Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 41: At the end of the crossroads
Kianna’s POV
The roar of the engines hit like a wall, the air vibrating with raw power as the bikes surged forward in a blur of chrome and smoke.
My heart slammed against my ribs, the crowd’s cheers drowning out everything but the thunder of the race.
It’s my first time seeing Mordred like this—helmet down, body hunched low over the handlebars, his black suit clinging to every muscle as he leaned into the turn.
Despite the doubt gnawing at my gut, and the suspicion that had kept me up half the night, I still couldn’t tear my eyes away.
He was like a force cutting through the pack like a blade, tires screeching as he overtook the leader on the first straightaway.
The women in the stands screamed his name, waving signs scrawled with heart emojis and "Marry Me, Mordred!" in glittering paint.
He was a celebrity here, the king of this underground world, and they were ready to risk it all for a glance, a smile or a piece of him.
And it stung more than I expected, that once-private thought of him as ’my’ mystery now on display for everyone to crave.
Maddox sat beside me in the crowded bleachers, his presence felt like a strange anchor in the chaos.
He’d bought me boba and popcorn from a vendor cart earlier, shoving them into my hands with a sheepish "Figured you’d need snacks for the show."
The boba was strawberry—my favorite, somehow remembered from our old days, and the popcorn was warm and salted just right.
We watched in tense silence, his bandaged hand resting on his knee with his eyes fixed on the track like he was measuring every move.
"He’s good," Maddox admitted after Mordred pulled a risky pass that left the crowd gasping. "Too good. That’s what gets people killed here."
I didn’t respond, my fingers tightened around the boba straw. The race blurred on with laps ticking down, Mordred holding the lead with a precision that looked effortless but wasn’t.
When the checkered flag dropped, he crossed first, the crowd erupting in a frenzy. He pulled off his helmet, shaking out his dark hair, and flashed that crooked smile toward the stands. The women went wild, some were crying out loud and yelling his name like prayer.
Maddox stood, offering me a hand up. "Come on. The real show’s after."
I hesitated, but followed him through the throng, the air thick with exhaust and excitement.
He led me to a side gate marked "VIP Only", flashing the same silver card to the guards—a pair of massive guys with earpieces and visible holsters. They nodded us through without a word.
The secret area was a world apart from the rowdy stands—luxurious tents strung with lights, velvet ropes sectioning off lounges where people in expensive suits mingled with racers still in their gear.
Smoke curled from cigars, champagne popped, and half-naked women circulated with trays of drinks that sparkled under the chandeliers.
It reeked of money and danger, illegal deals whispered in corners while laughter masked the tension.
A guy in a sharp suit approached Maddox, leaning in to whisper something. Maddox nodded, then turned to me. "This way."
He guided me through the crowd, his hand light on my back—protective and almost possessive.
A strange warmth stirred in my chest, unbidden. My wolf reacted inside me for the first time ever, a low rumble that made my skin tingle.
Was it Maddox’s closeness? The boy I’d once thought was my fated mate, back when we were together and I’d dreamed of that pull, that unbreakable bond? Or was it the fact that my true fated mate was somewhere nearby, even though I was dating a human like Mordred?
The comfort was uncontrollable, a sense of rightness that clashed with everything I knew. I shook it off, focusing on the path ahead.
The guy led us to a door at the back of the main tent, nodding once before disappearing. Maddox pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room that smelled of sweat and something sweeter, more forbidden. And my stomach dropped at the sight.
It was a bedroom with a plush king-size bed taking up most of the space, scattered with silk pillows and discarded clothes. But it wasn’t empty.
Men lounged on couches, women in lingerie draped over them, the air thick with moans and the snap of leather.
BDSM tools hung from racks on the wall—cuffs, whips, blindfolds and some in use as a couple in the corner played out a scene that made my cheeks burn. I averted my eyes, heat flooding my face.
"What is this?" I hissed at Maddox, backing toward the door.
He caught my arm gently. "Wait. We have to stay here. Someone’s coming to take us to Mordred’s area. It’s the VIP waiting room. It’s stupid, I know, but it’s how it works here."
I wanted to bolt, but curiosity pinned me in place. We sat on the edge of a couch whilst Maddox tried to shield me from the worst of the views.
The moans grated on my nerves, a soundtrack to the depravity unfolding around us.
Minutes stretched like hours until another guy—tall, with a scar across his cheek appeared at the door, gesturing for us to follow.
He led us through a back corridor, away from the tents, to a luxurious suite tucked behind the main building.
It had beautiful marble floors, leather sofas and a bar stocked with top-shelf liquor. And there, in the center of it all, was Mordred.
He was shirtless, racing suit peeled to his waist with his muscles glistening with sweat under the low lights.
A group of women surrounded him—half-naked, laughing as they touched his arms, his chest, one running her fingers through his hair.
He held a cuff in one hand, it was glinting like a promise as he dangled it playfully as if deciding who to "claim" next.
The scene hit like a punch to the gut. Mordred, my Mordred was in here doing the worst that I never imagined. And he was smiling that easy smile I’d thought was just for me.
I fumbled for my phone, hands shaking as I snapped pictures through the cracked door. I needed evidence to back up my claims before going to talk to him.
I told myself I needed to be strong, I shouldn’t show any form of weakness over here, not like this and not in front of Maddox.
But the sobs came uncontrollably, it felt like a dagger had been shoved into my chest, I began choking and suffocating from the edge of holding it in.
Tears began falling onto my phone screen as I snapped the pictures with trembling hands.
The man I’d loved, the one who’d promised protection, the one I’d swore was the best I could ever have, tangled in this web of lies and lust.
Maddox tried to pull me back when he saw I wanted to enter the room.
"Kianna..." he whispered softly.
But I couldn’t stop. I burst through the door, clapping slowly, sarcastically, tears streaming down my face. "Bravo, Mordred. What a show."
The room froze for a second then the women scattered like startled birds.
Mordred’s eyes widened in shock, the cuff dropping from his hand with a clatter. "Kianna? what the hell are you.."
"Doing here? " I interrupted, my voice breaking but steady. " So this was what you were hiding so desperately? This was what you were trying to protect me from?"
Maddox entered behind me and placed one hand on my shoulder. " Kianna enough, I think we should go." He muttered under his breath.
But I wasn’t done with Mordred yet. " Answer me Mordred, Do I look like a fool to you? huh? It’s over...it’s over between. Don’t ever call or try to explain anything, I’ve seen enough for the day."
Mordred quickly stepped forward with a frowned face after hearing me tell him it’s over. "Wait Kianna, this isn’t what it looks like. I can explain..."
"Explain?" I laughed through the tears, the sound bitter and broken. "How are you going to explain? That you toyed with me because I was some kind of pathetic eager female who wanted to be loved? Or like how you explained the tracking? No. I’m done being your fool."
He reached for me, but I backed away. The pain was unbearable—the betrayal, a knife twisting in the spot where I’d once felt safe.
Mordred’s face crumpled. "Please..."
"It’s over," I repeated, then turned and left without looking back, Maddox’s hand on my elbow guiding me out as the world blurred with tears.
