Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 30: The Price of Defeat

Maddox’s Pov:

The first thing I felt was the pain, white-hot and everywhere, like my body had been fed through a meat grinder and spat out wrong.

My wrist throbbed in its cast, a dull, relentless drumbeat that matched the pulse in my swollen jaw.

Every breath pulled at cracked ribs; every twitch sent fire through my bruised organs.

I tried to sit up and the room spun with fluorescent lights stabbing into my skull. I’m at the hospital, ofcourse.

The sterile smell of antiseptic and bleach hit me next, followed by the low hum of machines and the distant murmur of voices.

Trent was in the bed beside mine, his face a purple mess of bruises and bandages with one eye swollen shut.

He looked smaller than I remembered, like the beating had deflated him. Kylie sat on a plastic chair between us, legs crossed, scrolling her phone with the kind of calm that only sociopaths can fake.

A detective in a cheap suit stood at the foot of my bed, flanked by two police men who looked bored out of their minds.

"Mr. Bianchi," the detective said, flipping his notebook open. "Care to tell us what three high school kids were doing in an abandoned warehouse at midnight?"

I forced my cracked lips into something like a smile. "Kidnapped," I croaked, my throat felt like sandpaper.

"Some biker psycho and his gang jumped us, tied us up and beat the shit out of us. We managed to get free, but..." I gestured weakly at my cast. "You know the rest."

Trent nodded, wincing terribly. "Yeah..." he breathed, adding up to the lie. "....they took our phones and wallets and said something about a girl called Kianna Martin. They thought we knew where she was."

Kylie didn’t even look up from her screen. "Same.." he whispered more to herself than to all of us. "I was just visiting Trent. But unfortunately got involved."

The detective scribbled something on his note but looked unimpressed as fuck. It seems he knew all of it was a made up story.

"And this biker, what’s his name?" he asked, eyes still locked on his notepad.

"Mordred Sinclair," I replied, letting the hate drip into every syllable. "He’s got a crew. Black Vipers or some biker gang bullshit. Check the cameras outside. You’ll see."

One of the police men snorted. "We will. But right now, you three are lucky to be alive. Doctor says you’ll need weeks to heal, Mr. Bianchi. Broken wrist, three cracked ribs and internal bruising. You’re on strict bed rest—no school, no lacrosse and no parties for three weeks minimum."

Three weeks minimum, the words landed like a slap. No practice, no parties, no Kianna watching me from the bleachers like she used to.

Just me, this bed, and the memory of Mordred’s fists turning my face into hamburger.

The detective snapped his notebook shut and finally lifted his head to look me in the eye."We’ll be in touch. Don’t leave town."

I nodded in response, then they filed out, and the door clicked shut. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Silence rushed in, broken only by Trent’s ragged breathing and Kylie’s soft typing. I closed my eyes, trying to push the pain down, but it clung to me like damp rot.

Then the door flew open again. This time it was an unexpected guest. The one and only Pedro Bianchi, the Mayor of this town and also my father.

He filled the doorway like a storm cloud, wearing his favorite tailored suit with his silver hair slicked back.

He had the same cold blue eyes that had stared down at me since I was six years old and too small to fight back.

The nurses scattered the moment he entered.Even the heart monitor seemed to beep faster.

He didn’t speak at first, just stared at me dead in the eyes.Then slowly his lip curled like he’d smelled something rotten.

Before I could open my mouth to speak, his hand cracked across my face. The slap was sharp enough to split my lip again, getting my mouth filled with blood.

"You stupid little shit," he hissed, voice low so the nurses wouldn’t hear. "Do you have any idea how much this is costing me? Hospital bills, the police, the CCTV footage I had to buy? You think money grows on trees, Maddox? You think I enjoy cleaning up your messes?"

I tried to sit up, but the pain pinned me. "Dad, I’m sorry I....."

"Shut the fuck up!" He yelled, then slapped me again. Harder and painful than the first one, making my head snap to the side.

"Don’t, don’t you dare speak...You let some street rat and his biker trash beat you half to death in a warehouse like common criminals."

He leaned in, breath hot with coffee and contempt.

"I have sons of colleagues, real men—who run companies before twenty-five. And definitely don’t end up in hospital beds looking like they lost a fight with a truck. I regret the day you were born, Maddox. You’re weak and pathetic."

Tears stung my eyes, hot and humiliating. I blinked them back, but one escaped, sliding down my cheek. He saw it and his face twisted further.

"Crying? You’re crying? Stop it. Stop it right now. It makes me sick."

