Page 39 of Claimed By the Bikers
Behind the maintenance shed, tucked into a hollow beneath a loose board, is another phone. One of several I planted around Wolf Pike during those first few weeks, before Atlas caught me with the first one. Insurance policies are scattered across town like breadcrumbs, waiting for the day I might need them.
Today is that day.
The moment I power on the device, it starts ringing. Unknown number, but I recognize the pattern—encrypted call routing through multiple servers to hide the source. My stomach clenches as I accept the call.
“Nat? Jesus Christ, is that really you?”
Ben’s voice hits me like a physical blow. For a moment, I can’t speak, can’t process that he’s actually there after weeks of silence.
“Ben?” My voice comes out cracked, uncertain.
“Thank God. We thought you were dead, sweetheart. Radio silence for three weeks, no check-ins, nothing. The whole operation went dark.”
“Where have you been?” The words explode out of me, weeks of carefully controlled emotion finally breaking free. “You didn’t contact me for weeks! You could have sent backup! I thought?—”
“I know, I know. There were complications on our end. Communication blackout while we dealt with some internal security issues. But we’re back online now, and we need to move fast.”
“Security issues?” I grip the phone tighter, pacing behind the shed like a caged animal. “What kind of security issues?”
“Someone leaked information about the operation. We had to shut down all communication channels until we could identify the source.” His voice takes on that soothing tone he uses when he’s trying to calm me down. “But it’s handled now. We can proceed with the mission.”
“The mission.” I laugh, and it sounds harsh even to my own ears. “You mean the mission where you left me completely alone for three weeks? Where I had no backup, no support, no way to extract if things went sideways?”
“Natalie, listen to me?—”
“No, you listen to me.” I’m pulling at my hair now, rage and confusion warring in my chest. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? What I’ve had to do to maintain my cover?”
“I can imagine it’s been difficult?—”
“Difficult?” My voice rises dangerously. “They kidnapped me, Ben. They know I’m FBI. They’ve been holding me for weeks, and you were nowhere to be found.”
Silence on the other end of the line. Then: “They know your real identity?”
“Everything. They know everything.”
“Fuck.” I can hear him typing rapidly in the background. “Okay, this changes things. We need to extract you immediately.”
“Extract me how? I’m in the middle of nowhere with three men who watch my every move. You can’t exactly send a helicopter.”
“We’ll figure something out. But first, I need you to do something for us.”
The way his tone shifts sets off every alarm bell in my head. “What kind of something?”
“We need evidence. Concrete proof of their criminal activities. Photos, documents, financial records. Whatever you can get your hands on.”
“I’ve been trying to gather evidence for weeks. There isn’t any.”
“There has to be. These men are running a major operation out of that restaurant. Drug distribution, money laundering, weapons trafficking. We know they’re dirty.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because we have reliable intelligence?—”
“From who?” I interrupt. “Because I’ve been living with them for weeks, and I haven’t seen any evidence of the crimes you’re describing.”
“Sometimes these operations are well hidden. That’s why we need you to plant some evidence.”
The words hang in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. “What did you just say?”
