Chapter 7 Valentina #2
Xavier’s jaw flexes. His gaze sharpens like the edge of a blade. “He fucked you, Vixen?” He gestures lazily at me with the bottle, as if the words are casual—but the weight of them crushes the air out of my lungs.
My arms cross under my chest in defiance. “That’s none of your fucking business, King.”
“It definitely is.” His smirk tilts, dangerous—half promise, half threat. His voice doesn’t rise, but it coils through me, leaving no room for doubt. “Everything about you is my business.”
“Yeah, Angel, tell him,” Isaiah prods from the kitchen, delight glittering in his eyes as he digs into the fridge, stirring the pot just to watch it boil.
I keep my jaw tight, forcing silence. But Xavier doesn’t say a thing.
His gaze drags over me slowly, deliberately, from the mess of my hair to the oversized clothes hanging off me like rags.
I know I look ridiculous, swallowed by Isaiah’s sweatpants and shirt—but from the hunger sparking in his golden eyes, you’d think I was standing naked before him.
“Nah,” Xavier finally says, his tone absolute, smug. “He didn’t fuck you yet.”
I step off the last stair into the hallway, meeting that fire head-on. “And how the hell would you know, asshole?”
His lips curl, not quite a smile. More like a wolf baring its teeth. “If he fucked you then he didn’t do it well, did he?” his voice mocking and sharp with challenge.
“Hey, fucking rude, Xav,” Isaiah snarls, walking back over to me with a beer in one hand and my favorite brand of Doppelbock in the other.
Fuck. He isn’t lying when he says he’s been watching me.
Doppelbock isn’t some common beer you stumble across—it’s sweeter, darker, carrying that caramel bite.
My adoptive father, Ricardo, was obsessed with it.
He used to have this exact brand flown in from Ireland every year, cases stacked in our cellar like treasure.
The sight of it here, in his hands, twists my stomach.
“If you fucked her well, she wouldn’t still have such a fucking mouth on her,” he says, taking a slow sip of beer, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Nah, she always would. Our girl is loud,” Isaiah says, with a blinding smile on his face, and despite my embarrassment when he says our girl, it makes my stomach do a flip, because he sounds so proud of me. I don’t think I have ever had someone sound proud of me.
“Maybe she needs assistance in staying quiet,” an even-toned voice cuts in from my right. I turn—and freeze.
A Viking god is striding toward me. Massive.
Intimidating. He’s all black: a fitted t-shirt stretched over broad muscle, a leather Raider vest hanging open, dark jeans weighted with chains, a pistol strapped at his side, heavy boots hitting the floor like war drums. His long blond hair is tied back into a rough bun, but strands still frame his face.
A silver glint flashes from the piercing in his right brow as his gaze pins me—cold, gunmetal eyes that feel like they see straight through me.
This one is Asher. I remember him from the night I was taken—him and Isaiah, the two who helped knock me out cold. Which makes him the third name on my hit list once I’m free. Xavier first. Isaiah second. And then Asher.
Or maybe he deserves to move up a slot. Because as unhinged as Isaiah is, right now he feels more like a threat to my pussy than my life. Asher, though—he is the one who stuck me with the needle so I look forward to pulling his veins out of his flesh while he’s still breathing.
“Are you offering to play with us Ash?” Isaiah chuckles, his fingers playing the ends of my hair.
“You know I don’t play well with others, Zay,” Asher sighs, his eyes still on me and my clit flutters at the thought of him not playing with me.
Shit. Isaiah has released the horny monster in me; see the problem with me is that I can go months, years without cumming with no problem, but the minute I get a taste I need more. I am a mess for days on top of days because cumming once is never enough.
Zay’s arm slides across my shoulders, as he lifts a beer in Asher’s direction, “You need to learn how to share.”
“I don’t think you want to share with me, Zay. I’m not really nice with Toys,” Asher’s silver eyes run down my body like the slow drop of molasses, but my skin runs cold at his words.
“Toy?” I snarl, narrowing my eyes on him.
“Don’t you remember Vixen? You're a bottom bitch.” Xavier says; the smile on his face makes me want to claw his eyes out, but I keep my composure—there will always be time to injure his annoying face.
“And what the hell does bottom bitch mean, King?” I snap, stepping forward. My tone is sharp enough to slice, and it makes Zay chuckle as his arm slips lazily off my shoulders.
