Chapter 18
XAVIER
The water is scalding.
I stand under the spray and let it burn, let the heat turn my skin angry red, let the pain ground me in something physical instead of the emotional wreckage I've been drowning in for months.
My knuckles are bruised from where they connected with Zay's jaw last night—split skin over bone that throbs in time with my pulse.
My ribs ache from where we hit the floor.
Everything hurts in that specific way that comes from fighting someone you love.
But the worst pain is the one that has nothing to do with my body.
Valentina.
Her name is a wound that won't close, a constant ache beneath everything else. I close my eyes and she's there—the way she looked when I said get out, the devastation on her face when I called her a liar, the sound she made when I said no longer mine.
I destroyed her. Zay was right about that. I destroyed her in front of seventy people because I was hurt and scared and too fucking proud to see past my own pain.
My hand moves without conscious thought, wrapping around my cock. It's already half-hard—has been since I woke up from dreams I can't quite remember but know involved her. Always her. Even when I'm furious, even when I'm broken, my body wants her with a desperation that borders on pathological.
I stroke myself slowly, head tilted back under the spray, and let myself think about her.
The way she looked that morning in the kitchen when she stripped for us—completely bare and completely unashamed, power radiating off her in waves.
The way she took control, the way she made each of us fall apart with methodical precision.
The way she looked at me like I was something worth fighting for.
The way I threw it all away.
My hand moves faster, grip tightening, and I hate myself for this—for getting off while she's God knows where thinking I hate her, thinking I'll never forgive her, thinking she destroyed everything.
But I can't stop. Can't stop chasing the memory of her skin against mine, her mouth on me, the sounds she made when I was inside her.
I come with a strangled groan that's half-pleasure, half-grief. Watch it wash down the drain with the water and feel absolutely nothing except emptiness and self-loathing.
"Fuck," I breathe, bracing myself against the tile. "Fuck."
I finish showering on autopilot—soap, shampoo, the mechanical motions of someone going through the motions of being human. When I finally shut off the water and step out, I catch sight of myself in the mirror.
I look like hell. Months of drinking has left me hollow-eyed and gaunt, dark circles so deep they look like bruises. My hair is too long, hanging in wet tangles around my face. I look exactly like what I am: a man who's been trying to drown himself in bourbon and failing.
Time to stop failing.
I dress slowly, carefully—jeans, t-shirt, the leather vest with the Raiders patch.
Armor. Reminder of who I'm supposed to be when I'm not falling apart.
Getting out of the shower is harder than it should be—my legs are weak from months of neglecting PT, the muscles I worked so hard to rebuild atrophying from disuse.
I brace myself against the wall, take careful steps across the bathroom tile.
Everything feels fragile, unsteady, like I'm made of glass held together with spite.
But I'm functional. That's something.
I make my way downstairs carefully, one hand on the railing, each step deliberate.
My legs shake with the effort—Valentina would be furious if she could see how much ground I've lost, how much progress I've pissed away.
I find Asher and Zay already in the living room.
Zay's on the couch with his shirt off, fresh bandaging wrapped around his ribs.
Asher's at the window with coffee, looking like he hasn't slept.
They both turn when I enter, wariness in their expressions and something else—concern, maybe, at the way I'm gripping the doorframe for support.
"I'm calling a council meeting," I say before either of them can speak. "Now. Get everyone here."
"Xavier—" Asher starts.
"I'm sober. I'm functional. And I'm done hiding while everything falls apart." I look at Zay. "You were right. About all of it. But I can't fix everything at once. So I'm starting with what I can control."
Zay studies me for a long moment, then nods. "I'll make the calls."
Thirty minutes later, the safe house living room is full.
Not the whole club—just senior leadership.
Jackie, looking exhausted and worried. George, watching me with that calculating expression that makes me want to punch him.
A handful of others who've been holding things together while I drank myself stupid.
I position myself at the head of the room, wheelchair and all, and force myself to meet their eyes.
"Update me," I say, voice harder than I feel. "Everything. Vipers, territory, finances, all of it."
Jackie goes first. "The Vipers have taken three more blocks on the east side. Hit two of our protection clients—one paid them instead of us, the other closed up shop entirely rather than deal with either side."
"Casualties?"
"Zay got grazed in a shootout last night. Everyone else is walking wounded but alive." She pauses. "For now. But they're getting bolder. More coordinated. Someone's giving them real-time intelligence on our movements."
"The leak," I say, and it's not a question.
"Has to be." George leans forward. "The timing is too perfect. They know where we'll be before we get there."
"Then we cut off the leak." I look around the room. "Who has access to operational details?"
"Everyone in this room," Asher says quietly. "Plus a handful of prospects who do logistics."
"Then we compartmentalize. Different people get different pieces of information. We see which pieces the Vipers act on, trace it back to the source." I turn to Jackie. "Can you coordinate that?"
She nods. "I'll have a system in place by tonight."
"Good." I take a breath, feeling the weight of leadership settling back onto shoulders that aren't quite ready for it. "Now. Talia."
The room goes quiet.
"She's been embedded with the Vipers for weeks. Feeding them information in exchange for—what? Revenge? A sense of purpose?" I shake my head. "Doesn't matter. She's Asher’s sister. . She's family. And we're getting her out."
"How?" George asks. "She's deep in their organization by now. They're not going to just let her walk away."
