Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 14: His Visit to safety

The shouting downstairs grew louder—men barking orders and the sound of boots slamming against the marble floor. My pulse hammered in my ears as I listened carefully to the voices.

Then without wasting much time I texted Mordred with my room location. I heard my step sister’s cries from downstairs and my step mom’s yelling voice.

What’s going on downstairs? Has Mordred been caught too? Oh no, this won’t help, I tried calling his phone but it didn’t go through.

The air inside the dim room felt colder and heavier, like the walls themselves knew something violent was coming.

Then before I could explode in countless thoughts another gunshot tore through the silence.

And for a brief moment, everywhere was quiet, the kind that made my stomach twist. I don’t even know what is going on again and who got shot

If my step father finds out I’m the one behind all this nonsense, I’ll receive the punishment of my life.

I need to do something before it’s too late. And so I picked my phone and tried calling him again but still didn’t go through. Then I texted him,

" Mordred what’s going on? Are you okay? Please say something."

Right after hitting the send button, I heard a sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway.

I pressed a shaky hand over my mouth immediately, forcing myself to breathe quietly.

My mind screamed run, but my body couldn’t move. Not until the footsteps stopped right outside the door.

Then the doorknob turned once and bursted open.

A tall figure filled the doorway, wearing dark clothes and a black leather jacket. His eyes were like a storm ready to break when he entered, It was none other but Mordred Sinclair.

For a second, my heart forgot how to beat. He didn’t say a word,his gaze swept the room in a sharp and calculating manner before landing on me.

I could barely whisper his name, "Mordred?"

He crossed the room in long, angry strides. "Are you hurt?" His voice was low but harsh—barely human.

I shook my head, as my hands trembled at my side. "N-no, but..."

He didn’t let me finish. He reached down, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me up against his chest.

His grip was rough, but his touch felt safe. "We’re leaving," he said, his tone final. "Now."

Behind him, I could see one of the guards sprawled on the hallway floor, he was either unconscious or worse. My throat went dry as I shivered at the sight. What did he just do?

"Don’t look," he muttered, his jaw tightening. "You don’t need to see all that."

Before I could protest, he slipped one arm around my waist, the other behind my knees, and lifted me off the floor like I weighed nothing.

"Mordred! Put me down—someone will see..."

"Let them," he growled, his voice vibrating against my skin. "Anyone who touches you after tonight won’t live to see daylight."

My breath caught. The raw fury in his tone was terrifying... and yet, somehow, I like it.

He carried me down the corridor, stepping over broken glass and empty bullet shells. My mind spun—this was madness. But the warmth of his arms, the steady beat of his heart against mine, anchored me in that chaos.

Outside, the night air hit cold and sharp. His motorbike waited near the gate, black and gleaming under the moonlight. Two more guards ran toward us—Mordred moved faster.

He grabbed a metal stick and used it to hit them. Then he placed his hand on his earphone and muttered, " We’re outside, leave the family and meet me at my private villa."

Then turned to me, eyes still burning. "It’s all over now," he uttered softly.

"How about my parents? What happened to them? Won’t they come after me?" I asked him, expecting a flicker of fear in him. But instead, his gaze never wavered.

He reached out and held my hand and whispered, "Let them try." Swinging one leg over the bike.

His hands moved to grab me by the waist and raised me until I was seated in front of him. "Hold onto the bike, Kianna." he uttered.

I hesitated with fear, this was my very first bike ride, and I was feeling nervous.

"Now!" His tone was commanding, the kind that made disobedience impossible.

I held the handle tightly as he revved the engine. The bike roared to life, echoing through the empty courtyard.

Within seconds, we were flying through the open gates, the wind tearing through my hair.

My tears blurred the night lights, but I didn’t care. Every second we sped away felt like breathing for the first time.

Mordred’s arm tightened around my waist, keeping me steady. I could feel the tension in his body—rage, fear, something deeper he wasn’t saying.

"You shouldn’t have come," I murmured over the roar of the wind.

He leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You called me," he said. "You knew I’d come."

I swallowed hard, he was right. I did know, even when I swore to stay away, a part of me had always known that Mordred Sinclair would burn the world to find me if I needed him.

When we finally reached the outskirts of the city, he slowed, taking a turn into a narrow path surrounded by trees.

The road was silent now—only the hum of the engine and the wild rhythm of my heartbeat filled the night.

After a few minutes, he pulled up beside a secluded stone house. It looked like a hideout or a private space.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he reached out, brushing his thumb over my cheek where tears had dried.

"Next time," he said slowly, "don’t wait for me to save you. Run."

His eyes softened, but his jaw stayed clenched tight. He helped me off the bike, still keeping a hand on my back as if afraid I’d vanish.

Inside, the warmth of the small cabin wrapped around me like a shield. Mordred locked the door behind us, dropped his gun on the counter, and exhaled—long, heavy, and full of restrained anger.

I stood there, speechless, my heart still racing from the escape. "You could’ve been killed," I whispered.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. "And if I hadn’t come, you would’ve been in distress or worse."

The silence that followed was thick, electric.

I didn’t know whether to thank him or scream at him for scaring me half to death. But when he finally looked at me, the fury in his eyes had dimmed—replaced by something else.

"Rest now, Kianna," he said quietly. "You’re safe here. As long as I’m breathing, no one will hurt you...it’s part of the deal, remember? After all, I’m your boyfriend."

I couldn’t help it but smirk at him for saying that. He’s so full of himself, it’s crazy.

He led me to a guest room and asked me to make myself feel at home, we’ll deal with everything later.

How possibly could fake dating lead me into all this. Gosh, I’m literally dating a Mafia boy under disguise. And now I know the rumors about him weren’t an exaggeration at all.

I locked the door from inside, took a shower and changed into a robe I saw in the empty closet before laying on the bed.

I nearly dozed off until I heard a knock at my door, followed by a yelling voice.

" Kiana! Open the door."