He straightened, adjusting his cufflinks like this was a boardroom, not my hospital bed. "Who’s the biker?"

"Mordred Sinclair," I mumbled, hating how small my voice sounded.

Dad’s eyes narrowed." Did you say Sinclair? The Kane family’s bastard project. I’ve heard whispers, and you let that gutter trash touch you?"

He laughed, cold and sharp. "Fix it, make him disappear. I don’t care how, hire whoever you need. But if I see your name in another police report or worse, the society pages—I’ll cut you off. No trust fund , no allowance. Nothing. You’ll be begging on the street with the rest of the rats."

Then he turned to leave but paused at the doorway and added. "And stop obsessing over that girl. She’s not worth this."

Then the door slammed shut. The room spun, I stared at the ceiling, trying to hold it all in. But the tears kept coming in silent and burning.Trent pretended to sleep and Kylie didn’t look up at all.

Why should it always be me? When people see me, the first thing that comes into their minds is that I’m a lucky child. My father is Mayor and a rich man who has no children except for me.

But in his eyes? I’m just the child of his secretary whom he killed for betraying him. I’m nobody but a result of an affair, a mistake that cost him millions.

What’s so lucky about that? I’ve spent my entire years trying to prove myself that I could be more than a son of a secretary. But none ever satisfied him. Why? Because I shouldn’t have been born in the first place.

The more I think of it the more I feel like going insane.I used to hide under dinner tables every single time my mom ever made a mistake because I would take the blame

I hid in closets because I feared he’ll fulfil his threats of killing me whenever something goes wrong as a child.

At an early age of 16, I had already mastered how to lie immediately when caught in an act as a survival instinct.

Slowly, I began enjoying watching people’s pain because that’s how I could cope with mine. Every bruise he’d ever given me from my childhood throbbed in sympathy with the new ones.

And all of it because of that shitty Mordred Sinclair. Because of him, I’ve become that good for nothing son again. Something I swore never to go back to.

I reached for my phone on the stand with my good hand and the first thing I saw was a picture of Kianna and I back in the days.

My thumb hovered on the screen, and memories flooded in....her trying so hard to please me, wearing the dresses I liked, laughing at my jokes even when they cut.

I’d mocked her weight, her friends, her dreams, and she’d stayed. Because she thought she loved me. Because I made her feel small enough to need me and now she had him.

And once again I became useless to her too, something I’ve spent my whole life preventing from happening.

I had to endure torturing her, just put fear in her. Fear of leaving me and the fear of the consequences.

"Until that bastard showed up!" I screamed and swept the bedside table clear.

Pill bottles, water cup, the plastic jug and everything crashed to the floor in a symphony of shattering glass and rolling pills.

A nurse rushed in, but I waved her off with my good arm, chest heaving. Mordred Sinclair would pay. I decided, wiping my face with the back of my cast.

Not just for the beating but for taking what belongs to me. And most importantly for making me feel this small.

I placed my head on a pillow and took a deep breath. But the relaxation didn’t even take a second long and my phone began ringing.

An unknown number, but I recognized it immediately. The only person who does that is Boss.

I picked it up, then his robotic voice filter came through. He always calls with a burner phone and different numbers.

"You told him nothing?" the voice asked, cold and metallic.

"No," I replied quickly, sitting up despite the pain. "I took the fall, like always. They think it was just me getting revenge."

There was a long pause before his voice came through again. "Good, now take good care of yourself. We have a lot to do."

"But when will you let me meet you in person?" I demanded, voice cracking.

"And why’s that? Aren’t you happy I’m helping you bring down someone you hate the most?" He asked, his tone a bit sharper.

"Ye-yes, I am." I replied. "But if I may ask why do you hate Sinclair so much? Why help me get Kianna?"

"Mind your business," the voice said. "You’ll know when it’s time. For now, rest. Our next move will be on Mordred’s family."

Then the line went dead. I stared at the phone, the robotic echo lingering. He’s the real Anonymous. Not Kylie of Trent, they just got paid to take the fall as well.

He’s someone with money, connections, and a grudge deeper than mine. Someone who knew Mordred’s weak spots and fed me just enough to keep me hooked.

The more I think of who it could be, the more my brain goes blank. The puzzle was too hard to solve.

Why let us do his dirty jobs? And for some scary reason he knows everything I do or happens.

I didn’t really care who he was. As long as he helped me break Mordred Sinclair, I’d play along.

Because Kianna was mine. And no one, no street rat and no robotic ghost would take her from me again.

Even if I had to burn the world down to prove it, I would do so with all my heart.