didn’t hurt that when the two of them met, Marlee was naked and tied to a bed. Hard not to imagine the possibilities in that. “She’s with Ware.”

  “And?” Leah looks expectantly at the four other ladies loitering by the picnic table nearby. Her first clue should have been the clothes. Two of them are wearing bandage dresses in Kool-Aid colors. Their heels aren’t exactly picnic-wear, either. They’re pass-arounds. Fang calls ‘em the leftovers, which is disrespectful. They’re not exclusive, but they perform a useful service, and while I haven’t stuck my dick in any of them, I’m not judging them or anyone who does (except maybe Fang, because that brother gets on my nerves).

  “Friends of Fang.” The way I see it, the brother can take one for the team.

  “Huh.” She chews on her lower lip, and I edge toward the door.

  “Ladies, this is Leah. Be nice to her, oui?”

  Keelie Sue rolls her eyes, but she tightens her hold on Leah’s arm—and I slide past her gratefully. “Sit with us, have a drink, and we’ll give you our version of who belongs to whom.”

  “Guess you’re not big on the single life.” Leah grins cheerfully enough, so she’s sorted. I tip my head at her and escape inside.

  Stepping inside the clubhouse feels like coming home. Jace did some redecorating after he took over the pack, but the essentials are the same. We’ve got a private bar, plenty of floor space, three pool tables, and a bunch of mismatched couches. No point in not being comfortable—and it’s a damned sight better than Leah’s houseboat. I have no idea how she lives with that many throw pillows. It’s like they replicate at night or something.

  Today’s meeting is just our regular weekly meeting. We’ll run through what everyone’s been up to and discuss any problems that have come up during the week. That kind of simple shit—no planning world domination or pack warfare. It’s supposed to be real fucking simple. Straightforward. And yet there’s no missing the side eye my brothers send my way, or the whispers. Bunch of gossips, that’s what they are. If my boys have a fucking problem with my being out at Leah’s place, they need to tell me to my face. I’ve earned my place in the club, so they can show me the same fucking respect they give Jace.

  Jace saunters in, drops down onto his chair, and calls our meeting to order. “Might need to discuss Two Dog.”

  “Thought we resolved that already?” Gator crosses his legs in front of him. “Not that I’ve got a problem with beating the shit out of that boy twice.”

  “We mighta made an impression when we took a drive out to his place,” Jace acknowledges. “Fang, Blade, and I had a little conversation with him about respecting boundaries. Think he got our point, too.”

  “Busted his ass and then some,” Fang says with satisfaction.

  “He’s leading a pack of his own now, and that’s none of our fucking business as long as he stays out of our territory. We still got one problem, though.” Jace’s eyes find mine. “He claims we took his girl, and he wants her back.”

  “Not a fucking chance,” I growl. “Thought we were all about the power of positive thinking and giving the ladies a choice now? Or is that last week’s agenda?”

  “Nah,” Jace says. “We’re still good. If Leah doesn’t want her T.D.-poo, all she has to do is tell him to fuck off. We’ll back her up, and no worries.”

  “She doesn’t want him.”

  “She say that shit to you?” Jace crosses his arms over his chest. “Before or after you moved in with her?”

  As if I’m rising to that bait. “She deserves better than that little shit.”

  “Not disagreeing.” Jace’s grin doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s not gonna let this go. “But Leah has to do the claiming—and the rejecting.”

  T.D. is a piece of work. He had his chance at Leah, and from what we all saw, he had no idea how to woo a lady. I may not be much in the gentleman department myself, but I can do better. I’ve shown her nothing but respect—I haven’t shoved her skirts up and tried to get inside her with my brothers hanging out in the bayou nearby. That practically makes me the king of romance right there.

  Gator curses. “Life would be so much easier if you all would keep your dicks to yourselves.”

  Jace flashes him the bird. “The ladies are what makes life interesting.”

  “Interesting having the meaning of shot to hell,” Gator mutters, but he backs off. Jace has made Keelie Sue’s place clear. She’s the center of the fucking universe, and anyone who can’t get on board with that star billing can leave. Gator may be gruff and his people skills are shit, but he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Keelie Sue.

