Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 44: The Boss Trap

Maddox’s POV:

The drive home was a blur of red taillights and pounding rain, the wipers slapping a rhythm that matched the throb in my jaw where Sinclair’s fist had connected.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening as the memory replayed: his rage-filled eyes, his insults and the way he’d shoved me like I was nothing.

That bastard! Always playing the hero where he’s not even needed and always the one who got the girl. Kianna’s pleading but protective face when she’d stopped him twisted something deep in my gut.

She still cared about him, even after everything. Even after I’d handed her the truth on a silver platter at Pearl Street.

Kianna’s always weak, always...and that’s why I tried to help her become tougher, but she thought I was harsh on her.

I pulled into the garage, the door rumbling shut behind me like a final curtain on the night’s shitshow.

The house was dark but felt empty. My Dad must probably be outside for one of his illegal deals or out on some business trip, I don’t actually care. In fact I hope he even dies wherever he is.

I didn’t need an audience for this meltdown. I slammed the car door, the echo bouncing off the concrete walls, and stormed inside, flicking on lights as I went.

The kitchen gleamed under the fluorescent lights,displaying the luxurious kitchen appliances and the ship shaped marble counter. But all this money couldn’t buy me the only thing I wanted: Kianna back.

I collapsed onto a barstool, head in my hands, the frustration boiling over like acid in my veins.

"Fuck you, Mordred," I muttered to the empty room.

He had everything: her trust, her heart, her body and even her soul. But he’d thrown it away with those whores at Pearl.

I’d set it up perfectly, making sure everything between them collapsed that very day as Boss had ordered.

Get the word out about a "distress call" from a friend’s girlfriend at the VIP suite, knowing Mordred’s hero complex would drag him straight into the trap.

And there he was, surrounded by the girls we’d paid to hang on him, cuff in hand like some king of debauchery. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Kianna walking in at the exact moment? Chef’s kiss. But seeing her shatter like that... it wasn’t the victory I’d imagined. It hurt. More than it should.

The boss had been clear: eliminate Mordred from her life, make him the villain, and step in as the reformed hero. It was working gradually.

Thanks to the boss’s grand plan,Kianna is slowly trusting me. Tsk! Maddox the savior...But why did it feel like I was losing too?

My phone buzzed on the counter dragging me back to reality, I picked it up and it was from a burner line with no caller ID.

This is obviously Boss. I answered on the first ring, auto-tune crackling through the speaker like static from hell.

"Report," the voice said, mechanical and cold.

I straightened, even though he couldn’t see me. "It worked, boss..." I said quickly with an edge of sudden happiness.

"She saw him with the girls we paid to hang around him at Pearl... They’re fighting now."

The voice began laughing in that satanic manner he used to when everything was going according to plan.

"Good." He finally uttered, then paused for a few seconds before adding.

"Lay low now. Don’t get close to her yet, She’s not ready for a relationship. Let the wound fester first."

I nodded to the empty kitchen and muttered to him:

"Understood, but... boss, I owe you for this genius plan, if it’s not for you I wouldn’t have this opportunity. Let me meet you..just once. I have a gift for you, just something to say thanks for everything."

The auto-tune laughed again, that distorted but chilling sound echoing through my phone.

"No meetings.. Stay away." he replied, "And I repeat, lay low for now." Then the line went dead.

I tossed the phone on the counter, frustration bubbling up again. Who the hell was this guy? Always burner phones, always auto-tune, like some ghost in a machine.

He’d come out of nowhere two weeks ago, after making me take the fall of being anonymous, then told me all Mordred’s dirty secrets Kianna had no idea of; secrets about Pearl Street, the racing, the deals in the dark and even who Mordred really is.

He’d laid out the plan step by step: use style to isolate Kianna, frame Mordred as the cheat, then position me as the redeemed ex.

And it was working. He’d even told me to apologize publicly, to cry in front of everyone and make it look real.

