Chapter 5 Xavier
XAVIER
She’s fucking gorgeous. No wonder Isaiah is obsessed with her.
All teeth and attitude, thick thighs wrapped in that short, reckless skirt that barely counts as fabric. She is a fucking seductress. A fucking sin. And a fucking undoing with a smart mouth that deserves to be stuffed, and fucked.
She is supposed to be a means to an end. A bargaining chip. The contract between her father’s cartel and the Raiders is the only thing keeping the Vipers from tearing us apart after Marcus’s death. She isn’t meant to matter. She is leverage, nothing more.
But the second I drop her at my feet, I know it isn’t going to be that simple.
She isn’t just collateral—she is a fire lit right in the middle of my hell.
Every glance from those green eyes, every smart-mouthed answer, every inch of defiance—it all dares me to forget why she is here in the first place.
She is supposed to be a step in proving to the world that the Raiders won’t be weakened by his death.
She is supposed to be punishment incarnate, our statement of strength.
Instead, she is becoming a fucking liability.
Isaiah is too attached to her. Asher is intrigued by her.
And I can’t get her plump pink lips out of my fucking head.
The Vipers are still breathing down our necks. The cartel is still watching. And I’m stuck with the girl who is meant to be an example, but somehow turns into the only piece of this game I don’t want to lose.
Because do you hear the way she talks? The teasing in her voice?
The smart-ass answers to every question like she is untouchable?
She won’t shut her pink little mouth until I am a second away from either pulling a gun on her—or bending her over just to shut her up.
And even then—does she apologize? Beg? Drop to her knees and offer me something for her life?
No.
She stares me dead in the eyes, unflinching, and has the audacity to be rude. I tell her she is the bottom bitch of this club, and she laughs—laughs right in my face—and asks if she is taking my spot.
I’ve killed for less.
I’ve seen the club tear people apart for less. Hell, before Cassandra became everyone’s favorite mouth to use, I watched Marcus make her a footstool for seven straight hours because she spit in his face. Seven hours on her knees while the whole damn club walked by like she wasn’t even human.
And this girl thinks she can laugh at me?
By Tuesday, I’ll have her on her hands and knees, begging just for the chance to lick the toe of my boot.
Goddamn, I shouldn’t have thought about that.
Valentina has these curves that belong in a sin-soaked cartoon, all Jessica Rabbit lines with a body that looks like it is made to ruin men.
Thighs thick enough to crush a man’s skull and make him grateful for the death.
Eyes—bright, burning green—that hit like a spotlight in a dark room.
Blonde hair threaded with brown so it gleams like molten gold when the light hits it.
And those lips. Christ. Soft, full, baby-pink lips that look like they’d melt against my tongue, sweet as whipped cream. She looks like she tastes of honeysuckle and cherries—summer and sin in the same breath.
I want a taste. I want a bite.
Hell, I’d hand Isaiah a kidney, half my liver, and both lungs just for one lick of those lips.
But to feel them wrapped around my cock?
I might as well dig my own grave, because he would kill me before I even get close.
I guess that’s why my cock is buried down Cassandra’s throat, her eyes watering as I drive into her hard and fast, trying to erase those dull blue eyes in front of me and replace them with vibrant green ones full of defiance and hate.
I pull out, slow, all the way to the tip.
My thumbs dig into Cassandra’s cheeks as I force her to look at me.
Strings of spit cling to my cock, dripping from the crown.
Normally, the sight of her messy and eager like this—the wet slide of her mouth, the way she waits for me to shove back in—would make me groan and use her until she chokes.
But not tonight.
The only thing saving me from blue balls right now is the color of her hair—blonde, box-dyed, fake as hell, but just enough to spark a shadow of what I really want.
Because Valentina has me wound so tight I can barely think.
She pisses me off in a way that makes my fucking eyes crossed, a way that only Marcus and our father could bring out of me.
The kind of fury that can only be burned out by a good fuck or a brutal fight—and at this rate, I am going to have to push Asher’s buttons just to find someone strong enough to hit back without dying when I finally snap and punch a little too long.
I drive my cock down Cassandra’s lukewarm throat one last time and let my mind slip—straight to Valentina.
