Chapter 22
ASHER
The council meeting has been dragging on for two hours, and I can feel my patience wearing thin in that particular way that usually means I need either coffee or violence, and we're fresh out of targets that deserve the latter.
"The Vipers have held up their end of the treaty for six months," Jackie is saying, her fingers tapping against the table in that rhythm that means she's stated this fact at least three times already and is getting irritated at having to repeat herself.
"No incursions into our territory. No hits on our people. They've been clean."
"Because Talia's keeping them in line," George mutters, and there's something in his tone that I don't like, something that edges toward resentment. "We're basing our entire security on an eighteen-year-old girl's ability to control two Viper leaders through pussy."
The temperature in the room drops about twenty degrees.
Xavier's hands go still on the arms of his chair—the regular chair now, not the wheelchair that sat in the corner unused for the past four months since he regained full mobility. When he speaks, his voice is soft in the way that means someone is about to have a very bad day.
"Say that again," he suggests. "I want to make sure I heard you correctly before I break your jaw."
George has enough survival instinct to backtrack. "I just mean—the treaty is dependent on a relationship. Relationships end. What happens when—"
"When what?" Valentina interrupts, and I watch her lean forward with that predatory grace she has, the one that reminds everyone in the room that she was trained as an assassin before she was anything else.
"When Talia stops loving them? When they stop loving her?
You want to plan for hypotheticals that haven't happened instead of accepting that we have peace for the first time in two years? "
"Val's right," Zay adds from his position leaning against the wall.
"We've had zero casualties in six months.
Zero. Our protection rackets are running smoothly again.
Our territory is secure. All because Talia loves her family enough to broker peace between two organizations that should hate each other. "
"She loves both," I say, keeping my voice level even though my irritation is building toward something I'm going to have to manage before it becomes a problem.
"Her family with us. The Raiders who raised her, who she's known since she was ten.
And the Vipers—specifically Killian and Axel, who she's built a life with.
That's not a weakness. That's the strongest possible foundation for a treaty. "
Jackie nods, gratitude clear in her expression. "Talia's happy. Safe. In love. And because of that, we have peace. I don't see the downside here."
"The downside is dependency," George argues, though he's being more careful now, aware that he's on thin ice. "What happens if—"
"If anything happens to Talia, we go to war," Xavier says flatly. "Same as we would if anything happened to any member of this club. She's Jackie's daughter. She's family. The Vipers know that touching her means annihilation. That's the treaty. Love and mutually assured destruction. It works."
I watch the room process this, watch the remaining dissent drain away as people realize Xavier isn't budging on this point.
Good. I'm tired of having this same argument every council meeting, tired of people questioning a peace that's working just because it doesn't fit their conventional understanding of how treaties should function.
"Meeting adjourned," Xavier says, standing with the easy grace of someone who's put in a year of physical therapy and come out stronger for it. "Unless anyone has actual business instead of hypothetical concerns about our agreement with Talia and the Vipers?”
Silence.
"Thought so. Get out."
The council files out with varying degrees of relief and lingering suspicion. Jackie squeezes my shoulder as she passes—a silent thank you for backing her daughter—and I nod in acknowledgment. Talia's arrangement is unconventional, but then again, so is ours. Who are we to judge?
The door closes behind the last council member and Xavier immediately drops back into his chair with a sigh. "I'm so fucking tired of that argument."
"Six months and they're still not over it," Valentina observes, moving to perch on the edge of the desk. "You'd think by now—"
The door opens again and my irritation spikes before I register who's entering.
I blink, my brain taking a moment to process the appearance of Xavier's sister, Georgia, who we haven't seen in years because she's been busy with her own journalism career and generally avoiding Raider business whenever possible.
She's wearing a red dress that hugs every curve with the kind of precision that suggests it was tailored specifically for her body, her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders, makeup subtle but effective.
