Chapter 2 NOT EASY TO HANDLE - Claimed By The Biker King

Aria POV

A man stepped into the threshold, and the air in the room instantly thundered with his presence. He didn't need to command attention; he owned every molecule of oxygen in the space.

He wore a heavy, battle-worn leather cut over a black thermal shirt, dark denim, and steel-toed riding boots scarred with old asphalt burns. Intricate black ink crawled up his thick forearms, disappearing beneath his cuffs. A jagged, pale scar cut vertically through his left eyebrow, splitting the dark brow line and giving his striking, harsh features an arresting, predatory edge.

Dante Blackwood.

I had only ever heard whispers of the Supreme President of the Black Hounds. The legends called him a ghost, a butcher, a man who built his empire on broken bones and unyielding loyalty.

He walked slowly toward my chair, his dark, obsidian eyes locked entirely on me. He didn't look at his men. He didn't check the perimeter. He walked with the absolute, unshakeable confidence of a king stepping onto a blood-soaked battlefield.

As he stopped directly in front of me, his gaze dropped to my bound, bleeding wrists where the hemp had torn the skin.

A fraction of a second passed, but I caught the micro-shift in his expression—a flash of cold, lethal displeasure that made the enforcers behind him visibly flinch.

Dante turned his head slowly toward the man who had tied me. "Who bound her?"

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Dante's voice dropped into a low, rumbling hum that vibrated straight through the floorboards. "I'm asking a question."

The enforcer swallowed hard, stepping forward. "I did, Boss."

"Did I give the order to rough her up?"

"No, Boss."

"Then why are her wrists leaking blood?"

The man opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Dante didn't yell. He took one measured step closer.

"Untie her."

The enforcer fumbled frantically at the knots, his large hands shaking as he tore the hemp away. The moment the ropes fell, my arms dropped. A wave of searing pain shot through my bruised shoulders, but I immediately rubbed my raw wrists, keeping my chin tilted up, my eyes locked on Dante's face.

He watched my defiance with an unreadable stare. "Better?"

"Go to hell," I spat.

A few enforcers instinctively lowered their heads, biting back grins. Dante didn't blink. He tilted his head slightly, evaluating me like a rare specimen.

"You're Aria Vale."

"You already know who I am. And you know you grabbed the wrong person."

"You're right where you belong," Dante replied, his voice devoid of hesitation.

"My brother is your target. Not me."

"I will find him," Dante said, stepping into my personal space. "And you will help me draw him out."

I shoved myself up from the metal chair with sudden, explosive force. Two enforcers lunged forward to block me, but Dante raised a single gloved hand, freezing them instantly.

I stepped right up to his chest, forcing the towering biker to look down into my face. "You're using me as bait because you're too incompetent to track down my brother yourself."

A collective intake of breath echoed around the room.

Dante's gaze never wavered from mine. A single muscle ticked along his clenched jawline, revealing the furnace of controlled fury burning underneath.

"You have a remarkable amount of nerve," he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous register as he caged me inside his broad shadow.

"You're staying in this compound."

"Like hell I am."

"You don't have a choice," Dante said, pinning me with an unyielding stare. "Inside these walls, you fall under my protection."

I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "I don't need your protection—especially not from you."

Dante's expression turned carved-stone cold. "Tell your brother to walk through these gates and face the music. Until I settle my accounts with Ethan, you stay here. Permanently."

"You think he'll actually surrender just because you have me?" I challenged, my voice cracking slightly despite my best efforts.

"I know one fundamental truth," Dante whispered, leaning in until our chests nearly touched. "He loves you enough to walk into a graveyard."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stripping away my fight.

Dante turned his back on me, signaling the end of the debate. "Take her up to the residential wing."

Two enforcers stepped forward. I raised my hands defensively, slapping away the first man who reached for my arm. "Don't touch me."

"Don't drag her," Dante commanded coldly over his shoulder without turning around.

The man backed off, raising his hands in a placating gesture. I glared at Dante's broad back, my chest heaving with adrenaline. "You think I'll just sit quietly and play the good little captive?"

Dante glanced back, a faint, dark smirk touching the corner of his mouth. "No. I expect you to fight every single day. That's what makes this interesting."

He vanished into the hall.

I stood in the center of the room, my fists clenched so hard my fingernails bit into my palms. One of the enforcers let out a long sigh. "Come on, kid. Let's go."

"Bite me," I muttered, but I let them lead me out, refusing to let my posture drop an inch.

The moment we stepped out of the lower tactical rooms and into the main clubhouse, a wall of sensory chaos crashed over me. Heavy metal bass rattled the floorboards. Dozens of bikers and associates shouted across poker tables, and the roar of a motorcycle engine echoed from the open garage bays downstairs.

As I stepped onto the metal catwalk overlooking the main floor, heads turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd below.

“Is that her?”

“Ethan’s sister?”

“Damn, she smaller than I thought.”

“Heard she cracked Carlos’s nose.”

“Good for her.”

I kept my chin high, my eyes fixed straight ahead.

We climbed a narrow, rusted steel staircase to the upper mezzanine, walking down a dim hallway lined with heavy wooden doors. The enforcer unlocked the third door on the left and pushed it open.

"Your quarters."

I peered inside. It was a sparse, utilitarian room containing a narrow iron-frame bed, a scarred wooden dresser, a small private bath, and a single window fitted with heavy iron security bars across the glass.

I whipped around to face him. "You call this a guest room?"

"Beats the holding cells downstairs."

He shrugged indifferently, pulling the heavy door shut. The deadbolt slammed home with a loud, final click.

I was alone.

The heavy silence of the room felt deafening after the roar of the clubhouse. I walked slowly to the window, pressing my palms against the cold iron bars, and looked out over the sprawling compound. Rows of heavy Harley-Davidson motorcycles lined the tarmac. Armed sentries patrolled the perimeter chain-link fences topped with razor wire. The massive steel security gates stood locked against the outside world.

There was no exit. No escape.

My brother had betrayed the most dangerous man in the city. And I had just become the price tag for his sins.

Suddenly, a familiar, deep-throated engine roar echoed from the courtyard below. A custom chopper kicked to life, its exhaust rumbling through the night air.

I looked down just in time to see Dante walking out toward his machine. Before pulling his heavy black riding helmet over his head, he paused and lifted his chin, looking straight up toward my second-story window.

Logic told me he couldn't possibly see me through the tinted glass in the dark. But somehow, across the distance, his dark eyes found mine through the shadows.

He pulled the helmet down, securing the heavy strap. The engine thundered. The massive steel gates slid open, and Dante rode out into the midnight streets.

As his taillights faded into the dark, a cold, absolute realization settled deep in my bones.

He hadn't brought me here to torture me or for mere interrogation. He had brought me here because he knew—with unwavering certainty—that my brother would eventually come crawling back to save me.

And until Ethan Vale walked back through those gates...

I belonged to the Hounds.