He’d said in the voice call, " If you want to get through your enemy....you need to break yourself in order to break him."

And I’d done it, letting him control me like a puppet, but in the best way possible. No demands or threats—just results.

But what was his catch? Why help me get rid of Mordred? What did he gain from handing me Kianna on a silver platter?

The guy had influence, insane access to private racing logs, CCTV feeds and even the silver card that got me into Pearl’s VIP.

Whoever he was, he played in leagues I could only dream of. He always felt like a puzzle I wouldn’t be able to solve.

Is he a rival racer? Someone Mordred crossed? Or just a sadist who liked watching people burn?

I pushed off the stool, the throb in my lip pulling me back to the present. Sinclair’s punch had split it open, that asshole.

I grabbed the first-aid kit from the bathroom cabinet and sat on my bed to dress the wound.

The mirror showed a mess: swollen cheek with blood crusted at the corner of my mouth.

"Gosh my pretty face." I groaned, as I dabbed antiseptic on it, hissing at the sting.

This was his fault, all of it. If he hadn’t stolen her from me, none of this would’ve happened. I’d eliminate him from her life even if it was the last thing I’ll ever have to do.

Slowly but painfully, making sure he knows how it feels for something you cherish to be snatched away from you. And thanks to the boss, I was already halfway there.

My phone buzzed again, this time it wasn’t from a burner phone. It was a text from Jayden, my tracker friend. It says,

"I’ve succeeded in tracking the boss’s call, I have the location, meet me now at my place."

My pulse spiked and began throbbing, "Ahh, Finally." I breathed out.

I’d slipped Jayden access to my phone weeks ago, just in case—paranoid habit from Dad’s business deals. If we could pin down the boss, maybe I could turn the tables: Find his identity or at least gift him something for once, and maybe figure out his angle.

I texted back immediately, "On my way."

And rushed to the garage, the lights in there flickered on as I grabbed my keys. I pressed it towards my sports car and sat in as it purred to life like an eager beast.

The rain had stopped, but the roads were slick, reflecting the city lights in oily puddles.

Jayden’s place was on the edge of town—a rundown apartment above a pawn shop, perfect for a guy who dealt in shadows and signals.

I pulled up fifteen minutes later, the street was empty under the sodium lamps. The front door was ajar. This is odd, Jayden was paranoid as hell; he never left his door open. Security was his religion.

I called his phone as I approached. "Jay? I’m here. Your door’s open, is everything cool?"

His voice crackled through."Yeah, man. Come in and close it behind you."

I pushed the door wider, stepping into the dim hallway. The place smelled like old pizza and electronics—wires dangling from the ceiling and screens flickering in the living room at the end.

"Jayden? Where are you at?" I said, but got no response. The door slammed shut behind me as if someone had closed it behind me.

I spun—just in time to see a shadow who swung something heavy at me. A stick? A bat?I had no idea.

It cracked against my skull with a sound like thunder in my head, then the pain exploded as the world began tilting sideways.Then darkness swallowed me whole.

Waking up felt like clawing through mud—head pounding, mouth tasting like copper with my limbs heavy and numb. I groaned, trying to move, but ropes bit into my wrists and ankles, tying me to a wooden chair that creaked under my weight.

The room was dim, lit by a single bulb swinging overhead, casting long shadows across concrete walls.

Jayden was beside me, tied the same way, his face bruised and bloodied, one eye swollen shut.

"Jay?" I rasped. "What the fuck..."

Across the room, on a worn leather couch, sat a figure in a black hoodie with his face hidden behind a mask.

Five guards flanked him—big guys in tactical gear, guns holstered but fingers resting on triggers, eyes cold and unblinking.

The figure leaned forward, and the auto-tune voice crackled to life, mechanical and mocking. "How dare you, fool, think you can outsmart me?"

My breath hitched and my eyes flanked wide open like I’ve just seen a ghost.

" The Boss?"