Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 51: The Creepy Game

Mordred’s PoV:

I stayed in the shadows across the street from the cinema, hood pulled low, hands buried deep in my jacket pockets against the December chill.

The marquee lights cast everything in that sickly red-and-gold glow, turning the sidewalk into some cheap stage set.

I hadn’t planned on following Kianna and Lysander. I’d just... ended up here. After seeing her look so broken at school all day, I told myself I was checking on her. Making sure she was okay. That’s all.

But when they came out laughing—actually laughing—after whatever dumb movie Lysander had dragged her to, something twisted hard in my chest.

She needed comfort, and it wasn’t me giving it to her. It was him, the pretty-boy art kid with his perfect hair and easy smile, always hovering like he was some kind of guardian angel.Then Maddox showed up.

I pressed myself flatter against the brick wall of the closed bookstore,breath fogging in the cold.

Maddox looked like hell, the type I was always begging to see him there. His nose was swollen with bruises blooming across his face like someone had used it as a punching bag.

Good, whoever did this needs a raise because he deserved worse. He stepped toward her, voice cracking as he begged for five minutes, for a chance to explain. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

Kianna didn’t even speak. She just stood there, frozen, while Lysander—fucking Lysander—stepped in front of her like a shield. Told Maddox to back off and guided her away without a backward glance.

A slow sly smile spread across my lips as I watched the scene unfold. And Maddox let them go.

He stood under the marquee lights long after they disappeared down the street, shoulders slumped, looking smaller than I’d ever seen him. For a second, I almost felt something like pity.

Then I remembered the videos; Emily’s miserable face and his laughter as he was at it. And what killed me the most is his face at the room in pearl street and Kianna’s tears earlier today. The way Maddox had smiled while it all happened.

No. No pity for a bastard like him.

A rush hit me—hot, electric, better than any win on the track. She was done with him. Finally done. She’d seen the truth I’d been trying to show her for months. The post had worked.

Whatever fallout came next, it was worth it. Kianna was slipping out of his grasp, and maybe—just maybe—she’d turn back to me.

But then Lysander’s hand closed around hers as they walked away, and the rush soured.

I hated him, from whatever set ups he was always up to. He’s the true definition of a snake under grass. Always polite in the halls, always smiling that soft, knowing smile. But there was something off about him..from his involvement with the shooting, being Trent’s friend and faking moments around kianna.

I don’t even know why she’s still always allowing someone as cunning as hell hang around him. He always appear when things get messy and the way Kianna leaned on him now—the way she let him pull her away from Maddox made my skin crawl.

I stayed there longer than I should have, watching the spot where they’d disappeared, spiraling deeper into the dark loop of my thoughts.

What if she didn’t come back to me? What if she went to Lysander instead? What if the bond snapped into place on her birthday and she still hated me for everything that had happened on Pearl Street? What if....

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Not a text but a call from an unknown number. I almost let it go to voicemail. But something made me answer, pressing the phone to my ear as I stepped deeper into the alley beside the bookstore.

"Hello?"

A voice came through—distorted, auto-tuned into something inhuman. Low and amused.

"Enjoying the show, Mordred?"

Ice slid down my spine..."What?"

" How does it feel to get a front row seat to Maddox getting dumped Infront of a cinema.Was hiding across the street really necessary? You could’ve just asked me for an update."

My head snapped up, eyes scanning the street. People milled around the ticket booth, couples heading in for the late show, a group of drunk college kids laughing too loud.

No one was looking at me. No one was holding a phone or looking suspicious.

"How..." My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. "How do you know where I am?"

A soft, mechanical laugh came through before a reply. "I know a lot of things."

"Who the hell are you?" I hissed, backing further into the alley, heart hammering. "What do you want? Why are you doing this—helping me, stalking me, whatever the fuck this is?"

Silence stretched long enough that I thought he’d hung up.

Then: "Intentions are boring, Mordred. Results are what matter. And look at the results tonight. She walked away from him because of you."