"We're not asking permission." I look at Jackie. "The Vipers have their annual party tomorrow night. Big event, everyone will be there, security will be spread thin trying to cover too much ground." I pause. "That's when we extract her."
Jackie's eyes widen. "Xavier—"
"I know it's risky. I know it could go sideways in about six different ways.
But we're running out of time. The longer she's in there, the more danger she's in.
The more damage she can do—intentionally or not.
" I meet her eyes. "We get her out tomorrow.
You're in charge of the operation. Pick your team.
Plan the extraction. Do whatever you need to do. "
She's quiet for a moment, emotion warring with professionalism on her face. Then she nods. “I’ll do my best.”you."
I look around the room. "Anyone have objections?"
Silence.
"Then we move tomorrow night. Jackie will coordinate. Everyone else—business as usual until then. Don't give the Vipers any reason to think something's coming." I pause. "That's all. Dismissed."
They file out slowly, leaving me alone with Asher and Zay.
I wait until the door closes before speaking. "Asher. I need Valentina's address."
He goes very still. "Why?"
"Because the Vipers will know we're extracting Talia.
They have to—if they're getting real-time intel, they know we'll make a move eventually.
Which means they'll be watching us, tracking our people.
" I meet his eyes. "Which means Valentina is vulnerable.
She's alone, unprotected, and if they want leverage against us, she's an easy target. "
"She's not our responsibility anymore," Asher says carefully. "You made that clear months ago."
The words hit like a slap. "I know what I said."
"Do you?" There's steel in Asher's voice now. "Because from where I'm sitting, you don't get to kick her out and then decide you're her protector when it's convenient. You don't get to destroy her and then swoop in to save her when it serves your purposes."
"That's not what this is—"
"Then what is it?" Asher crosses his arms. "Guilt? Regret? A sudden realization that maybe you overreacted when you called her a liar in front of the entire club?"
"All of it," I snap. "It's all of it, Asher. I fucked up. I know I fucked up. I said things I can't take back, did things I can't undo. But that doesn't change the fact that she's in danger. That if the Vipers go after her while we're extracting Talia, she's a sitting duck."
"She can take care of herself," Zay says quietly from the couch. "She's not helpless."
"I know that. But she shouldn't have to do it alone.
" I force myself to say it, to admit what I've been avoiding for months.
"I love her. I'm in love with her. And yes, I'm furious about the lying, and yes, I feel betrayed, and yes, I need time to work through all of that.
But none of that means I'm going to let her get hurt because I was too proud to protect her. "
Asher and Zay exchange glances—some silent communication I'm not part of.
"And how exactly are you planning to protect her?" Asher asks. "Show up at her door and announce you're her bodyguard now? After everything you said?"
"I'll figure it out." I run a hand through my hair. "Look, I'm not asking for your blessing. I'm asking for her address. Because whether she wants to see me or not, I'm not letting the Vipers use her as leverage."
"And if she tells you to leave?" Zay asks.
"Then I leave. But I stay close enough to make sure she's safe." I look between them. "I'm not trying to force myself back into her life. I'm just trying to make sure she survives long enough for me to figure out how to apologize."
Another long silence. Then Asher pulls out his phone, types something, and my phone buzzes a second later with a text containing an address.
"She's staying at her father’s old apartment," Asher says. "It's not secure—no alarm system, flimsy locks, ground floor access, and it is one of Ricardo’s known hideaways." He meets my eyes. "If the Vipers want her, that's where they'll look first."
"Then that's where I'll be." I save the address, pocket my phone. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me." Asher's voice is cold. "Thank me when you actually fix things instead of just protecting her from external threats while you're still the biggest threat to her emotional wellbeing."
The words land hard. "I know."
"Do you?" He steps closer. "Because here's what I know, Xavier.
She loves you. Completely, devastatingly, in a way that's destroying her to be without you.
And you took that love and you shattered it in front of seventy people because you were hurt and scared.
" His voice drops. "So yes, go protect her from the Vipers.
Keep her physically safe. But don't you dare show up thinking that's enough.
Don't you dare think that playing bodyguard makes up for what you did to her. "
"I don't think that—"
"Then what's your plan?" Asher interrupts.
"Because if this is just about assuaging your guilt, about making yourself feel better while she's still bleeding from what you did, then stay away.
She doesn't need that. She needs—" He stops.
"She needs someone who's going to fight for her.
Actually fight. Not just show up when it's convenient. "
"I am fighting for her," I say quietly. "I'm just starting with keeping her alive. Everything else—the apology, the groveling, the begging for forgiveness—comes after I make sure she's safe."
Zay stands slowly, wincing at the pull in his ribs. "Then you better mean it, X. Because if you hurt her again, if you make her think you're there to fix things and then you pull the same shit you pulled four months ago—" He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.
"I mean it." I look at both of them. "I don't know how to fix everything I broke. I don't know if she'll ever forgive me. But I know I can't lose her. I can't—" My voice cracks. "I can't survive losing her."
"Then tell her that," Asher says. "Not us. Her."
"I will." I turn my wheelchair toward the door. "Tomorrow night. After we get Talia out. After I make sure she's safe. I'll tell her everything."
I make it to my room before the weight of it hits me—what I'm about to do, what I'm planning, the enormity of trying to fix something I shattered so completely. But underneath the fear, underneath the doubt, there's something else.
Determination.
I'm going to protect her. I'm going to keep her safe. And then I'm going to grovel until she either forgives me or tells me to go to hell. Or tells me to fuck off permanently.