His Unwanted Peace Offering: Claiming Eleanor

Chapter 2

Word Count: 757 | Released on: 22/09/2026

nor

ly banked into the switchbacks of Dead Man's Ridge. Below us, the shee

lso a member of the Iron Bastards escort, constantly braking and accelerating; I thought he didn't know how

st to vent my anger. Damaris called this behavior "road rage." She sai

romantic legend that every girl

lso gone over a cli

ight through the rusted guardrail. I could imagine that terrifying fall-as the cab crumpled, Jax

ed, the femoral artery barely missed, bone splintering through denim. He didn't stop to set the bone. He tore his flannel shirt into strips, b

mountain air had plummeted below freezing. Clara was soaked, cyanotic, he

. He stripped off his soaked, blood-caked leather cut, discarded the remnants of

e life back into her failing pulse. His rough stubble scraped her temple as

, his sweat dripping onto her cold cheeks. When dawn finally broke through the rotting timber, Clara's br

. If it were me, I'd just put a bullet thr

y helmet cracking against Diesel's back armor with a

rmly on the gravel shoulder of the highway,

lded from twisted exhaust pipes and rusted chains

d over his shoulder, his boots skidding a

ched over ape-hanger handlebars. The man in front wore a sleeveless denim v

obnoxious, deafening crackle that

a stream of brown tobacco juice onto the tire of Diesel's bike

r knife strapped to his thigh, his

lder armor, leaning forward. "Stand down, Di

h a solid thud. I stared straight at the Prospect through my tint

ing through the idling engines like a blade.

Chapter End

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His Unwanted Peace Offering: Claiming Eleanor

Wu Xiaoyan Mafia

“To save our bleeding alliance, I was handed over to the rival Iron Bastards MC as a living peace offering. I was forced to become the claimed Old Lady of their ruthless President, Dexter Fulton, a man who ran the northern corridor by putting rival charters in the ground. On my first night in his fortress, he violently ripped my family's colors from my chest. He pinned me to the wall, declaring I belonged to him now, forcing his mark on me just to satisfy his club's barbaric rules. The next morning, he treated me like invisible garbage in front of his men, leaving me to face the humiliation of being a bought-and-paid-for trophy. "He's a butcher, El. You'll be a hostage in a den of rabid dogs." My best friend's warning echoed in my head. I was destined to be broken and buried like the outlaw women before me. But I didn't understand why, behind closed doors, his terrifying dominance masked a desperate, agonizing restraint. He didn't break me. He took cold showers and slept in a chair, refusing to share the bed. Why did he claim me so fiercely, only to ice me out the moment we were alone? I refused to be a passive victim waiting for the slaughter. If I had to survive in his cage, I was going to be the one setting the rules. I walked straight into his office, looked the deadliest man in the valley in the eye, and banned him from his own bed.”