Claiming the Two Biker Brothers in Thirty Days

Marcus

Marcus stared at the girl on the bed, with a hospital gown that looked like the color of puke—yellow and pale against her skin.

And something inside his chest curled.

He’d gone most of his years surrounded by fans that sang his praise, to the point where he had to wear face masks to go out in public.

It was partially his fault, though.

His brother had warned him that a social media presence was only going to bring him more attention. But Marcus thought it was the right thing the arena needed.

They were trying to shut them down, the authorities. But the underground arena had hundreds and thousands of people willing to visit to a site that went down two hours after tickets were put up for sale.

And they sold out.

Every last ticket. Every single time. With resales going up for thousands of dollars.

Plus, maybe he did like the attention. It was addictive, watching the girls swoon over him when he walked into a club. They’d raise their shirts, flashing their tits his way.

For a while, at least.

He’d gotten bored. And he was someone who needed the thrill…the rush.

He’d been planning to tank the race, anyway. It would’ve shocked the entire audience, but it would’ve given him the buzz he needed.

She—the girl who was staring daggers at him, with her chest heaving, was the perfect excuse.

He smiled as he stepped forward, placing a hand to his chest.

It always worked. It was the perfect combo, charming and humble at the same time. “Allow me to apologize, Miss…” he trailed off, his brows slightly raised when it hit him that he’d forgotten her name.

Crap.

“It’s Jane,” she snapped. “Getting your drink all over my blouse and humiliating me for the entire world to see wasn’t enough for you to remember my name?”

He shook his head as molten heat raced down his throat. The feeling was almost palpable, as if he could taste it on his tongue if he tried hard enough. “I was hoping to address you formally, Miss Jane,” he said easily, his smile widening.

“I apologize for how we got off. I was mistaken. I saw no reason why a non-fan would be at the arena. It’s hard to get tickets, you see.”

Her mouth opened, in a retort, but it hung open as her face turned red.

Bright red. Marcus bit back a grin. He liked the color on her face. It washed out the rest of the ugly yellow. And seeing her flustered did something to him he couldn’t explain.

He moved closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “I wish you could’ve had time to watch me race. Maybe I would’ve offered you a ride afterwards.”

Her face turned even brighter as he pulled away. “I’d rather get an allergic reaction and bring myself close to death, than go anywhere close to your bike.”

“You almost died…” he pointed out, biting back a smile. “But you shouldn’t knock it until you try it”.

She snorted. “The only reason why you ride bikes, is because you can’t bring out your dicks and measure them in public.” Her eyes widened as the words tumbled out and she slapped her hand to her mouth.

Almost as if she’d said something forbidden.

The corner of his mouth curved with a smirk as he watched her. “Depends on the crowd. In the right setting, an orgy perhaps, I wouldn’t mind showing you. If—” he tilted his head, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “—that’s what you’re into, Miss Jane.”

Jane stuttered for a few seconds as she tried to reply. “Amanda,” she zeroed in on her best friend, visibly fuming. “Could you give me a moment with him?”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, putting on his killer smile as he winked at the friend. She sighed, swooning almost instantly. “I don’t want to separate you from your friend, but—”

“It’s fine!” Amanda declared, cupping her face with an ecstatic grin. Marcus frowned a bit. Was she okay? He’d seen a handful of faintings from fans. “I’ll give you as much space as you need!”

She rushed out of the room, returning a second later to close the door.

“Here’s what I think about you.” A cold voice cut through the silence.

He turned.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, her chest heaving from the effort. God. His throat went dry. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her in that way, but he couldn’t help it.

Her eyes were the most vibrant shade of hazel, flecks of gold flashing as she glared at him.

“You’re a…” She was stuttering again, her hands moving around.

Marcus opened his arms. “You can go ahead. I deserve it. Every bit of it. An asshole, for not stopping the crowd from taking the videos and invading your privacy. Egoistic, for assuming you were a fan.”

“Yes,” she nodded briskly. “You have a terribly annoying ego.” She thrust her hands on her hips, looking every bit like a storm passing through a bright cloud. “You have fans that throw bras at people’s faces…”

He zoned out of her words, as his gaze dropped to her chest. She wasn’t wearing one. The gown was painfully light too and he could see her nipples outlined against the material. It fell off her shoulders as she gestured animatedly, showing off soft, tanned skin.

His gut tightened as he forced his gaze away—back to her face, where it didn’t help any more.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could put on the act.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stopping her.

Her brows knit together in confusion.

“Everything you’ve said is true. Would you let me make it up to you by helping while you’re getting back on your feet?”

“You’ve paid the hospital bill.” She bit hard at him. “And I plan to refund every last dollar.”

“It was a nasty fall,” he explained. “You shouldn’t be alone for the next week or so. I have a house. I can hire a staff to make sure you’re taken care of properly.”

Her frown fell off as she folded her arms loosely. “Why?”

Because he was a terrible person, that’s why. Marcus Wolfe was an entitled human who always went after whatever he wanted, even if he was told he couldn’t have it.

He’d won every race since the arena opened four years ago, even when he had a sprain and the doctors told him to go easy on it.

He had a company too—at twenty-five and was a multi-millionaire on Forbes list.

Because he wanted her, as egoistic and illogical as it sounded.

“Think about it,” he murmured instead. “You hate me. You want your pound of flesh for what I did. What better way to get it than to have me indebted to you? I’ll be at your beck and call, and you can use me…” he drawled, “…as much as you want.”

She pursed her lips, thoughtfully.

His phone rang just then and Marcus bit back a curse. “I need to take care of this,” he told her. “I’ll be back. Think about my offer, will you? I’m willing to draw up a contract if that would suffice.”

He walked out, closing the door behind him as he reached into his pocket for his phone.

Ryder.

His brother.

“If you’re wondering if I’m still alive,” he said cheekily as he answered, “I am. The race,” he added when Ryder didn’t speak. He could picture his brother, rubbing his forehead with an exasperated expression. “How did it go?”

“You were going to lose, weren’t you?” Ryder said, his voice rough and low.

Marcus grinned. “You know me too well.”

“You’re an open book, Marc,” his brother’s tone dripped with dry sarcasm. “It’d be impossible for me not to predict your next move.”

“You sure?”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, at the hospital door and the woman inside the room. His brown-haired, hazel-eyed firecracker.

A sly smile spread across his face.

His brother wouldn’t see that one coming, that was sure.