I swallowed hard, making sure my voice came in bolder than before. "That doesn’t answer my question." 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

"It answers enough for now." Another laugh, colder this time. "Keep playing the game. You’re doing so well."

Then the line went dead.

I stared at the screen until it dimmed, then whipped around again, searching the shadows. Nothing, there’s no one. Just the distant hum of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from the cinema crowd.

My hands were shaking, what the heck have I gotten myself into? Who the hell is this? I need to get out of here, this is getting creepy.

I needed people around me—loud, normal people who didn’t speak in auto-tune and know where I was standing at any given moment.

The Vipers’ garage was twenty minutes away on my bike. I didn’t think. I just walked fast to where I’d parked behind the diner, threw on my helmet, and roared out of downtown like the shadows were chasing me.

The garage was an old converted warehouse on the edge of the industrial district—graffiti-covered roll-up doors, neon beer signs flickering in the windows and the constant low thrum of engines and heavy metal.

Home, in a way school and my apartment never were. Inside, the crew was already deep into planning the next underground race—New Year’s Eve, out by the abandoned airstrip.

Maps were spread across a folding table, Some were drowning in alcohol with smoke thick in the air.

"Mordred!" Jax called when I pushed through the side door. "Thought you’d bailed on us tonight, man."

I forced a grin, shrugging out of my jacket. "Wouldn’t miss it."

They made room for me at the table, shoved a beer into my hand. Someone cranked the music louder.

For a while, it worked—the noise, the familiarity, the easy bullshit. We argued over route changes, bet amounts and who’d ride cleanup. I laughed in the right places, nodded along, let the normalcy sink in.

Then Rico—quiet, intense Rico who rarely spoke unless he had something heavy to say—leaned back in his chair and started a story.

"You guys remember my buddy Diego from Eastside crew? The one with the mayor’s son beating the shit out of his old man every weekend?"

A couple of the guys grunted yeah.

"Diego wanted out bad. Like, pack-a-bag-and-disappear out. Then one day this random burner number hits him up. Says, ’I can help you get free. No more beatings. Your dad pays for what he’s done.’ Diego’s desperate, right? So he says yes."

I felt the beer turn sour in my stomach and I shifted uncomfortably but nooded to him to continue.

"The stranger feeds him info—bank accounts, shady deals the dad was into, even photos of some affair. Tells Diego exactly what to do: leak this, post that, make it anonymous. Diego does it. Dad goes down hard—arrested for embezzlement, campaign ruined, whole nine. Diego thinks he’s finally free."

Rico took a slow pull from his bottle, exhaled deeply, then continued.

"Except the stranger doesn’t stop. Keeps calling. New instructions. Smaller at first—steal this file, plant that evidence. Diego tries to back out, says he’s done but the stranger laughs and sent him a video of himself doing one of the early jobs. Blackmail now. Keeps pushing. Fraud, money laundering, deeper and deeper until Diego’s in so far he can’t see daylight."

Jax snorted. "Sounds like some bullshit urban legend, man."

Rico shrugged. "Maybe. But Diego’s locked up now. And in the psych ward on top of it. Screams every night that someone’s still talking in his head, giving orders. Won’t sleep. Says the voice is always watching."

The garage felt suddenly colder. A couple guys laughed it off—ghost stories for bikers—but I couldn’t. I sat there frozen, beer untouched, Rico’s words echoing with the auto-tuned laugh still ringing in my ears.

What if that was me next?

I’d already done the first job—uploaded the videos. Taken the stranger’s help. And tonight... tonight he’d known exactly where I was and what I was watching.

I excused myself early, claiming a headache from the ride. No one pushed; they were too deep in race logistics.

Outside, the night air hit like a slap. I leaned against my bike, staring at the stars I couldn’t see through the city glow, trying to breathe steady.

For the first time since this started, I was abit scared. Not of Maddox, not of losing Kianna but Of the person on the other end of the phone.

Because whoever they were, they weren’t just helping me destroy Maddox.

They were playing a much longer game.

And I was already on the board.