Chapter 8 Asher #2
Xavier spreads his arms, dark charisma radiating. “Then tell me—what is a King to do?”
The bald man thrashes, shaking his head violently, terror dripping from every movement. The crowd answers with bloodlust, calling for punishment, calling for death.
“P-please,” the man begs, voice cracking as it shatters under the weight of the mob.
Isaiah moves with serpentine grace, catching the man’s chin in his hand and forcing his face up like a lover’s caress. Their eyes lock, one wild with fear, the other lit with manic glee.
“Shut. Up.” The words detonate like a whipcrack. The man jolts so hard the table beneath him groans, his body trembling. Isaiah’s smile stretches wider, madness gleaming like fire in his eyes.
“Your actions have consequences,” he croons, soft and venomous. “And your actions…deserve punishment.”
Isaiah yanks the traitor’s shirt down, fabric tearing, exposing the shoulder where a crooked imitation of the Raiders’ carrion skull brand scars his skin. Ugly. Twisted. A parody of what only blood can earn. The sight makes the room snarl as one, voices low and feral.
Isaiah’s knife flashes, broad and wicked in the harsh light. He drags the flat along the man’s cheek in a mock caress before lowering it, slow and deliberate, to the mangled brand.
“You don’t get to carry this mark,” Isaiah purrs, his voice rich with hunger. “Not when you’ve pissed on everything it means.”
The blade sinks in.
The man’s scream rips through the garage, raw and tearing, as Isaiah saws beneath the scorched skin. Blood flows hot and fast, slicking the steel table, dripping steady as his body jerks. Isaiah works with practiced precision, carving with the same reverence as a butcher stripping meat for a feast.
The Raiders roar their approval, pounding fists, howling their delight at the spectacle.
Xavier steps closer, looming over the prisoner, his eyes glittering dark as he watches Isaiah’s hand peel the false brand loose. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t blink. His tongue flicks across his teeth like he can taste the copper tang in the air.
The knife glides under the flap of flesh with almost tender care. He pauses to display the dripping strip of skin, holding it between thumb and blade so the crowd can drink in the sight. Their frenzy rises, chest-beating and wolf-howls shaking the walls.
Valentina stiffens at the blood, green eyes wide, but my gaze stays fixed. Because this—this is mercy. He could’ve been gutted alive. Fed to dogs. Staked to the desert for crows to pluck apart piece by piece. What Isaiah does now is clean, quick, almost kind.
The man sobs, sagging in his chains. Isaiah peels the brand away in one final tug, blood spattering his arm.
Isaiah looks every inch a demon crowned in blood, crouched atop the steel table with his grin carved wide and feral.
He dangles the strip of flesh between his fingers, scarlet droplets pattering onto the floor, and lifts his gaze toward Valentina.
He winks.
The gesture is obscene, intimate—a devil offering her a seat at his throne of carnage.
And she leans. Her whole body tilts forward, drawn to him against her own will, emerald eyes locked on the dripping trophy. Like a moth lured helplessly into the heart of flame, she bends toward the madness, the violence, the dark gravity of him.
Xavier takes it from him with bare fingers, raising the raw flesh like a holy relic before tossing it to the floor.
“Disloyalty is punished,” Xavier growls, voice rolling like thunder. “The next time anyone betrays my kindness for weakness you will pay with your life!”
The crowd erupts, pounding, screaming, their King and his mad wolf at the center of it all, craving flesh together like gods of blood. Isaiah stands up on the table and kicks the man back into the crowd allowing the rest of the crowd to get their piece of flesh.
Xavier slams the table, jerking everyone’s attention to him, and everyone curls forward to watch the madness in awe. “Last night our brother, Asher, told me a good king is a merciful one.”
I chuckle, the heat of Valentina eyes darting to me, but I cross my arms over my chest and call back to Xavier. “To an extent!”
“Right, no one wants a mad King,” he smiles down at the people around him pinching the cheek of a woman rider named Candance who crumbles under his touch. “But if you are to follow me into war then you need to be held in a firm embrace.”
“War?” Valentina gasps.
“With the Vipers and your brother,” I answer, and her entire body whips toward me, emerald eyes sharp and burning.
“So without further ado…” Xavier’s voice rises, thick with command, his charisma curling around the room like smoke. Then he howls, a sound half-wolf, half-king, reverberating through every ribcage present. “Bring me Landon Hart.”
The crowd thrums with anticipation, bodies shifting, knuckles pounding against tables and chests as the name rips through the room like a battle cry.
