Crowned By Raider Kings (The Raider Kings #2)

Chapter 1 Valentina

VALENTINA

The conference room smells like fear and expensive cologne, a combination that makes my stomach twist.

I'm sitting in Xavier's chair—his chair—and the leather is cold against my back, nothing like the warmth I'd imagined clinging to it.

My hands are folded on the mahogany table in front of me, fingers laced so tight my knuckles have gone white, because if I let go, I'm afraid I'll start shaking and never stop.

People are talking.

Lots of people.

Their voices crash over each other like competing radio stations, all static and no signal, creating a wall of noise that I can't break through.

Someone is shouting.

Someone else is pounding their fist on the table.

The sound echoes through my skull, sharp and insistent, but I can't make sense of any of it.

All I know is that no one thinks Xavier is going to survive the night, and that he is in surgery—but every other member of the Raider council has already decided that he is dead.

Dead.

The word sits in my chest like a stone, heavy and immovable.

I don't know what happened, not really. One minute everything was fine—or as fine as things ever are in this world—and the next, chaos.

Pure, unfiltered chaos. Phone calls. Shouting.

People running.

And then I was being pulled into this room, shoved into this chair, told to sit while they figured things out.

But there's nothing to figure out.

Xavier got shot.

He's in surgery.

No one thinks he is going to make it through the night.

And I'm sitting here in his chair like some kind of placeholder while the Raiders—his people—tear each other apart trying to decide what happens next.

Across the table, Asher is covered in blood.

Xavier's blood.

It's dried now, dark rust-brown against his white shirt, splattered across his forearms and neck like some horrific piece of abstract art. There's a smear across his jaw that he hasn't wiped away, and every time I look at it, my vision blurs at the edges.

He's sitting with his elbows on the table, hands clasped in front of his mouth, staring at nothing.

His knuckles are split and bruised, and I don't know if that's from trying to save Xavier or from something else entirely.

He hasn't said a word since we sat down.

Not to me, anyway.

Jackie sits to my right, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun that makes her sharp features even sharper. She's one of Xavier's most trusted lieutenants, a woman who could kill you with a look or a bullet, depending on her mood.

Right now, she's watching the room like a hawk, her fingers drumming against the table in a rhythm that suggests she's about three seconds away from violence.

"This is ridiculous," Johnson spits from across the table.

He's a bulky man with a red face and a perpetual sneer, someone who's always thought he should be sitting in Xavier's chair instead of serving under him.

"We can't just hand over control to someone who isn't even officially part of this organization."

"Excuse me?" Jackie's voice is ice, her drumming fingers going still.

"You heard me." Johnson leans forward, his meaty hands planted on the mahogany surface. "She's not First Lady. The ceremony didn't happen. Xavier got shot before he could make it official, which means she has no claim to leadership. She's just his—"

"Finish that sentence," Asher says quietly, finally lifting his head.

His voice is soft, almost conversational, but there's murder in his eyes.

"Please. I'm begging you to finish that sentence."

Johnson's mouth snaps shut, but George—a wiry man with gray at his temples and a smarmy smile—picks up where Johnson left off.

"He's right, though. Technically speaking, she has no official standing within the Raiders. No ceremony means no title. No title means no authority."

He spreads his hands like he's just stated a simple fact, like he's not trying to stage a fucking coup.

“Meaning the title should go to VP.”

“I don’t want the fucking title,” Asher sneers.

George shrugs. “So sergeant--"

“Zay doesn’t want it either.” Asher sneers.

“Then it goes to Jackie!” Johnson barks.

“I am too busy doing surveillance to find out who shot Xav to be running the club,” Jackie deadpans, looking at her painted black nails.

"I'm not saying this to be cruel. I'm saying it because we have protocols for a reason.” George snorts, and points at Jackie. “ Jackie back me up."

“Protocols,” Jackie repeats, her voice dripping with disdain.

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “You want me to talk about protocols while Xavier is on an operating table fighting for his life? That’s rich, George. Real fucking rich.”

“It’s not about what I want,” George says smoothly, though his eyes flick lazily between Jackie and Asher. “It’s about what’s best for the organization. We need stability. We need someone who knows the ins and outs of our operations, someone who—”

“Someone like you?” Asher interrupts, and the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees.