To the way her ass fit right against me when she threw her head back, cracked my nose, and I didn’t even care.
The sting of it still throbs, and fuck, that pain alone makes me want to come.
Makes me want to pin her to the ground and take her there, in the dirt, while she tries to claw me to pieces.
Because I know exactly what kind of girl she is. The kind who’d rake her nails down my spine, bite into my shoulder hard enough to draw blood just to keep from screaming my name. The kind who would rather die than admit that I make her shake apart.
I’d fuck her until she begs. Until that sharp mouth of hers is gagged from spitting curses at me. I’d choke her when she gasps that she’s done—that it’s too much, that she can’t come again—and keep going until she breaks. Until she squirts all over me and hates herself for it.
Fuck, I’d hate myself until I do it again, until I have my bruises, my hands all over her body fucking her sore. Fucking her speechless. Fucking her--
Shit. I cum down Cassadra’s throat, my eyes finally opening to see her look at me like a drunken fool as she swallows me down.
I pull my cock out even as she leans forward waiting to clean me off, but now that I have post-nut clarity and can see that she isn’t Valentina, I don’t want her to touch me anymore.
“Goddamnit Xavier, you took so long this time,” Cassandra pouts, holding her jaw in her hand and moving her head from side to side to stretch her neck until it pops.
“I think what you’re looking for is thank you,” I snap, tucking my still hard cock in my pants, because one: I have stamina, and two: that isn’t as satisfying as it normally is, meaning Cassandra is losing her touch. It’s about time. I have been fucking her for five months now.
“For what?” She squeaks. Cassandra’s voice had always been an annoying twinge to it like she talked with her nose and still tried to have the high pitch sound of Paris Hilton, not realizing that it was a fake voice she put on for cameras and not her real adult voice.
“Oh, I don’t know, let’s start with ‘thank you, Xavier, for letting me suck your cock’ despite being subpar,” I button my pants, shifting my cock into the waist band and pulling up the zipper.
“How about: ‘Thank you for letting me stay in your club rent free, and not kicking me out despite every guy’s old lady cussing me out for it every fucking day, because I can’t seem to stop flirting with everything with a dick’. ”
Cassandra is a runaway that we had taken in at seventeen.
The same girl I let my father beat the crap out of me for because he wanted to leave her for dead, but I stood up to him and demanded she have a place in the club.
The same girl who fucks half of the guys in here after me and the guys have protected her from them for years.
The same girl, who after rejecting him, Marcus threatened to pass around to any takers willingly or not, unless Isaiah, Asher, or I claim her.
The same girl who doesn’t have to be mine anymore, now that he’s dead.
She stands up, one of her talon-like hands rubbing up my bicep while the other ventures south. “Thank you baby, but you know I would be more thankful it you-”
I grab her wrist. “No.”
To everyone else in the club, it looks like I fuck Cassandra on the regular.
I claim her, so by the rules, she’s off-limits to anyone else.
And yeah, before I found out that she was sneaking around with Johnson, I’d finger her, get her off once or twice just to keep up appearances—but I would never actually fuck her.
I don’t sleep with randoms. Not in this life.
Biker clubs are a nest of gossip and territory wars, and as the leader of the Raiders, I can’t risk some girl running around claiming she’s carrying my kid, and from the way she has been so insistant on fucking me lately I think she’s with child.
I guess that’s another reason she is not flat on her ass.
I wouldn’t do that to a baby, or a maybe pregnant woman. I am a tyrant not a monster.
Sooner than later I will have to kill Johnson.
I mean that is the price of being a Raider; you don’t leave with your life.
The only one to do that is Landon Heart, and his girlfriend, Jasmine, is kicking up a fucking ruckus in my basement right now as punishment for him trying to leave, and for killing my father, but we can forgive that.
Jasmine was twelve and he was a pervert who liked them young.
Good fucking riddens to him. He wasn’t much of a father anyway.
Cassandra looks at me and pouts, making her blue eyes into saucers and sighing as she stares at her wrist in my hand. “Since you became leader, you’ve been no fun.”
“I wasn’t fun before,” I snap, shoving her hand away and cutting my glare toward the door. “Now get out. Go find Zay and Ash and tell them to get their asses in here.”
“Xavier, come on. Just a little—”