  Fang, however? Oui. He’s harder to read. He put the moves on Keelie Sue before she and Jace hooked up, and she’s antsier than hell around him. Don’t think he was stupid enough to hurt her, but scare her? He’s definitely done that.

  Jace shoves upright and strolls toward me. “You claiming her?”

  “Yeah. Guess I am.” I play it casual. No point in letting my brothers know how badly I need Leah. There are questions I don’t want to be answering, either. Questions about how and when we met—and why she hasn’t been glued to my side for the last two years.

  “She on board with that?”

  “She will be.” Pushing to my feet, I stare my brothers down. Not the way I wanted this to happen, but some things have to be said. “Let me say it and make it official. She’s mine. I’m claiming her.”

  Jace kinda curses at that, but he lets me slide and we wrap up our business.

  Gator knocks my shoulder as we head out. “You sending out invitations to a wedding?”

  I’m not a tuxedo and flowers kind of guy, so I flip him the bird and walk faster. I trust the club’s old ladies to look out for my girl, but I should still be there. Just in case she needs or wants something. Whatever it is, I’ll get it for her. Everything will be taken care of.

  And you know what?

  If she wanted me dressed up and waiting for her at the front of a church, I’d do it. Just for her. Only for her.

  Leah

  Somehow, whenever I thought about the Breed MC, I imagined them riding hell-for-leather down the highway. Causing mayhem and committing felonies. That kind of violent, alpha male stuff. I mean, they definitely beat the shit out of T.D. and they know how to close a bar down. Apparently, however, they’re not always party central and some days are violence optional. They also like to barbecue on Saturday afternoon. It’s a miracle the world is still turning on its axis, right?

  Their clubhouse is a former warehouse, the kind that ritzy developers like to turn into expensive condo-lofts with exposed brickwork and lots of stainless steel. Although the Breed hasn’t bothered with fancy renovations, they have fenced off the area between the warehouse and the bayou. Two-hundred-year-old cypress trees border the grassy space, providing some shade to a huge barbecue set-up. If the size of their grill is any metaphor, they’ve all got monster dicks.

  After Blade heads inside for “church”—which is apparently biker code for “secret meeting” or possibly “guys hanging out and watching television together”—I’m left with the girls. Ordinarily, I’d protest the gender segregation, but I’m not really jonesing to hang with the bikers.

  I help Keelie Sue and Marlee set up the picnic fixings. Apparently, we’re not supposed to touch the meat itself on the pain of some unnamed penalty. Whatever. If someone else wants to do the heavy lifting, I’
m willing to just eat and make merry. The free drinks aren’t bad either, and Keelie Sue makes a mean strawberry margarita. An hour after Blade disappeared inside, I’ve learned loads about how a biker club really works. For starters? Some of those big, burly, leather-wearing, dick-waving guys are completely wrapped around the fingers of their old ladies.

  My salad’s a hit. Keelie Sue wants the recipe, and I’ve promised to text it to her. You know. Later. After the margarita fumes clear out of my head. It’s a real nice party. The sun’s out and it’s warm enough that some of the girls are wading in the bayou because today is gorgeous, all bikini and beer weather.

  I had no idea how nice it could feel to belong here, or that the bikers’ girlfriends would be so awesome. I do my best to meet people and help out.

  Eventually, Keelie Sue grabs the plastic trash bag from me and trades it for a fresh margarita glass. “You should be enjoying yourself.”

  I accept the replacement. “I like being useful.”

  Marlee beams. “Nothing wrong with that, but now it’s fun time.”

  “So how long have you and Blade been a couple?” Keelie Sue slides her question in there as if maybe I’ll tell her more if she catches me off-guard. She appears to be under the mistaken impression that Blade and I are dating. Worse, if the happy smile painting her mouth is any indication, she approves and would like it to be a long-term thing. She’s doomed to disappointment.

  “We’re not.” I lick the salt on the edge of the glass. Yum.

  There’s a moment of not quite awkward silence, kind of like the shock wave of a bomb landing. Nope. She totally failed to see that coming.

  She blinks. “You’re not?”

  “Nope.” I suck down a mouthful of margarita. This one is lime-green, a color found in nature only in poisonous snakes, but I can’t quite pin down the taste. Not that I’m complaining—it’s excellent.

  “But you’re here.” Keelie Sue waves a hand around the party.