“Is that where you’re going with this, George? Because if you think for one goddamn second that Xavier would want you anywhere near his chair, you’re even dumber than you look.”

George’s face beats a bright red, but before he can respond, a voice crackles through the speakerphone sitting in the center of the table.

“Are you assholes seriously doing this right now?”

Zay’s voice is rough, exhausted, like he’s been awake for days, but it’s only been eight hours since the shooting—thirty-two since we were last asleep.

Ten since I lost my virginity to him.

As Xavier’s next of kin, he’s the only one getting updates from the hospital, the only one who knows what’s actually happening behind those surgical doors.

The phone’s been on speaker since the meeting started, Zay on the other end handling the nightmare we can’t see while we handle the one right in front of us.

“Zay—” George starts, but Zay cuts him off.

“No. Shut up. I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth unless it’s ‘aye’.”

There’s a pause, the sound of muffled voices in the background—doctors, maybe, or nurses.

“Valentina was set to be the first lady. Case closed.”

“A week ago she was a bottom bitch,” Johnson snaps, apparently unable to help himself. “Without the ceremony—”

“Without the ceremony, she’s still the woman Xavier chose,” Zay says, his voice hard as steel.

“The woman he was going to make First Lady before someone put a bullet in him. You think a ceremony changes that? You think a few words and some symbolic bullshit makes her more or less qualified to sit in that chair?”

I should say something.

Anything.

But my throat feels like it’s been lined with sandpaper, my tongue heavy and useless in my mouth. Every eye in the room has landed on me at some point during this argument, weighing me, judging me, trying to figure out if I’m worth the fight Asher and Jackie are waging on my behalf.

I don’t feel worth it.

I feel like an imposter.

Like a fraud.

Like someone who’s going to let everyone down the second they expect me to actually do something.

But then I think about Xavier.

About the way he looked at me the last time I saw him, the way he smiled like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. About the way he fought for me, over and over, even when I didn’t deserve it.

And I think about what would happen if I let people like Johnson and George take over.

If I let them tear apart everything Xavier built while he’s lying in a hospital bed, helpless.

I can’t let that happen.

I won’t.

Johnson opens his mouth, closes it, then tries again. “It’s not about qualification. It’s about—”

“Let’s not pretend this is anything other than what it is, Johnson,” Jackie interrupts, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“You’ve been gunning for Xavier’s position since the day you joined the Raiders, and now you see an opportunity.

But here’s the thing—you’re not getting it. Not now. Not ever.”

“This is insane,” Johnson mutters, shaking his head. “You guys just want to get into the bitch’s pants.”

“Say that a little louder, Johnson,” Asher sneers, kicking his chair back. “Because I’ve been wanting to correct your crooked-ass nose for a while.”

Johnson jumps up. “Come on, man, jump—”

“Alright,” I croak, my voice raw. “Just bring it to a vote.”

My voice drops lower with each word, and I avoid the liquid heat that is Asher’s gaze. I don’t want to be a leader. I didn’t want to be first lady. I didn’t want to be Xavier’s.

I actively hated him.

I wanted to run off into the sunset with Zay, and now all I feel is guilt. Nerves.

God, I think I hate myself.

“All in favor,” Asher says, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts, “of appointing Valentina as interim leader of the Raiders until Xavier’s return, say aye.”

Silence stretches like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap.

And then, through the speakerphone, Zay’s voice.

“Aye.”

Jackie doesn’t hesitate. “Aye.”

Asher’s eyes are still locked on mine when he says, “Aye.”

Three votes.

Three people who, for reasons I can’t fathom, think I’m capable of holding this together.

Johnson’s face is the color of a ripe tomato, his jaw clenched so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack. George looks like he wants to argue, wants to push back, but the reality of the situation has finally sunk in.

They’re outnumbered.

Outmaneuvered.

“Motion passed,” Asher says flatly. “Meeting adjourned. Get back to your posts and keep your mouths shut. If I hear anything other than praise, you’ll have to answer to me. And trust me—you don’t want that.”

People start filing out, some of them shooting me looks I can’t quite read—resentment, curiosity, pity.

Johnson storms out without a backward glance, George trailing behind him like a kicked dog.

Jackie stands, squeezes my shoulder once, and then follows them out, probably to make sure they don’t do anything stupid.

When the room finally empties, it's just me and Asher. And Zay's voice, still coming through the speaker.