She looks nothing like the college student who used to show up to the compound in jeans and hoodies, and everything like a woman who knows exactly the effect she has on people.
"We're running late for dinner," she announces, checking her phone with the kind of casual authority that reminds me she's Xavier's sister through and through. "Reservations are in twenty minutes and you know how Marcel's gets if we're not on time."
"Marcel's?" Valentina perks up immediately. "The French place downtown? Xavier, you didn't tell me we had reservations."
"Surprise," Xavier says dryly. "Happy six-month anniversary of not killing each other."
"Romantic," I observe, but I'm already standing, already mentally calculating the drive time and whether we can make it if we leave now.
"I'm about to make us later," Zay says, and there's something in his voice that makes me look at him sharply.
He's staring at Valentina with an intensity that I recognize, that makes my own interest spike even though we just had sex this morning before the meeting.
But there's something about her in the late afternoon light, the way she's sitting on Xavier's desk with her legs crossed and that small smile playing at her lips, that makes me understand exactly what Zay is thinking.
"Zay," Valentina warns, but she's already smiling, already anticipating. "We have dinner reservations."
"They'll wait," he says, already moving toward her with purpose.
"They will absolutely not wait," Georgia interjects, but she's grinning now, already pulling out her phone. "But I'll call and push it back an hour. You're welcome."
"Georgia—" Xavier starts.
"Please. Like I don't know exactly what you four do in your spare time." She's already dialing, already walking back toward the door. "I'll be in the car. Try to keep it to forty-five minutes or I'm leaving without you."
The door closes behind her and Zay doesn't waste any time. He crosses to Valentina in three long strides, throws her over his shoulder in one smooth motion that makes her yelp with surprise and laughter, and heads for the door.
"Zay!" she protests, but she's not actually fighting him, just gripping his shirt to steady herself. "Put me down, we need to—"
"We need to be in Xavier's room," Zay corrects, already moving down the hallway toward the private quarters. "Right now."
I exchange a look with Xavier, who's already standing, already following with that particular gleam in his eye that means he's absolutely on board with this plan.
We trail after Zay through the compound, past a few members who wisely don't comment on the sight of Valentina thrown over Zay's shoulder like a sack of extremely attractive grain.
Xavier's room is exactly as he left it this morning—bed made with military precision, minimal personal effects, the kind of space that belongs to someone who's spent most of the past six months living at our house instead of here.
But the bed is big enough, the door has a lock, and we have forty-five minutes before Georgia leaves without us.
Plenty of time.
Zay deposits Valentina on the bed with more care than his earlier manhandling would suggest, his hands already finding the hem of her shirt.
She's wearing jeans and a simple black tank top—nothing special, the kind of thing she throws on for council meetings—but the way Zay is looking at her you'd think she was in something as devastating as Georgia's red dress.
"We're going to be late," she says again, but there's no real protest in it, just the kind of token resistance that means she wants to be convinced.
"Worth it," Xavier says, already stripping off his cut, his shirt following quickly after. "Georgia gave us forty-five minutes. That's more than enough time."
"For what you're planning?" I ask, moving to close and lock the door. "We'll need at least thirty."
"Then we better not waste time talking," Zay says, and then his mouth is on Valentina's, swallowing whatever response she was about to make.
I watch them for a moment—the way Zay's hands are already sliding under her shirt, the way Valentina is arching into his touch with that particular responsiveness that never fails to affect me.
Xavier moves to the other side of the bed, his hands finding Valentina's face to turn her toward him for his own kiss while Zay works on removing her clothes.
There's something particularly satisfying about this—about the four of us stealing time in the middle of the day, about the casual ease with which they navigate my body, and I explore theirs.
I strip off my own clothes with efficient movements, watching as Valentina's jeans hit the floor followed by her underwear, as Zay pulls her tank top over her head and leaves her completely bare between him and Xavier.
She's beautiful like this—flushed and wanting and completely focused on them in a way that makes something possessive curl in my chest.