I square up to Xavier, even though he towers over me. My chin lifts, my glare locking on that maddeningly smug, brutally handsome face. His golden eyes ignite—molten fire licking across my skin—as he closes the distance with one slow step.
“You’re at the bottom of the food chain, darling,” Asher’s voice cuts in from behind him, but I don’t look away. I’m locked on Xavier’s gaze, watching the flicker in his eyes, honey catching sunlight, dangerous and dazzling all at once.
“You are ours to use,” Zay murmurs, his fingertips gliding over the curve of my neck. Goosebumps scatter down my spine, traitorous and sharp. “To command. To abuse. To control.”
“I never agreed to that shit,” I growl, the heat in my words battling the shiver running through me. Xavier’s grin stretches wider—teeth bared, predatory, more beast than man. And fuck me, my heart stutters at the thought of him actually sinking those teeth into me.
“You don’t get a choice, Valentina,” Xavier whispers, his malty breath brushing my lips, warm and intoxicating. “We own you.”
“I never agreed to this,” I snap, jerking against the hold on me. Isaiah’s fingertips curl lightly around my throat, deceptively gentle, keeping me caged in place.
“That doesn’t matter,” Xavier taunts, his voice a blade dragging over skin. “So either you’re a bottom bitch… or you’re dead.”
“I’d rather die,” I spit back.
Xavier chuckles, low and dangerous, closing the distance until his heat bleeds through Isaiah’s oversized clothes draped on my body. “Ooo, I don’t like that answer.” He clicks his tongue, mock disappointment dripping from every syllable. “What about you, Ash? You like that answer?”
“Not one bit,” Asher’s reply is even, but edged in steel.
“And you, Zay?” Xavier’s eyes never leave mine, but his words are for his brother. “You want our girl dead?”
“No, Angel,” Zay murmurs against my skin, dragging his nose up the side of my throat. “I haven’t gotten enough of you yet.”
Xavier leans closer, his breath warm as it ghosts over my lips.
His eyes burn with fire and certainty, as if I’m already claimed.
“See, Vixen, if I were you, I’d be grateful.
Honored. I’d submit. Because the truth is, keeping you alive?
That’s mercy. Any other person set up for collateral would be made an example of. ”
“You’d rather torture me?”
“Valentina, if you want to die. You’re going to have to beg me first.” His smile turns cruel, intoxicating.
When he says beg, the word rasps out of him like a promise, vibrating down my spine, curling low in my stomach. For a terrifying heartbeat, I want to do it. But Xavier doesn’t deserve anything from me—especially not my submission.
“I would never,” I scoff, tilting my head back so I can meet his gaze head-on. My voice sharpens into a growl. “So why bother pretending I have a choice?” I jerk away from Zay’s caress, forcing every ounce of defiance into locking eyes with Xavier, refusing to flinch.
He straightens, a smirk etched deep into his face like it’s carved there. “I didn’t say you had a choice.” His voice is smooth, cruel. “I gave you the only two outcomes. Death at their hands…” His eyes flare, molten gold, “…or mine to claim.”
He tips his beer back, throat working as the liquid slides down, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. It feels obscene, commanding, the casual gesture carrying more dominance than a threat.
The moment shatters with a sudden whoop. A girl with black hair streaked blue stumbles in, giggling breathlessly. “Guys! Landon’s about to get jumped—you gotta come save him!”
“British bastard,” Asher snarls, and his voice drops so deep, so violent, it’s almost unrecognizable. My eyes flick to him instinctively, but he’s already moving, pushing past the girl and sprinting toward the back of the house.
“Let them kill him,” Zay calls lazily, fishing a cigarette from his leather jacket as he strolls after them. “He deserves it.”
And then it’s just Xavier and me again. He leans in, close enough that his breath feathers across my lips. A deliberate brush of heat that makes my chest clench.
“You hear that?” he murmurs, voice low and teasing.
“Hear what?” I snap, whipping my head toward him—only to find him already waiting, eyes alight, smiling wickedly.
“The wolves are hungry for blood, Vixen,” Xavier whispers, tone threaded with humor, like he finds the whole thing amusing. But the warning beneath it sinks sharp into my gut, dropping my stomach like a stone. “I’d behave if I were you.”