Xavier stands tall, his presence towering, ruthless as any monarch presiding over blood. He lets the silence stretch before his voice cuts through, sharp as a blade. “He claims he wants freedom from the Raiders. He claims he wants his girl back. Imagine that—loyalty traded for a leash.”
The audience jeers, curses flying like knives.
A commotion stirs at the back, and then she appears.
A girl shoved forward, stumbling into the center of the room.
Her top is cut scandalously low on the left side, baring the curve of her collarbone, pale skin glowing under the harsh lights.
Blonde hair spills wild down her shoulders, streaked with pink-highlighted waves that catch the gleam like fire-dipped silk.
Behind her strides Jackie, a vision all her own.
A black woman with a calico crown—an afro streaked in orange, blonde, and black, vast and unapologetic.
Her leather vest gleams, matching gloves flexing as she grips the girl’s arm.
She looks like she’s stepped straight out of a storm, her presence crackling despite the fact that she’s been gone, busy raising her little girl.
Tonight she returns not as caretaker but as executioner, her eyes promising chaos.
The girl stumbles again as Jackie shoves her forward, the crowd’s roar swelling. Gasps, whistles, hunger.
Xavier lifts his hand and the noise dies in an instant. His smile is cold, regal, merciless.
“Behold,” he declares, gesturing with a flourish. “The prize Landon Hart would betray us for.”
The girl’s chest heaves, her gaze flicking frantically around the room—at the blood still wet on the table, at Isaiah licking the corner of his mouth like he’s still savoring the taste, at Valentina leaning into the madness despite herself.
The crowd begins to chant Landon’s name, their voices thick with mockery, until the sound is a tide pounding the walls. And I can’t help but smile, because Xavier is right. Landon Hart has no idea the cost of his freedom.
The crowd’s chanting dies when Xavier lifts his hand again. His presence swallows the room whole, regal and merciless, his voice echoing like a decree from a throne.
“You all know the law,” he begins, gaze sweeping the sea of faces. “The only way a man leaves this brotherhood is in a coffin. Raiders don’t walk free.”
The bald man’s blood still glistens on the table, the stench of copper sharp in the air. Everyone knows Xavier speaks the truth. Once you wear the mark, you wear it until your death.
“But…” Xavier’s grin cuts cruel and calculated.
“I am not without generosity.” He turns, gesturing to the blonde girl with pink-streaked waves, her body trembling as Jackie’s grip keeps her from bolting.
“Landon Hart wants freedom. He wants her. So I will give him a chance. If Jasmine survives a three-minute jump-out…Landon is free to go.”
The room gasps, half in shock, half in glee. A jump-out isn’t just a fight—it’s the whole club tearing into one body until the clock runs dry. Most people won’t ever survive it. It’s a special type of death sentence, or permanent punishment.
Valentina steps forward but I pull her soft body against and hold her against me as she jerks out her anger. “That’s cruel!”
I laugh under my breath, shaking my head, thankful that the bloodlust in the air has hidden her words. This type of punishment is a lesson for Landon as much as it is for her.
“Cruel? No. The punishment should be death. For both of them. This…” I gesture to Jasmine, whose wide eyes shine with tears, “…this is a kindness.”
“She didn’t commit any crime,” Valentina hisses, her small frame vibrating with outrage.
I tilt my head down and pull her chin up, meeting her burning emerald gaze. “Didn’t she?” My tone drips with mockery. “She killed Xavier’s father. You think anyone here would forgive that?”
Valentina freezes, confusion and disbelief flickering across her face as her gaze drifts to look over Jasmine’s peite frame.
“Xavier’s doing her a kindness,” I continue, voice low and wolfish, forcing her to hear it all. “Not telling the club. Not unleashing them on her outright. And in return, he gets what he wants. Landon stays where he belongs—right here, still useful to the Raiders.”
Xavier steps closer to Jasmine, resting a heavy hand on her trembling shoulder. His smile is cold, a king passing sentence with no chance of appeal.
“Three minutes,” he says softly, almost lovingly. “That’s all it takes. If you’re strong enough, Landon walks free. If not—well. Blood is the only way out.”
The crowd howls its approval, pounding fists, hungry for the spectacle to come.
“No,” Landon barks, voice raw, his stance wide and defiant.
Conner’s nostrils flare, fury making his chest heave as he steps closer to Isaiah, ready to throw himself into the fire for his friend.
But I release my grip on Valentina’s arm and push forward.
The crowd splits around me without hesitation, instinct bowing them aside.
My frame cuts through like a blade through water, impossible to ignore.